Speaker 1: Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
Speaker 1: much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep.
Speaker 1: I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
Speaker 1: you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
Speaker 1: available wherever books are sold. In a few weeks, we'll
Speaker 1: be launching a special version of the show. It costs
Speaker 1: a few dollars a month and gives you access to
Speaker 1: add free versions of my stories, as well as bonus
Speaker 1: stories that won't be available anywhere else. I'll be telling
Speaker 1: you more about it soon. It would make a fantastic
Speaker 1: Mother's Day gift. So please follow Nothing Much Happens on Instagram,
Speaker 1: Facebook or Twitter to stay in the loop. Now I
Speaker 1: have a story to tell you. When the story is
Speaker 1: a place to rest your mind, especially at night, our
Speaker 1: minds can feel so busy and overloaded, like an overwhound clock.
Speaker 1: Just by following along with my voice and the general
Speaker 1: shape of the story, your mind can passively unwind, and
Speaker 1: soon you'll be ticking along at your own natural pace,
Speaker 1: sleeping deeply and waking up feeling rested and relaxed. I'll
Speaker 1: tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower
Speaker 1: on the second read through. If you wake in the
Speaker 1: middle of the night and feel your mind winding back up,
Speaker 1: you could listen again or just think your way through
Speaker 1: any part of the story you remember, or even any
Speaker 1: soothing memory. It will shift networks in your brain and
Speaker 1: help you to drop right back off this. Like most
Speaker 1: anything gets better with practice, so be patient if you
Speaker 1: are new to it. Now it's time to turn off
Speaker 1: the light and put away anything you are looking at.
Speaker 1: Settle into your favorite sleeping position, and feel how good
Speaker 1: it is just to be safe and quiet in bed.
Speaker 1: You have done enough for to day. It's time to rest.
Speaker 1: Take a deep breath in through your nose, sigh it
Speaker 1: out through your mouth, nice again, in and out. Good.
Speaker 1: Our story tonight is called the Tulip Farm, and it's
Speaker 1: a story about a bright spring day among beds of flowers.
Speaker 1: It's also about a gift left at dawn, red winged blackbirds,
Speaker 1: and soft moments that take your breath away. The Tulip
Speaker 1: Farm out past the apple orchards and cider mills, where
Speaker 1: we went to get lost in corn mazes and buy
Speaker 1: paper bags of fresh hot doughnuts in the crisp days
Speaker 1: of autumn. Was a tulip farm. It was something I'd
Speaker 1: driven past a hundred times without realizing what it was.
Speaker 1: Then today I'd seen a hand painted sign of a
Speaker 1: red tulip on a yellow background, with an arrow pointing
Speaker 1: the way. The sign said they were open to the
Speaker 1: public and folks were welcome to come and pick their own.
Speaker 1: The tulip had reminded me suddenly of a day a
Speaker 1: dozen years before. It had been the first day of May,
Speaker 1: and I'd opened my front door to find a simple
Speaker 1: wicker basket hanging from the outside knob. It was overflowing
Speaker 1: with bright red tulips and foil wrapped sweets, and tiny
Speaker 1: delicate stems of lilies of the valley. I remember lifting
Speaker 1: the basket right up to my face to smell the
Speaker 1: good sweet scent of the flowers, then wondering how and
Speaker 1: why they'd been picked for me. It had taken me
Speaker 1: a day to unwind the mystery. I'd carried everything back
Speaker 1: inside and rooted through my cabinets for a bunch of
Speaker 1: tiny jars and bud vases. I put each flower in
Speaker 1: its own container to make them go as far as possible,
Speaker 1: then spread them out through the house on window sills
Speaker 1: and side tables, and a teeny ledge in the hall
Speaker 1: that seemed to have been built just for this. I
Speaker 1: went back to the basket and carefully gathered all the
Speaker 1: candies and slid them into my jacket pocket, then stepped
Speaker 1: back out of the front door and off down the street.
