Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Ferry Landing, Part 2

Episode Date: August 24, 2026

Our story tonight is called The Ferry Landing, Part 2, and it’s the conclusion to last Monday's episode. If you want to hear both parts, put together with an immersive soundscape made by Bob, you can listen right now on the nothing much happens app. This is a story about a trip across a river at the end of the summer, it’s also about a song playing from the jukebox, a roadside sign missing a few letters and taking a chance on love. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to H3Project DC. Their vision is to create a future in which all individuals experiencing homelessness and/or human trafficking –are given opportunities to live meaningful and self-directed lives, in homes of their choice, with support and services they need for success. Try Nature’s Sunshine and experience the difference with supplements that are better for you and the planet. Go to naturessunshine.com today and use the code NOTHINGMUCH for 20% off your first order, plus free shipping. Get 15% off OneSkin with the code NOTHINGMUCH at oneskin.co/NOTHINGMUCH  #oneskinpod Join⁠ the Village of Nothing Much App! Subscribe to our ⁠Premium channel⁠. The first month is on us. 💙 Order Kathryn’s new book ⁠On the Street Where You Live⁠ ⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠ Listen to our daytime show ⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠ ⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠ Follow us on ⁠Instagram⁠ Visit ⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠ for more Village fun! Sign up for our Newsletter ⁠here⁠ to be in the know! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more, nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. I've gotten pretty skeptical of the word green on a label. Sometimes it means a company is doing something genuinely thoughtful for the planet. And sometimes it means they put a leaf on the package. So I pay more attention now to what a company is actually doing behind the scenes. Nature Sunshine sustainably sources its ingredients and its supplements. are made using 100% solar-powered manufacturing with zero emissions, and that's the kind of thing I want better for the planet to actually mean. I've been using their brain edge, especially on writing days when I have a lot I need to focus on, and I really like the difference I noticed in my ability to settle in and stay with the work. It combines Yerba Mote with neutropics, adaptogens, and botanicals to support mental clarity, focus, and stamina. and I like that Nature Sunshine is focused on balance and well-being

with thoughtfully sourced ingredients and plant-derived blends backed by science. Try Nature Sunshine and experience the difference with supplements that are better for you and for the planet. Go to NatureSonshine.com today and use the code Nothing Much for 20% off your first order plus free shipping. That's code nothing much for 20% off your first order at naturesonshine.com. Welcome. to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens.

You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity, each week. And this week we are giving to H3 Project DC. Their vision is to create a future in which all individuals experiencing homelessness and or trafficking are given opportunities to live meaningful and self-directed lives in homes of their choice. Learn more about them in our show notes. For

merch, to subscribe to our premium feed, or to join our community app. Go to Nothing Much Happens.com. Busy minds need a place to rest, enough engagement to keep them from wandering, and enough softness to rock them to sleep. And that's what I have for you. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little. little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to just push play, and you'll drop right back off. Our story tonight is called The Fairy Landing, part two, and it's the conclusion to last week's episode. If you want to hear both parts, put together with an immersive soundscape made by Bob,

you can listen right now on the Nothing Much Happens app. This is a story about a trip across a river at the end of the summer. It's also about a song playing from a jukebox, a roadside sign, missing a few letters, and taking a chance on love. I've tried enough skin care at this point to know that a lot of it makes very big promises, but what I like about One Skin is that the science comes first. One Skin was founded by four PhD longevity scientists,

and after years of research and testing more than 900 peptides, they developed OS1, their proprietary peptide designed to address a leading driver of visible skin aging. I've been using One Skin for almost a year now, And what keeps standing out to me is that my skin feels really healthy and well cared for. It's not one of those overnight dramatic things. It's more that over time, I notice my skin is smoother, it looks more even, and there's just an overall radiance that I really love. And I appreciate that their approach is about skin health as we age, not pretending that

aging itself is something we need to fix. Born from over 10 years of longevity research, one skin is a lot of skin. helping you unlock your healthiest skin now and as you age. For a limited time, try OneSkin with 15% off using code Nothing Much at OneSkin.co slash nothing much. That's 15% off, OnSkin.com with code nothing much. After you purchase, they'll ask where you heard about them. Please support our show and tell them we send you. So nestle down into your sheets and let it feel. feel good to stretch out and rest. Maybe this is a moment you've been looking forward to all day.

Well, it is here. Feel it in every softening muscle. Take a deep breath in through your nose. Let it out your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in. And out. Good. The Ferry Landing, Part 2.

