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 with audio engineering by
Speaker 1: Bob Wittersheim. We have some lovely new merch in our
Speaker 1: store stickers and hoodies, long sleeve shirts and teas. Think
Speaker 1: of it as a small way to carry the village
Speaker 1: of Nothing Much with you wherever you go. Take a look,
Speaker 1: and as always, you can get our bonus and add
Speaker 1: free episodes through Nothing Much Happens dot Com. Now, since
Speaker 1: every story is someone's first, let me say a bit
Speaker 1: about how to use this podcast. I have a simple
Speaker 1: story to tell you to help you relax and drift
Speaker 1: off to sleep. Not much happens in it, and that
Speaker 1: sort of the idea. It's a place to rest your
Speaker 1: mind and anchor to keep your ship in place till morning.
Speaker 1: I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little
Speaker 1: bit slower the second time through. If you find yourself
Speaker 1: still awake at the end of the second telling, don't worry.
Speaker 1: Sometimes that's how it goes. Relax, walk yourself back through
Speaker 1: whatever bits of the story you can remember, lean into them,
Speaker 1: and before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow
Speaker 1: feeling refreshed and calm. This is a kind of brain training.
Speaker 1: Sleep will come more quickly and with more ease as
Speaker 1: you practice, so I have patience. If you're new to this.
Speaker 1: Now it's time to settle in. Turn off your light,
Speaker 1: put down all of your devices. You've looked at a
Speaker 1: screen for the last time today. Stretch deep into your sheets,
Speaker 1: and settle yourself into your favorite sleeping position. I'll be
Speaker 1: here guarding over you with my voice while you rest,
Speaker 1: so you can let go. It's okay. Take a slow
Speaker 1: breath in through your nose and sigh out through your mouth. Nice.
Speaker 1: Let's do that again. Breathe in and out. Good. Our
Speaker 1: story tonight is called the Pumpkin Farmer, and it's a
Speaker 1: story about a family tradition and the harvest that comes
Speaker 1: after a season of careful tending. It's also about a
Speaker 1: long table set out beside the barn, with every chair taken,
Speaker 1: a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and living
Speaker 1: in step with the seasons. The pumpkin Farmer. It could
Speaker 1: be a hobby to grow a garden full of vegetables
Speaker 1: and flowers. It could be a casual pastime, something you
Speaker 1: tend to when you can spare a few minutes after
Speaker 1: dinner and a bit of time on a Saturday morning.
Speaker 1: Maybe the rose aren't straight, and the marigolds get eaten
Speaker 1: by aphids half way through the season, and you forget
Speaker 1: to pick the summer squash when they ripen, and that's fine.
Speaker 1: The deer will happily eat them. And as I say,
Speaker 1: it can be a hobby. But if you are going
Speaker 1: to grow really excellent, abundant, and in particular large vegetables,
Speaker 1: well it needs to be a passion. And for our
Speaker 1: family it had been just that for a few generations.
Speaker 1: We are known all over the county for our mammoth
Speaker 1: one hundred pound cabbages, our foot long colossal carrots, and
Speaker 1: in particular our beautiful giant pumpkins. Learning to grow vegetables
Speaker 1: like that doesn't happen overnight or even in a single season.
Speaker 1: Since my grandparents started telling the soil, we've been fussily
Speaker 1: picking out the best seeds to keep and perfecting our compost.
Speaker 1: As a kid, i'd walk the rose with them, squatting
Speaker 1: down to press a finger into the soil, learning to
Speaker 1: feel for the right amount of moisture. Giant vegetables want
Speaker 1: quite a good bit of water. Too little, and the
Speaker 1: anguish and split, and as they grow you must thin
Speaker 1: the rose to keep only the very best plants. Pumpkins
Speaker 1: like a bit of extra potassium and phosphorus, so we
Speaker 1: are careful with what we feed them. And listen. This
Speaker 1: is my own addition to the recipe. They like to
Speaker 1: be talked to, they like to be kept company, and
Speaker 1: the pumpkins might have been feeling a bit lonely lately,
Speaker 1: as most of the rest of the garden had been
Speaker 1: pulled down until back into the soil. We had a
Speaker 1: good harvest of tomatoes, some as Higgot's lopsided bowling balls,
Speaker 1: and we'd had success with a variety of cauliflower from
Speaker 1: seeds we'd traded with our local growing club that had
Speaker 1: needed three people and a wheelbarrow to get out of
Speaker 1: the dirt. One of our onions had gotten to be
Speaker 1: nearly three feet long, and my father had carried it
Speaker 1: lovingly around in his arms like a baby for a
Speaker 1: whole day. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd named it
Speaker 1: leave it to an onion to make a person weepy.