Speaker 1: I don't remember now where I'd been going. Maybe I
Speaker 1: had a class to take or a shift to work
Speaker 1: at the Delhi downtown. But along the way, every now
Speaker 1: and then i'd slip a candy from my pocket, unwrap it,
Speaker 1: and drop it into my mouth. There were some wrapped
Speaker 1: to look like strawberries, and I remembered that my grandmother
Speaker 1: had always had the same ones on a shelf in
Speaker 1: her sitting room. I'd laughed when I'd tasted the familiar flavor,
Speaker 1: remembering sneaking into that room to peruse the little collection
Speaker 1: of sweets and cut glass jars. It was the kind
Speaker 1: of sitting room no one actually sat in, and that
Speaker 1: meant there were always interesting things to find in the
Speaker 1: drawers and cupboards. I used to take a few candies
Speaker 1: from the jars, pull down a heavy book with pictures
Speaker 1: of butterflies and birds and animals from all over the world,
Speaker 1: and tuck myself into the space behind the couch to
Speaker 1: slowly turn the pages until the suites ran out. Wherever
Speaker 1: I'd been off to that day, I must have run
Speaker 1: into friends, and soon found out I wasn't the only
Speaker 1: one to have been visited by the spring ferry. Overnight.
Speaker 1: Three or four of us had found baskets, all with
Speaker 1: flowers and candy, and we'd spent some time on a
Speaker 1: park bench in the sunshine trying to guess who our
Speaker 1: benefactor was. Finally, we'd spotted another friend coming toward us
Speaker 1: down the path, and we'd called out, asking if she'd
Speaker 1: found a surprise on her doorstep. No, she shrugged, I
Speaker 1: was busy leaving them for all of you. May Day,
Speaker 1: she told us, was sometimes celebrated this way with gifts
Speaker 1: of spring flowers and candies or baked goods. Thinking back
Speaker 1: on that May Day, the kindness of a gift given
Speaker 1: when no one was looking, and the memories that the
Speaker 1: sweets had brought back, made me turn into the gravel
Speaker 1: lot at the Tulip farm. Stepping out of my car,
Speaker 1: I was greeted by the lilting call of the song sparrow,
Speaker 1: a bird whose return, along with that of the red
Speaker 1: winged blackbird and the orange breasted housefinch, marked the arrival
Speaker 1: of spring. The sky was a soft, pale blue, with
Speaker 1: a few feathery clouds shifting in the breeze. Tulips don't
Speaker 1: have a strong smell. They aren't like those lilies of
Speaker 1: the valley or hyacinth that smells so powerfully like sweet
Speaker 1: water and greenery. But still there was a light scent
Speaker 1: in the air, like citrus and honey and cut grass.
Speaker 1: I followed a dirt trail toward the fields, glad I'd
Speaker 1: worn sturdy shoes instead of flip flops, and as it
Speaker 1: turned to pass behind a barn, the tulip fields came
Speaker 1: into view. I thought I'd been ready for that, but
Speaker 1: I wasn't. Actual goose bumps stood out on my arms,
Speaker 1: and I stopped stock still to give all my attention
Speaker 1: to what I was seeing. Stretching out for acres in
Speaker 1: front of me in broad flat even rectangles were bright
Speaker 1: patches in fifty colors, or more like a panoramic picture.
Speaker 1: I turned my head to see the farthest feel to
Speaker 1: the left, and slowly scared and all the way to
Speaker 1: the right, and marveled that tulips could come in so
Speaker 1: many shades. When I had had my fill of looking
Speaker 1: and began to walk again, I spotted a man in
Speaker 1: dusty overalls with a broad brimmed hat. He waved me over,
Speaker 1: and as I got closer, he said, I like watching
Speaker 1: people's faces as they first see the fields. Have you
Speaker 1: been here before? I told him I hadn't, and felt
Speaker 1: lucky to be. He fitted me out with a pair
Speaker 1: of gloves, some small garden shears, and a long, deep
Speaker 1: basket I could carry over one arm. He gave me
Speaker 1: a folded paper map with the names of the different
Speaker 1: varieties of flowers and their locations, then sent me off
Speaker 1: to gather as many. As I was inclined to cut,
Speaker 1: I thought I might just wander and be led by
Speaker 1: my eyes and instincts. But looking at the card, I
Speaker 1: found some of the names so intriguing that I decided
Speaker 1: to aim for some specific plots. Some were classic in
Speaker 1: shape and color, called things like Christmas Marvel or Ruby
Speaker 1: Red or Diana. Others were streaked with color in bold
Speaker 1: lines that looked like brush strokes. There were Rembrandts and
Speaker 1: Davenports and marylands. Some had double blossoms, or fringed petals,
Speaker 1: or very thin veins of color that you could only
Speaker 1: see when you leaned down close into my basket, when
Speaker 1: stems of the Queen of Night, Golden Apple Door, and Dreamland.
