Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime Stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
Speaker 1: You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nikolay.
Speaker 1: I write and read all the stories you hear and
Speaker 1: nothing much happens. With audio engineering by Bob Wittterersheim. We
Speaker 1: give to a different charity each week, and this week
Speaker 1: we are giving to the National Audubon Society. We protect
Speaker 1: birds and the places they need. At Audubon dot org.
Speaker 1: You can now subscribe to our ad free feed rate
Speaker 1: on the Apple podcast app, and you can learn more
Speaker 1: at Nothing Much Happens dot com. Let me say a
Speaker 1: bit about how this podcast works. Just as your body
Speaker 1: needs a bed to sleep in, your mind needs a
Speaker 1: place to rest, someplace calm and safe and simple. And
Speaker 1: that's what the story is. A place to rest your mind.
Speaker 1: I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a bit
Speaker 1: slower the second time through. As you listen, pull the
Speaker 1: details of the story around you like a blanket, imagine
Speaker 1: yourself in the story, and before you know it, likely
Speaker 1: long before I finish reading, you'll be deeply and peacefully asleep.
Speaker 1: If you wake again in the middle of the night,
Speaker 1: don't hesitate to turn the story right back on. It'll
Speaker 1: put your mind right back in to its nest, and
Speaker 1: soon you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling relaxed and refreshed.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to settle in. Set yourself up for sleep.
Speaker 1: Turn off the light, set aside anything you've been looking
Speaker 1: at or working on, Adjust your pillows and comforter until
Speaker 1: you feel completely at ease. You are about to fall asleep,
Speaker 1: and you will sleep deeply all night. Take a deep
Speaker 1: breath in through your nose and sigh through your mouth again.
Speaker 1: Breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called
Speaker 1: stone fruit, and it's a story about a sweet part
Speaker 1: of the summer season. It's also about how many pecks
Speaker 1: make up a bushel lovely silly kid logic, apple blossoms
Speaker 1: and vanilla on picking the very best peach with your
Speaker 1: own two hands stone fruit. When I first heard the
Speaker 1: term stone fruit as a child, I imagine something like
Speaker 1: a mud pie, something that played at being food for
Speaker 1: the sake of a tea party held on the lawn
Speaker 1: or inside a blanket tent in the living room on
Speaker 1: a rainy day. I think I must have even imagined
Speaker 1: apples or bananas made of carved stone and I'd liked
Speaker 1: thinking that even adults needed play food, though it was
Speaker 1: rather boring of them to make that food fruit. That
Speaker 1: bit of kid logic persisted until I was in my teens,
Speaker 1: when I heard the term again on a cooking shell.
Speaker 1: The chef on the screen was making peach preserves and
Speaker 1: mentioned that most other kinds of stone fruit would work
Speaker 1: as well. Thinking back, I imagine a question mark appearing
Speaker 1: above my head in that moment. What and I'd gone
Speaker 1: to ask my mother, who laughed not unkindly and explained
Speaker 1: that stone fruit was a fruit with a pit or
Speaker 1: a stone at its center, like a plum or a cherry,
Speaker 1: or as on my cooking show, a peach. Ah Well,
Speaker 1: I guessed stone fruit was a better choice than pit fruit.
Speaker 1: Over the years, the term had become a part of
Speaker 1: my own vocabulary. I found I just liked the way
Speaker 1: it sounded and the inside joke I had with my
Speaker 1: younger self about it, and maybe that as what has
Speaker 1: led me to become a lover of nectarines and cherries,
Speaker 1: apricots and plums and all the lovely things that can
Speaker 1: be made from them. There was an orchard outside of
Speaker 1: town that had rows and rows of fruit trees. I'd
Speaker 1: drive down their dirt road couple times a week during
Speaker 1: this part of the summer, slowing down to read the
Speaker 1: signs propped along their split rail fence showing what was
Speaker 1: ripe and ready. And finally, this week the signs for
Speaker 1: peaches and nectarines had come out, and I'd excitedly turned
Speaker 1: down the long drive to their lot. Apple trees grew
Speaker 1: along either side of the drive, and in the spring,
Speaker 1: when their branches were full of white petals, I'd made
Speaker 1: the same drive more than once. There'd been nothing to
Speaker 1: pick or buy. Then I hoped the orchard owners hadn't
Speaker 1: minded my little car turning around in their parking lot,
Speaker 1: but I just hadn't been able to help myself. One
Speaker 1: particular spring day, the wind had been blowing and the
Speaker 1: petals were raining down like soft snowflakes, and I'd wanted
Speaker 1: to be right in the middle of it, to be
Speaker 1: doused in a flood of them, and I had to day.