Speaker 1: So the pumpkin patch was the last bit of growing
Speaker 1: vege in the garden for the year. It was a
Speaker 1: green and orange island in the large black brown field.
Speaker 1: We had a week left until the fall fare out
Speaker 1: by the orchards, when our prize veg would be measured
Speaker 1: and weighed, so I spent a fair amount of time
Speaker 1: with the pumpkins these days. We'd had rain the night before,
Speaker 1: and I pulled on my tall yellow rain boots by
Speaker 1: the back door, along with the oversized flannel shirt I
Speaker 1: wore like a jacket. When the air was cool, I
Speaker 1: rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and headed out
Speaker 1: to the garden. The rain had brought down some leaves
Speaker 1: from the chestnut tree by the barn. We'd rake them
Speaker 1: up later and layer them into the compost bile. So
Speaker 1: much of what grew and lived on this stretch of
Speaker 1: land could be used to help more grow and live.
Speaker 1: When we worked like that with the plants and trees
Speaker 1: and soil, when there were very few things wasted, it
Speaker 1: felt like we were living hand in hand with the land,
Speaker 1: like we were in lock step with nature, understanding the
Speaker 1: plan and playing our part in it. The skies held
Speaker 1: a few high clouds, but the day was still bright
Speaker 1: and the cool air felt good on my neck. I
Speaker 1: took long strides out past the edge of the barn
Speaker 1: and turned toward the pumpkin patch. I smiled as I
Speaker 1: looked down at them. There were six spread out over
Speaker 1: three well spaced rows, like the ones in fairy tales,
Speaker 1: with long green tendrils curling along the soil, and pumpkins
Speaker 1: big enough to possibly carry an excited person in new
Speaker 1: shoes to a ball with a bit of biboty bobbity boo.
Speaker 1: I spent some time with each one, patting them in
Speaker 1: a friendly way, chatting about the rain last night. The
Speaker 1: leaves fallen in the yard, the carrot ginger soup i'd
Speaker 1: smelled simmering in the kitchen on my way out. I
Speaker 1: inspected their leaves, checked the soil, and ran my hands
Speaker 1: over their shining smooth sides to check for splits or
Speaker 1: soft spots. In the end, we'd only take one or
Speaker 1: two of these to the fair, and hopefully we'd add
Speaker 1: one more blue ribbon to the shelf in the living room.
Speaker 1: People often ask what we'd do with such enormous vegetables.
Speaker 1: What we'd do with the pumpkins. Well, growing this much
Speaker 1: abundance naturally means you'll be sharing. We had a large family,
Speaker 1: and most Saturday afternoons and evenings turned into a feast
Speaker 1: for twenty or more. We had a long table we
Speaker 1: carried out of the barn, and we'd lay out a
Speaker 1: cloth and start plunking down dish after dish, salads, tomato tarts, rattitui,
Speaker 1: zucchini fritters, and coleslaw with shredded cabbage and matchsticks of
Speaker 1: carrot an apple. And family brought friends and their friends
Speaker 1: brought friends as well, and sometimes we'd have to kick
Speaker 1: folk out of their seats once they'd finished and make
Speaker 1: space for more. Those were my favorite dinners. When we
Speaker 1: started to run out of plates and chairs, we'd hurry
Speaker 1: in to wash what we could. But I'd also seen
Speaker 1: people happily eating tomato salad out of coffee mugs with
Speaker 1: chopsticks while they sat on the grass. What we couldn't
Speaker 1: eat we gave away. We had a makeshift table of
Speaker 1: saw horses and found planks of wood by the end
Speaker 1: of the driveway. We'd set out spare cucumbers and cabbages
Speaker 1: there beside a little sign my cousin had painted saying free,
Speaker 1: take all you need. The pumpkins were the only thing
Speaker 1: be sold. The baker insisted they would make all her
Speaker 1: pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving, and years ago we'd struck up
Speaker 1: a deal. She'd come to the farm and checked them herself,
Speaker 1: and since then we'd spent the few days after the
Speaker 1: fair together in the farmhouse's kitchen, where with all hands
Speaker 1: on deck, we'd process and can the bright orange pumpkin
Speaker 1: flesh until every flat surface in the house was holding
Speaker 1: the newly sealed jars. We'd load them into boxes and
Speaker 1: together haul them to the bakeries pantry, where they'd be
Speaker 1: ready for the November rush. I stood up after checking
Speaker 1: the last pumpkin and brushed the soil from my hands.