When I was a kid, there was no better start to the weekend than a front spot for the ferry crossing, especially if the river was wavy enough to throw some spray onto the windshield, even as a grown-up. It was still something I hoped for. and today, on a warm August day, I'd managed to get the front left spot. The auto ferry was like a parking lot with a pilot house, just a flat surface that 12 cars fit onto, with yellow lines to guide you. Once the deck was full, the mooring ropes were pulled,

and with a slow chug we set off toward the island. The whole trip took around five minutes barely enough time for the deckhand to squeeze between the cars and collect tickets and cash. Still, if there was a dog in a car, time was made for a treat

to be passed through a window. The view was lovely, the wide, dark blue river, its current visible as it flowed beneath us. But best of all, was the smell of fresh water that seemed particular to this spot, like rain and flowers and stones, and the feeling of being away from everything, if only for the weekend.

The landing was smooth enough, just a small bump, and a jostle side to side, as the boat rocked into the pylings, each of which had several tires chained to their sides, so that we bounced and never crashed. I took a moment to secure us to shore. Then there was a hydraulic hiss. As the loading dock came down,

and one by one, we were waved off. I let out an automatic sigh, as soon as my tires touched the land. After all these years, my body was conditioned to it, to the feeling of deep peace that came from being on the island. Water separated me from the rest of the world, like a moat around a castle.

And that layer of protection always erased the line between my eyebrows and left me more at ease. At the corner was an old roadside Marquis-on. the kind on wheels that can be rolled out and back. The message changed often. But the winds by the shore tended to knock some of the letters out of their tracks, leaving oddly spelled missives you had to guess at. Today it said,

Ibrary boo-dive. And I chuckled. hoping people would still know where to drop off their paperbacks. Back in the summer of S and C, our mysterious newsletter lovers, there had been a week and then two when there were no messages printed. And when I'd gotten off the ferry, I'd stopped to see the signs. say, S and C, please don't break our hearts. In the coffee shop, they were the only topic of conversation. Had they finally had a date and it had gone poorly? Or was the silence a sign that they

no longer needed to communicate through the flyer? Because they were somewhere speaking face-to-face. Some said they had eloped and were happily on their honeymoon. Others swore it was just a prank. And they were made-up people we'd never hear from again. A sandwich was named for them at the little restaurant beside the hardware store. And songs were dedicated to them from the jukebox at the waterfront bar on Saturday night. Then, just as we were losing hope, in a Friday newsletter near the end of August, a new square of print appeared.

What if it doesn't work out? See, the island led out a collective gasp. At the ice cream shop on North Channel, people voted with their orders. A double scoop for will they? A single, for won't they? The following Friday, they had to print twice the usual number of newsletters. And there was a rush for them, as soon as they arrived, still warm at the ferry landing that morning. The editor had stopped pretending these messages weren't the paper's main draw,

and had printed S's response on the front page. What if it does work out, love? What if we sail off into the sunset? Well, we agreed. That was a good point. Don't we all fall prey to it at times? running the worst-case scenario, but not the best? The only way to safeguard your heart from ever being broken

is to never share it with anyone, but isn't that just a different kind of rupture? The summer was closing in around us, and there was a feeling that with the end of the season, there would be a conclusion one way or another to the love story we'd all been following so closely as a small selection of school supplies showed up in the tiny party store on South Channel and people made plans to winterize their old cottages. there was another front-page message.

Okay, meet me at our spot. See, we were beside ourselves. Just days away from September, weekenders panicked that they wouldn't be on the island for the finale. By next Friday, the summer would be over. Kids would be back in school, and the island's population would drop by half. Would full-time residents fill them in? This was the power of the newsletter lovers, as they came to be known. They could overcome even that, sometimes contentious, relationship, promises were made. This was bigger than all of us, we agreed. In the end, we needn't have worried. S's answer came the very next day, not in the newsletter, but slotted letter by letter

into that same roadside sign by the ferry. Waiting to catch the 6 a.m. boat, a row of cars headed to the mainland, were the first to read it. It said, I'll follow you anywhere. S. One of the L's in FOLO had slipped out of its track. But that didn't matter. The drivers spread the word to the deck hands, and the morning fairies saluted with their horns,

till the whole island was awake, and apprised of the news. At the last cookouts of the summer that evening, glasses were raised to them, and the Valentine's Day decorations were brought down from the attic, at the hardware store and hung in the front window. We swore that weekend, that the Labor Day fireworks were really for us and sea.

I was smiling as I pulled into the cottage, warmed by the memories of that summer. By the end of it, we no longer needed to know who they were. After those months we felt we knew their hearts, even if not their names, climbing out of the car. I turned toward the water, as I always did when I first got here. I like to say hello to the river before anything else. I walked down the planks of the dock, shared by our small set of streets. and stopped at the end

to prop my elbows on the railing and look up and down the river. The sun was low, and already glowing orange and pink. It would be a beautiful sunset tonight. I looked down at the stretch of parapet between my forearms and smiled.