Speaker 1: Apples were growing on those branches, still small, about the
Speaker 1: size of golf balls, and the pale green of a
Speaker 1: cabbage leaf. I thought of the autumn, a few months
Speaker 1: off but coming, with cooler air and apple picking and
Speaker 1: leaves crunching under foot. It is a very good thing
Speaker 1: to enjoy where you are and at the same time
Speaker 1: hold a spark of excitement for what is waiting down
Speaker 1: the road. And right now, wading down the road were
Speaker 1: stone fruits. The lot was busy with others who had
Speaker 1: seen the signs out front, and I found one of
Speaker 1: the last spots to park my car. As soon as
Speaker 1: I stepped out, I could smell the rich scent of peaches.
Speaker 1: The air was full of it. I just breathed it
Speaker 1: in for a bit sweet and a little acidic, rich
Speaker 1: like nectar, and somehow smelling juicy. I'd read somewhere about
Speaker 1: a study that had been conducted to see if people
Speaker 1: all over the world could agree and whether as scent
Speaker 1: was pleasant or not, and that there were two that
Speaker 1: seemed to appeal to humans, no matter their culture or geography.
Speaker 1: They were vanilla and peach. That made me think of
Speaker 1: grilled peaches with vanilla been ice cream, and my steps
Speaker 1: quickened across the parking lot. I started in their shop,
Speaker 1: which was cool and shady after being in the bright sun.
Speaker 1: They had baskets and baskets of fresh picked peaches lining
Speaker 1: the counter. Eight quarts made a pack. Four pecks made
Speaker 1: a bushel, all of which were available and looked fresh
Speaker 1: and unbruised. There were also dark purple plums with shimmering
Speaker 1: frosty skin, small orange apricots, and a few early cherries.
Speaker 1: They made their own jambs and preserves, and the jars
Speaker 1: were lined up in neat rows on their shelves, all
Speaker 1: the labels facing in the same direction. Ah, to pick
Speaker 1: or not to pick? That was my question? Whether tis
Speaker 1: nobler in the heat of summer to suffer the slings
Speaker 1: and arrows of possible sunburn, or to take up a
Speaker 1: basket of ready fruit and by buying them eat them sooner?
Speaker 1: Oh my, possibly the peach fumes or making me very silly.
Speaker 1: And I decided a few minutes of hard work in
Speaker 1: the fresh air might do me good. I decided to
Speaker 1: pick my own, and took an empty bushel basket from
Speaker 1: a stack beside the door, and headed out toward the trees.
Speaker 1: I'd learned over the years that picking fruit at the
Speaker 1: right time was essential. If it didn't get enough time
Speaker 1: on the tree, the sugars wouldn't develop, the fruit would
Speaker 1: be hour or tasteless. If, on the other hand, it
Speaker 1: stayed too long, the sugars would increase till the tartness
Speaker 1: was lost, and that freshness that came from the perfect
Speaker 1: balance of sweet and tart would be replaced with a
Speaker 1: sort of flat, unappetizing flavor. The best way to know
Speaker 1: when to pick, especially for someone like me who wasn't
Speaker 1: a fruit farmer, was just a taste. And see now,
Speaker 1: the farmers here knew what they were about, and when
Speaker 1: they set out the signs of the road, I trusted them.