Speaker 1: I'd check them again after lunch, and again before bed.
Speaker 1: I couldn't help it. This wasn't a hobby for us.
Speaker 1: This was a passion the pumpkin farmer. It could be
Speaker 1: a hobby to grow a garden full of vegetables and flowers.
Speaker 1: It could be a casual pastime, something you tend to
Speaker 1: when you can spare a few minutes after dinner and
Speaker 1: a bit of time on a Saturday morning. Maybe the
Speaker 1: rose aren't straight, and the marigolds get eaten by aphids
Speaker 1: halfway through the season, and you forget to pick the
Speaker 1: summer squash when they ripen, And that's fine. The deer
Speaker 1: will happily eat them. And as I say, it can
Speaker 1: be a hobby. But if you are going to grow
Speaker 1: really excellent, abundant, and in particular large vegetables, well it
Speaker 1: needs to be a passion. And for our family it
Speaker 1: had been just that for a few generations. We are
Speaker 1: known all over the county for our mammoth one hundred
Speaker 1: pound cabbages, our foot long colossal carrots, and in particular
Speaker 1: our beautiful giant pumpkins. Learning to grow vegetables like that
Speaker 1: doesn't happen overnight or even in a single season. Since
Speaker 1: my grandparents started tilling the soil, we've been fussily picking
Speaker 1: out the best seas to keep and perfecting our compost.
Speaker 1: As a kid, I'd walk the rose with them, squatting
Speaker 1: down to press a finger into the soil, learning to
Speaker 1: feel for the right amount of moisture. Giant vegetables want
Speaker 1: quite a good bit of water. Too little, and the
Speaker 1: languish and split and as they grow. You must thin
Speaker 1: the rose to keep only the best plants. Pumpkins like
Speaker 1: a bit of extra potassium and phosphorus, so we are
Speaker 1: careful with what we feed them. And listen. This is
Speaker 1: my own addition to the recipe. They like to be
Speaker 1: talked to, they like to be kept company, and the
Speaker 1: pumpkins might have been feeling a bit lonely lately, as
Speaker 1: most of the rest of the garden had been pulled
Speaker 1: down until back into the soil. We had a good
Speaker 1: harvest of tomatoes, some as big as lopsided bowling balls,
Speaker 1: and we'd had success with a variety of cauliflower from
Speaker 1: seeds we'd traded with our local growing club that had
Speaker 1: needed three people and a wheelbarrow to get out of
Speaker 1: the dirt. One of our onions had gotten to be
Speaker 1: nearly three feet long, and my father had carried it
Speaker 1: lovingly around in his arms like a baby for a
Speaker 1: whole day. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd named it.
Speaker 1: Leave it to an onion to make a person weepy.
Speaker 1: So the pumpkin patch was the last bit of growing
Speaker 1: veg in the garden for the year. It was a
Speaker 1: green and orange island in the large black brown field.
Speaker 1: We had a week left until the fall fare out
Speaker 1: by the orchards, when our prize vege would be measured
Speaker 1: and weighed, so I spent a fair amount of time
Speaker 1: with the pumpkins these days. We'd had rain the night before,
Speaker 1: and I pulled on my tall yellow rain boots by
Speaker 1: the back door, along with the oversized flannel shirt I
Speaker 1: wore like a jacket. When the air was a bit cool,
Speaker 1: I rolled the sleeves up to my elbows and headed
Speaker 1: out to the garden. The rain had brought down some
Speaker 1: leaves from the chestnut tree by the barn. We'd rake
Speaker 1: them up later and layer them into the compost pile.
