Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Pecan Tree

Episode Date: September 19, 2022

Our story tonight is called The Pecan Tree and it’s a story about having just the right tool for the right moment. It’s also about a piano playing in a neighbor’s house, gravel paths in a garden and an afternoon visit from a few friends at the split rail fence.Order the book now! Get our ad-free and bonus episodes here!Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. Besides bedtime stories, I also have a podcast of simple meditations. Each one is about ten minutes long, completely guided, and a great way to start the day in a balanced frame of mind. So let me tuck you in tonight.

And if you're up for it, join me tomorrow on any podcast app. Just search First This. Now, I'm going to read you a bedtime story I'll tell it twice going a little slower the second time through just by listening you'll shift your brain activity from the staticky buzz of your default mode to the smooth hum

of task mode which all just means you'll shift into a place where you can fall asleep. If you wake in the middle of the night, try thinking your way back through any parts of the story you can remember, or even just a fond memory. This is brain training, and you'll notice that the more you practice it, the more quickly and deeply you'll sleep. Now turn out your light. Settle your body into your favorite sleeping position and feel everything relax.

You have done enough for today. It is enough. You can let go now. I'm here and I'll keep watch. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose. And sigh out of your mouth. Nice. Let's do one more.

In. And out. Nice. Let's do one more. In. And out. Good. Our story tonight is called The Pecan Tree. And it's a story about having just the right tool for the right moment. It's also about a piano playing in a neighbor's house, gravel paths in a garden, and an afternoon visit from a few friends at the split rail fence.

The Pecan tree. I'd been walking past it for a few weeks, stuck in the umbrella stand at the front door, where I'd put it since I'd bought it at the neighborhood yard sale. In fact, when I first picked it up, I didn't know what it was. A long wooden handle whose dark green paint was beginning to flake off in places. And at one end, a wire drum held in place with a metal framework. I thought it must be some sort of a tool.

It was as long as a rake. I picked it up and set the end of the handle in the grass and spun the drum and tried to look like I had the first clue of what this object was. The woman whose, whatchamacallit, I was handling, lifted an eyebrow, watching me with one hand on her hip. Uh, um, clearly it's for... I spun the wire bit again. Well, you put the bingo balls in here, I said, and we both laughed. She took it from me and gestured for me to follow her. In her side yard, she had a tall walnut tree,

and all over the ground were fallen nuts. She set the wire drum against the ground and rolled it back and forth. With a little pressure, the walnuts began to pop through the wires and collect inside the drum. A picker-upper, she said with satisfaction. A picker-upper, I exclaimed. She handed it back to me, and with very little haggling, we agreed on a price.

I'd found a few other things that day. A stained glass window that I was planning to put in my garden shed. A collection of matchbooks from restaurants that had closed decades ago. Salt and pepper shakers in the shape of windmills that must have been bought in a souvenir shop on someone's vacation. And a broad-brimmed Panama hat with a navy the navy blue band. It had been a busy day in the neighborhood, and I'd also gladly patronized the lemonade stand and helped move a piano from one house to another. that had taken several of us and a bit of engineering but the boy whose house it had gone into had been so excited

when we rolled it up into his front room I had since heard some enthusiastic plunking when I passed his house on walks, and hoped, as I think many of the neighbors did, that lessons would begin soon. At the end of that day, I'd come home with all my treasures and stuck my picker-upper in the umbrella stand and sort of forgotten about it. I was a collector. Some people are minimalist and thrive with more space than things. But I'd come to accept that I was the opposite. I liked treasures. Little dishes from the thrift store, candle holders and books of postcards, scarves and bobs, and I used as many of them as I could. I ate off my good china, brought my opera glasses to Shakespeare in the Park,

and decked the halls at Christmastime with a forest of vintage ceramic trees. So when a friend told me he had a yard full of pecan nuts and no quick way to harvest them, I leapt into service. I have just the thing for that, I said, eyeballing the roller by the door. I thought you might, he laughed. He promised me half the haul for my help, but I would have done it for nothing. I was just excited to play with my new toy. He lived out of town a bit, just past the big farm with the weather vane on its barn. In fact, his land backed up to theirs,

and sometimes their ducks would waddle over in the afternoons and need to be herded back before dark. It was still early in the new season. Only a few leaves of pecan gathering would warm me up enough to shed it. walked through his backyard, along pea gravel paths, stopping to admire his garden beds. He had lots of lavender, and I plucked a few stems to tuck behind my ear.