Speaker 1: But they also kindly let you eat from any tree
Speaker 1: you passed to be sure about the bushel you were
Speaker 1: about to pick. I let my nose guide me as
Speaker 1: I wandered through the grove with my basket. I came
Speaker 1: to a tree where the scent was strong. When arresting,
Speaker 1: the fruit's skin was a warm, sunny yellow with a
Speaker 1: line of blush pink. I reached up for a peach,
Speaker 1: took it gently, and twisted. It came away easily, another
Speaker 1: sign that it was ready to eat. I sat down
Speaker 1: in the shade of the tree and savored every bite
Speaker 1: of this first peach of the season. I would fill
Speaker 1: my basket carefully, not stacking them too high lest they
Speaker 1: squish the ones at the bottom, then caught them home.
Speaker 1: There would be enough to make a crumble or a cobbler,
Speaker 1: to have sliced on my pancakes, grilled with my ice cream,
Speaker 1: and still more to eat, just like this, fresh and simple,
Speaker 1: till all I was left with were the stones stone fruit.
Speaker 1: When I first heard the term stone fruit as a child,
Speaker 1: I imagined something like a mud pie, something that played
Speaker 1: at being food for the sake of a tea party
Speaker 1: held on the lawn or inside a blanket tent in
Speaker 1: the living room on a rainy day. I think I
Speaker 1: must have even imagined apples or bananas made of carved stone,
Speaker 1: and I'd liked thinking, but even adults needed play food,
Speaker 1: though it was rather boring of them to make that
Speaker 1: food fruit. That bit of kid logic persisted until I
Speaker 1: was in my teens, when I heard the term again
Speaker 1: on a cooking show. The chef on the screen was
Speaker 1: making peach preserves and mentioned that most other kinds of
Speaker 1: stone fruit would work as well. Thinking back, I imagine a
Speaker 1: question mark appearing above my head in that moment. What
Speaker 1: And I'd gone to ask my mother, who had laughed
Speaker 1: not unkindly and explained that stone fruit was a fruit
Speaker 1: with a pit or a stone at its center, like
Speaker 1: a plum or a cherry, or as on my cooking show,
Speaker 1: a peach. Ah, my guest, stone fruit was a better
Speaker 1: choice than pit fruit. Over the years, the term had
Speaker 1: become a part of my own vocabulary. I found I
Speaker 1: just liked the way it sounded and the inside joke
Speaker 1: I had with my younger self about it, and maybe
Speaker 1: that is what has led me to become a lover
Speaker 1: of nectarines and cherries, apricots and plums and all the
Speaker 1: lovely things that can be made from them. There was
Speaker 1: an orchard outside of town that had rows and rows
Speaker 1: of fruit trees. I'd drive down their dirt road a
Speaker 1: couple times a week during this part of the summer,
Speaker 1: slowing down to read the signs propped along their split
Speaker 1: rail fence showing what was ripe and ready. Finally, this week,
Speaker 1: the signs for peaches and nectarines had come out, and
Speaker 1: I'd excitedly turned down the long drive to their lot.