Speaker 1: I picked enough for a few May Day baskets and
Speaker 1: to fill my own vase at home. Before I walked
Speaker 1: back to the barn to pay for my flowers and
Speaker 1: turn over my tools, I stopped and sat at a
Speaker 1: bench under a tall sycamore tree whose leaves were just
Speaker 1: budding out, so that the branches looked coated in a
Speaker 1: light green haze. I thought of the baskets I would
Speaker 1: put together with my tulips, of stopping at the candy
Speaker 1: store across from the movie theater and filling a bag
Speaker 1: with sweet pinwheels and tart lemon drops and strawberry bonbons.
Speaker 1: I'd sneak out early tomorrow morning and leave them at
Speaker 1: a few front doors. I thought that there faces in
Speaker 1: finding them might look something like mine did when I'd
Speaker 1: first seen the tulip fields surprise its spring, the tulip
Speaker 1: farm out past the apple orchards and cider mills where
Speaker 1: we went to get lost in corn mazes and by
Speaker 1: bags full of fresh hot doughnuts in the crisp days
Speaker 1: of autumn. Was a tulip farm. It was something I'd
Speaker 1: driven past a hundred times without realizing what it was.
Speaker 1: Then to day, I'd seen a hand painted sign of
Speaker 1: a red tulip on a yellow background, with an arrow
Speaker 1: pointing the way. The sign said they were open to
Speaker 1: the public and folks were welcome to come and pick
Speaker 1: their own. A tulip had reminded me suddenly of a
Speaker 1: day a dozen years before. It had been the first
Speaker 1: day of May, and I'd opened my front door to
Speaker 1: find a simple wicker basket hanging from the outside knob.
Speaker 1: It was overflowing with bright red tulips and foil wrapped sweets,
Speaker 1: and tiny delicate stems of lilies of the valley. I
Speaker 1: remember lifting the basket right up to my face to
Speaker 1: smell the good, sweet scent of the flowers, then wondering
Speaker 1: how and why they'd been picked for me. It had
Speaker 1: taken me a day to unwind the mystery. I'd carried
Speaker 1: everything back inside and rooted through my cabinets for a
Speaker 1: bunch of tiny jars and bud faces. I put each
Speaker 1: flower in its own container to make them go as
Speaker 1: far as possible, then spread them out through the house
Speaker 1: on window sills and side tables, and a teeny ledge
Speaker 1: in the hall that seemed to have been built just
Speaker 1: for this. I went back to the basket and carefully
Speaker 1: gathered all the candies and slid them into my jacket pocket,
Speaker 1: then stepped back out of the front door and off
Speaker 1: down the street. I don't remember now where I'd been going.
Speaker 1: Maybe I had a class to take or a shift
Speaker 1: to work at the Delhi downtown. But along the way,
Speaker 1: every now and then i'd slip a candy from my pocket,
Speaker 1: unwrap it, and drop it into my mouth. There were
Speaker 1: some wrapped to look like strawberries, and I'd remembered that
Speaker 1: my grandmother had always had the same ones on a
Speaker 1: shelf in her sitting room. I'd laughed when I'd taste it,
Speaker 1: the familiar flavor, remembering sneaking into that room to peruse
Speaker 1: the little collection of sweets and cut glass jars. It
Speaker 1: was the kind of sitting room no one actually sat in,
Speaker 1: and that meant there were always interesting things to find
Speaker 1: in the drawers and cupboards. I used to take a
Speaker 1: few candies from the jars, pull down a heavy book
Speaker 1: with pictures of butterflies and birds and animals from all
Speaker 1: over the world, and tuck myself into the space behind
Speaker 1: the couch to slow fully turned the pages until the
Speaker 1: suites ran out. Wherever I'd been off to that day,
Speaker 1: I must have run into friends, and soon found out
Speaker 1: I wasn't the only one to have been visited by
Speaker 1: the spring Fairy. Overnight, three or four of us had
Speaker 1: found baskets all with flowers and candy, and we'd spent
Speaker 1: some time on a park bench in the sunshine trying
Speaker 1: to guess who our benefactor was. Finally, we'd spotted another
Speaker 1: friend coming toward us, and we'd called out, asking if
Speaker 1: she'd found a surprise on her doorstep. No, she shrugged,
Speaker 1: I was busy leaving them for all of you. May Day,
Speaker 1: she told us, was sometimes celebrated this way with gifts
Speaker 1: of spring flowers and candies or baked goods. Thinking back
Speaker 1: on that May Day, the kindness of a gift given
Speaker 1: when no one was looking, and the memories that the
Speaker 1: sweets had brought back, had made me turn into the
Speaker 1: gravel lot with the tulip farm. Stepping out of my car,
Speaker 1: I was greeted by the lilting call of the song sparrow,
Speaker 1: a bird whose return, along with that of the red
Speaker 1: winged blackbird and the orange breasted housefinch, marked the arrival
Speaker 1: of spring. The sky was a soft, pale blue, with
Speaker 1: a few feathery clouds shifting in the breeze. Tulips don't
Speaker 1: have a strong smell. They aren't like those lilies of
Speaker 1: the valley or hyacinth that smell so powerfully like sweet
Speaker 1: water and greenery. But still there was a light scent
Speaker 1: in the air, like citrus and honey and cut grass.