There were butterfly bushes, with flowers so heavy they tipped nearly upside down, and hibiscus plants that were practically trees. The path wove through a stand of trees and to a meadow with native grasses and a huge pecan tree at its center. There was a wheelbarrow ready for all the nuts we hoped to harvest and a couple pairs of gardening gloves waiting for us. I was hoping that picking up these pecans would be as easy as my neighbor had made it seem the day of the sale.

And it mostly was. I took the first turn, gripping the handle and rolling the drum over the ground. The pecans popped through the wires and rattled around together as I rolled it every few minutes I'd stop to empty the drum by easing the wires apart enough to let the contents pour out into the wheelbarrow.

Then they'd spring right back into place, and I'd roll the ground for more. I remembered that my grandfather had shown me once how to crack these nuts with just his hands. And I tried it, placing two pecans in my palm, snugly against one another, and wrapping my fingers over them, then used one hand to squeeze the other until I heard a pop of one shell cracking.

We ate a few like that in the field. Sure enough, after a few minutes, my sweater was hung over one of the barrel handles, and I was glad for the shade of the giant tree. While I worked the picker-upper, my friend was picking up fallen branches, snapping the smaller ones into kindling, and stacking larger ones to cut for firewood.

Soon it became apparent that we would have more than one wheelbarrow's worth of pecans. And we started to talk through what we'd do with all of them. I had a few books at home, of course I did, that gave advice on how to preserve things, how best to store things for the winter, and I promised to consult it and report back. I stopped to stretch and press my hands into my lower back and heard a hee-haw in the distance.

My friend gave a low laugh and said that it must be donkey o'clock when they showed up at the split- rail fence for a pet. We wandered over and saw three of them trotting toward us, braying and twitching their ears. I stepped over to meet them, plucking my gloves off finger by finger. They lined up and let me stroke their long noses and pet their soft ears. I asked my friend if he thought we could feed them the pecans, but he said we'd better not, that they mostly ate hay and grasses, and that he'd heard from the neighbor they got plenty of treats at home already. so we just stood in the autumn afternoon as they shifted around us

to get the best scratches and watched the sun begin to dip toward the horizon the pecan tree I'd been The pecan tree. I'd been walking past it for a few weeks, stuck in the umbrella stand at the front door, where I'd put it since I bought it at the neighborhood yard sale. In fact, when I first picked it up,

I didn't know what it was. A long long wooden handle whose dark green paint was beginning to flake off in places. And at one end, a wire drum held in place with a metal framework. I thought it must be some sort of tool.

It was as long as a rake. I'd picked it up and set the end of the handle in the grass and spun the drum and tried to look like I had the first clue of what this object was. The woman whose whatchamacallit I was handling lifted an eyebrow, watching me with one hand on her hip. A, um, well, clearly, it's for, I spun the wire bit again.

Well, you put the bingo balls in here, I said, and we both laughed. She took it from me and gestured for me to follow her. In her side yard, she had a tall walnut tree, and all over the ground were fallen nuts. She set the wire drum against the wires and collect inside the drum. A picker-upper, she said with satisfaction. A picker-upper, I exclaimed. She handed it back to me, and with very little haggling, we agreed on a price. I'd found a few other things that day. A stained glass window that I was planning to put in my garden shed.

A collection of matchbooks from restaurants that had closed decades ago. Salt and pepper shakers in the shape of windmills that must have been bought in a souvenir shop on someone's vacation. And a broad-brimmed Panama hat with a navy blue band. It had been a busy day in the neighborhood, and I'd also gladly patronized the lemonade stand and helped move a piano from one house to another.