Speaker 1: So much of what grew and lived on this stretch
Speaker 1: of land could be used to help more grow and live.
Speaker 1: When we worked like that with the plants and trees
Speaker 1: and soil, when there were very few things wasted, it
Speaker 1: felt like we were living hand in hand with the land,
Speaker 1: like we were in lockstep with nature, understanding the plan
Speaker 1: and playing our part in it. The skies held a
Speaker 1: few high clouds, but the day was still bright and
Speaker 1: the cool air felt good on my neck. I took
Speaker 1: long strides out past the edge of the barn and
Speaker 1: turned toward the pumpkin patch. I smiled as I looked
Speaker 1: out at them. There were six spread out over three
Speaker 1: well spaced rows, like the ones in fairy tales, with
Speaker 1: long green tendrils curling along the soil, and pumpkins big
Speaker 1: enough to possibly carry an excited person in new shoes
Speaker 1: to a ball with a bit of bivoty bobbity boo.
Speaker 1: I spent some time with each one, patting them in
Speaker 1: a friendly way, chatting about the rain last night, the
Speaker 1: leaves fallen in the yard, the carrot ginger soup pid
Speaker 1: smelled simmering in the kitchen. On my way out, I
Speaker 1: inspected their leaves, checked the soil, and ran my hands
Speaker 1: over their shining smooth sides to check for splits or
Speaker 1: soft spots. In the end, we'd only take one or
Speaker 1: two of these to the fair, and hopefully we'd add
Speaker 1: one more blue ribbon to the shelf in the living room.
Speaker 1: People often ask what we do with such enormous vegetables,
Speaker 1: what we do with the pumpkins? Well, growing this much
Speaker 1: abundance naturally means you'll be sharing. We had a large
Speaker 1: family and most Saturday afternoons, and he means turned into
Speaker 1: a feast for twenty or more. We had a long
Speaker 1: table we carried out of the barn, and we'd lay
Speaker 1: out a cloth and start plunking down dish after dish, salads,
Speaker 1: tomato tarts, rattui, zucchini fritters, and coleslaw with shredded cabbage
Speaker 1: and matchsticks of carrot and apple. And family brought friends
Speaker 1: and their friends brought friends as well, and sometimes we'd
Speaker 1: have to kick folks out of their seats once they'd
Speaker 1: finished and make space for more. Those were my favorite dinners.
Speaker 1: When we started to run out of plates and chairs,
Speaker 1: we'd hurry in to wash what we could, But I'd
Speaker 1: also seen people happily eating tomato salad out of coffee
Speaker 1: mugs with chopsticks while they sat on the grass. And
Speaker 1: what we couldn't eat we gave away. We had a
Speaker 1: makeshift table of sawhorses and found planks of wood by
Speaker 1: the end of the driveway. We'd set out spare cucumbers
Speaker 1: and cabbages there beside a little sign my cousin had
Speaker 1: painted saying free, take all you need. The pumpkins were
Speaker 1: the only thing we sold. The baker insisted they would
Speaker 1: make all her pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving, and years ago
Speaker 1: we'd struck up a deal. She'd come to the farm
Speaker 1: and checked them herself, and since then we'd spent the
Speaker 1: few days after the fair together in the farmhouse's kitchen,
Speaker 1: where with all hands on deck, we'd process and can
Speaker 1: the bright orange pumpkin flesh until every flat surface in
Speaker 1: the house was holding the newly sealed jars. We'd load
Speaker 1: them into boxes and together haul them to the bakeries pantry,
Speaker 1: where they'd be ready for the November rush. I stood
Speaker 1: up after checking the last pumpkin and brushed the soil
Speaker 1: from my hands. I checked them again after lunch, and
Speaker 1: again before bed. I couldn't help it. This wasn't a
Speaker 1: hobby for us. This was a passion. Sweet dreams