At a freshly carved S, plus sea in the wood. Love is its own kind of magic. The Fairy Landing Part 2. When I was a kid, there was no better start to the weekend than a front spot for the ferry crossing, especially if the river was wavy enough to throw. some spray onto the windshield, even as a grown-up. It was still something I hoped for. And today, on a warm August day, I'd managed to get the front left spot. The auto ferry was like a parking lot with a pilot house, just a flat. surface that 12 cars fit onto with yellow lines to guide you. Once the deck was full, the mooring ropes were pulled, and with a slow chug,

we sat off toward the island. The whole trip took around five minutes, barely enough time. for the deckhand to squeeze between the cars and collect tickets and cash. Still, if there was a dog in a car, time was made for a treat to be passed through a window. The view was lovely, the wide, dark blue river, its current visible as it flowed beneath us. But best of all was the smell of fresh water that seemed particular to this spot, like rain and flowers and stones, and the feeling of being away from everything, if only for the world. weekend. The landing was smooth enough, just a small bump and a jostle side to side, as the boat rocked

into the pylings, each of which had several tires chained to their sides so that we bounced and never crashed. It took a moment to secure us to shore. Then, there was a hydraulic hiss as the loading deck came down, and one by one we were waved off. I let out an automatic sigh. As soon as my tires touched the land, after all these years, my body was conditioned to it,

to a feeling of deep peace that came from being on the island. The water separated me from the rest of the world, like a moat around a castle, and that layer of protection always erased the line between my eyebrows and left me more at ease. At the corner was an old roadside marquee sign, the kind on wheels that can be rolled out and back. The message changed often,

but the winds by the shore tended to knock some of the letters out of their tracks. leaving oddly spelled missives you had to guess at. Today it said, I brary boo dive, and I chuckled, hoping people would still know where to drop off their paperbacks. Back in the summer of S and C, Armistie, mysterious newsletter lovers. There had been a week,

and then two, when there were no messages printed, and the sign by the fairy, said, S and C, please, don't break our hearts in the coffee shop. They were the only topic,

of conversation. Had they finally had a date and it had gone poorly? Or was the silence a sign that they no longer needed to communicate through the flyer because they were somewhere speaking face to face? Some said they had eloped and were happily on their honeymoon. Others swore it was just a prank. And they were made up people we'd never hear from again. A sandwich was named for them at the little restaurant beside the hardware store. And songs were dedicated to them. from the jukebox at the waterfront bar on Saturday night.

Then, just as we were losing hope, in a Friday newsletter, near the end of August, a new square of print appeared. What if it doesn't work out, see? The island let out. a collective gasp at the ice cream shop on North Channel. People voted with their orders, a double scoop for will they, a single for won't they?

The following Friday, they had to print twice the usual number of newsletters, and there was a rush for them. As soon as they arrived, still warm at the ferry landing that morning. The editor had stopped pretending that these messages weren't the paper's main draw

and had printed S's response on the front page. What if it does work out, love? What if we sail off into the sunset? Well, we agreed. That was a good point. Don't we all fall prey to it at times? Running the worst-case scenario, but never the best. The only way to safeguard your heart from ever being broken is to never share it with anyone. but isn't that just a different kind of rupture? The summer was closing in around us,

and there was a feeling that with the end of the season, there would be a conclusion, one way or another. To the love story we'd all been following so closely, as a small selection of school-success, supplies, showed up in the tiny party store on South Channel, and people made plans to winterize their old cottages. There was another front-page message. Okay, meet me at our spot. See, We were beside ourselves, just days away from September. Weekenders panicked that they wouldn't be on the island for the finale.

By next Friday, the summer would be over. Kids would be back in school, and the island's population would drop by half. would the full-time residents fill them in? This was the power of the newsletter lovers. They could overcome even that sometimes contentious relationships. Promises were made. This was bigger than all of us, we agreed. in the end

we needn't have worried S's answer came the very next day not in the newsletter but slotted letter by letter into that same roadside sign by the ferry

waiting to catch the 6 a.m. boat a row of cars headed to the mainland where the first to read it. It said, I'll follow you anywhere, S. One of the L's in Follow had slipped out of its track. That didn't matter. The drivers spread the word to the deckhands, and the morning fairies saluted with their horns, till the whole island was awake, and a prize. And a prize,

of the news at the last cookouts of the summer that evening. Glasses were raised to them, and the Valentine's Day decorations were brought down from the attic at the hardware store and hung in the front window. We swore that weekend that the Labor Day fireworks were really for S and C. I was smiling as I pulled into the cottage, warmed by the memories of that summer. By the end of it, we no longer needed to know who they were. After those months we felt, we knew their hearts, even if not their names. Climbing out of the car, I turned toward the water, as I always did. When I first got here, I liked to say hello to the river before anything else. I walked down the planks of the dock, shared by our small set of

streets and stopped at the end to prop my elbows on the railing and look up and down the river. The sun was low, an already glowing orange and pink. It would be a beautiful sunset tonight. I looked down at the stretch of parapet between my forearms and smiled. had a freshly carved S plus C in the wood. Love is its own kind of magic. Sweet dreams.