That had taken several of us and a bit of engineering. But the boy whose house it had gone into had been so excited when we rolled it up into his front room. I'd since heard some enthusiastic plunking when I passed his house on walks and hoped, as I think many of the neighbors did,

that lessons would begin soon. At the end of that day, I'd come home with all my treasures and stuck my picker-upper in the umbrella stand and sort of forgotten about it. I was a collector. Some people are minimalists and thrive with more space than things. But I'd come to accept that I was the opposite. I liked treasures, little dishes from the thrift store,

candle holders and books of postcards scarves and belt buckles and teapots my house was full of whimsical bits and bobs and I used as many of them as I could I ate off my good china And I used as many of them as I could. I ate off my good china, brought my opera glasses to Shakespeare in the park, and decked the halls at Christmastime with a forest of vintage ceramic trees.

So, when a friend told me he had a yard full of pecan nuts, and no quick way to harvest them, I leapt into service. I have just the thing for that, I said eyeballing the roller by the door. I thought you might, he laughed. He promised me half the haul for my help, but I would have done it for nothing. I was just excited to play with my new toy. He lived out of town a bit, just past the big farm with a weather vane on its barn. In fact, his land backed up to theirs, and sometimes their ducks would waddle over in the afternoons and need to be herded back before dark.

It was still early in the season. Only a few leaves at the very tips of branches were turning red and orange. And while I showed up in a sweater, I had a feeling a few minutes of pecan harvesting would warm me up enough to shed it. We walked through his backyard, along pea gravel paths, stopping to admire his garden beds.

He had lots of lavender, and I plucked a few stems to tuck behind my ear. There were butterfly bushes with flowers so heavy they tipped nearly plants that were practically trees. The path wove through a stand of trees into a meadow with native grasses and a huge pecan tree at its center. There was a wheelbarrow ready for all the nuts we hoped to harvest, and a couple pairs of gardening gloves waiting for us. Hoping that picking up these pecans would be as easy as my neighbor had made it seem that day of the sale. And it mostly was. I took the first turn, gripping the handle and rolling the drum over the ground. The pecans popped through the wires and rattled around together as I rolled it.

Every few minutes, I'd stop to empty the drum by easing the wires apart enough to let the contents pour out into the wheelbarrow. Then they'd spring right back into place, and I'd roll the ground for more. I remembered that my grandfather had shown me once how to crack these nuts with just his hands. And I tried it, placing two pecans in my palm, snugly against one another, and wrapping my fingers over them. Then used one hand to squeeze the other, until I heard a pop of shell cracking. We ate a few like that in the field. Sure enough, after a few minutes, my sweater was hung over one of the barrel handles, and I was glad for the shade of the giant tree.

While I worked the picker-upper, my friend was picking up fallen branches, snapping the smaller ones into kindling, and stacking larger ones to cut for firewood. Soon, it became apparent that we would have more than one wheelbarrow's worth of pecans. And we started to talk about what we'd do with them. I had a few books at home. Of course I did. That gave advice on how to preserve things.

How best to store things for the winter, and I promised to consult it and report back. I stopped to stretch and press my hands into my lower back and heard a hee-haw in the distance. My friend gave a low laugh and said that it must be donkey o'clock. When they showed up at the split rail fence for a pet, we wandered over and saw three of them trotting toward us, braying and twitching their ears. I stepped over to meet them, plucking my gloves off finger by finger.

They lined up and let me stroke their long noses and pet their soft ears. I asked my friend if he thought we could feed them the pecans, but he said we'd better not, that they mostly ate hay and grasses, and he'd heard from the neighbor that they got plenty of treats at home already. So we just stood in the autumn afternoon already. So, we just stood in the autumn afternoon as they shifted around

to get the best scratches and watched the sun begin to dip toward the horizon. Sweet dreams.