Speaker 1: I followed a dirt trail toward the fields, glad I'd
Speaker 1: worn sturdy shoes instead of flip flops, and as it
Speaker 1: turned to pass behind a barn, the tulip fields came
Speaker 1: into view. I thought I'd been ready for that. I wasn't.
Speaker 1: Actual goose bumps stood out on my arms, and I
Speaker 1: stopped stock still to give all my attention to what
Speaker 1: I was seeing. Stretching out for acres in front of
Speaker 1: me in broad, flat, even rectangles were bright patches in
Speaker 1: fifty colors, or more like a panoramic picture. I turned
Speaker 1: my head to see the farthest field to the left,
Speaker 1: then slowly scann'd all the way to the right and
Speaker 1: marveled that tulips could come in so many shades. When
Speaker 1: I'd had my fill of looking and began to walk again,
Speaker 1: I spotted a man in dusty overalls with a broad
Speaker 1: brimmed hat. He waved me over, and as I got closer,
Speaker 1: he said, I like watching people's faces as they first
Speaker 1: see the fields. Have you been here before? I told
Speaker 1: him that I hadn't, and felt lucky to be. He
Speaker 1: fitted me out with a pair of gloves, some small
Speaker 1: garden shears, and a long, deep basket I could carry
Speaker 1: over one arm. He gave me a folded paper map
Speaker 1: with the names of the different varieties of flowers and
Speaker 1: our locations, then sent me off to gather as many
Speaker 1: as I was inclined to cut. My thought I might
Speaker 1: just wander and be led by my eyes and instincts.
Speaker 1: But looking at the map I found some of the
Speaker 1: names so intriguing that I decided to aim for some
Speaker 1: specific spots. Some tulips were classic in shape i'm color
Speaker 1: called things like Christmas, Marvel, or Ruby read or Diana.
Speaker 1: Others were streaked with color in bold lines that looked
Speaker 1: like brush strokes. There were Rembrandts and Davenports and Maryland's.
Speaker 1: Some had double blossoms, or fringed petals, or very thin
Speaker 1: veins of color that you could only see when you
Speaker 1: leaned down close into my basket, when stems of the
Speaker 1: Queen of Night, Golden Apple, dorm and Dreamland. I picked
Speaker 1: enough for a few May Day baskets and to fill
Speaker 1: my own vase at home. Before I walked back to
Speaker 1: the barn to pay for my flowers and turn over
Speaker 1: my tools, I stopped and sat on a bench under
Speaker 1: a tall sycamore tree whose leaves were just budding out,
Speaker 1: so that the branches looked coated in a light green haze.
Speaker 1: I thought of the baskets I would put together with
Speaker 1: my tulips, of stopping at the candy store across from
Speaker 1: the movie theater and filling a bag with sweet pinwheels
Speaker 1: and tart lemon drops and strawberry bond bonds. I'd sneak
Speaker 1: out early tomorrow morning and leave them at a few
Speaker 1: front doors. I thought that there faces in finding them
Speaker 1: might look something like mine dead when I'd first seen
Speaker 1: the tulip fields. Surprise, its sprays, sweet dreams,