Speaker 1: Apple trees grew along either side of the drive, and
Speaker 1: in the spring, when their branches were full of white petals,
Speaker 1: I'd made the same drive more than once. There'd been
Speaker 1: nothing to pick or buy then, and I hoped the
Speaker 1: orchard owners hadn't minded my little car turning around in
Speaker 1: their parking lot, But I just hadn't been able to
Speaker 1: help myself. One particular spring day, the wind had been
Speaker 1: blowing and the petals were raining down like soft snowflakes,
Speaker 1: and I'd wanted to be right in the middle of it,
Speaker 1: to be doused in a flood of them than I
Speaker 1: had today, Apples were growing on those branches, still small,
Speaker 1: about the size of golf balls, and the pale green
Speaker 1: of a cabbage leaf. I thought of the autumn a
Speaker 1: few months off, but coming with cooler air and apple
Speaker 1: picking and leaves lunching underfoot. It is a very good
Speaker 1: thing to enjoy where you are and at the same
Speaker 1: time hold a spark of excitement for what is waiting
Speaker 1: down the road. And right now, waiting down the road
Speaker 1: were stone fruits. The lot was busy with others who
Speaker 1: had seen the signs out front, and I found one
Speaker 1: of the last spots to park my car. As soon
Speaker 1: as I stepped out, I could smell the rich scent
Speaker 1: of peach. The air was full of it. I just
Speaker 1: breathed it in for a bit, sweet and a little
Speaker 1: acidic rich like nectar, and somehow smelling juicy. I'd read
Speaker 1: somewhere about a study that had been conducted to see
Speaker 1: if people all over the world could agree on whether
Speaker 1: a scent was pleasant or not, and that there were
Speaker 1: two that seemed to appeal to humans, no matter their
Speaker 1: culture or geography. They were vanilla and peach. That made
Speaker 1: me think of grilled peaches with vanilla bean ice cream,
Speaker 1: and my steps quickened across the parking lot. I started
Speaker 1: in their shop, which was cool and shady after being
Speaker 1: in the bright sun. They had baskets and baskets afresh
Speaker 1: picked peaches lining the counter. Eight quarts made a pack,
Speaker 1: Four packs made a bushel, all of which were available
Speaker 1: fresh when unbruised. There were also dark purple plums with
Speaker 1: shimmering frosty skin, small orange apricots, and a few early cherries.
Speaker 1: They made their own jams and preserves. When the jars
Speaker 1: were lined up in neat rows on their shelves, all
Speaker 1: their labels facing in the same direction. Ah to pick
Speaker 1: or not to pick? That was my question. Whether tis
Speaker 1: nobler and the heat of summer to suffer the slings
Speaker 1: and arrows of possible sunburn or to take up a
Speaker 1: basket of ready fruit, and by buying them, eat them sooner.
Speaker 1: Oh my, possibly the peach fumes were making me very silly.
Speaker 1: When I decided a few minutes of hard work in
Speaker 1: the fresh air might do me good. I decided to
Speaker 1: pick my own and took an empty bushel basket from
Speaker 1: a stack beside the door and had it out toward
Speaker 1: the trees. I'd learned over the years that picking fruit
Speaker 1: at the right time was essential. If it didn't get
Speaker 1: enough time on the tree, the sugars wouldn't develop, the
Speaker 1: fruit would be sour or tasteless. If, on the other hand,
Speaker 1: it stayed too long, the sugars would increase till the
Speaker 1: tartness was lost, and the freshness that came from the
Speaker 1: perfect balance of sweet and tart would be replaced with
Speaker 1: a sort of flat, on appetizing flavor. The best way
Speaker 1: to know when to pick, especially for someone like me
Speaker 1: who wasn't a fruit farmer, was just to taste and see. Now,
Speaker 1: the farmers here knew what they were about when when
Speaker 1: they set out their signs at the road. I trusted them,
Speaker 1: But they also kindly let you eat from any tree
Speaker 1: you passed to be sure about the bushel you were
Speaker 1: about to pick. I let my nose guide me as
Speaker 1: I wandered through the grove with my basket. I came
Speaker 1: to a tree where the scent was strong and a resting.
Speaker 1: The fruit's skin was a warm, sunny yellow with a
Speaker 1: line of blush pink. I reached up a peach, took
Speaker 1: it gently, and twisted. It came away easily, another sign
Speaker 1: that it was ready to eat. I sat down in
Speaker 1: the shade of the tree and savored every bite of
Speaker 1: this first peach of the season. I would fill my
Speaker 1: basket carefully, not stacking them too high lest they squish
Speaker 1: the ones at the bottom, then cart them home. There
Speaker 1: would be enough to make a crumble or cobbler, to
Speaker 1: have sliced on my pancakes, rilled with my ice cream,
Speaker 1: and still more to eat, just like this, fresh and
Speaker 1: simple till all I was left with were the stones.
Speaker 1: Sweet dreams,