Garden Tour, Part 2

Published Aug 12, 2024, 4:00 AM

Our story tonight is called Garden Tour, Part 2, but if you slept through part one, not to worry. Nothing Much Happened in it. This is a story about a day spent in tranquil, verdant spaces. It’s also about a grey cat in a window, iced tea and moonflowers, a view of the whole village from a rooftop, and the contagious calm of the outdoors.

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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Whitttersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Old Friends Senior Dogs. They work to provide loving homes, good food, high quality bed care, compassion and comfort to senior dogs for the remainder of their lives. Learn more about them in our show notes. Thank you for being here with us tonight. There are people all over the world settling in right now, taking a few deep breaths, and together stepping into the village of nothing much. The world can feel lonely at times, but know that we are sharing this moment connected in this gentle way. You can learn more about what we do, find our other shows, and subscribe to our bonus episodes and more through the links in our show notes. This sleep technique works by giving your brain a very simple job to do, just to listen, just to follow along with the sound of my voice. It will occupy your attention enough to keep it from wandering, which is what will allow you to drift to sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. This is brain training, and over time you'll find yourself drifting off faster and staying asleep longer. Our story tonight is called Garden Tour Part two. But if you slept through part one, not to worry. Nothing much happened in it. This is a story about a day spent in tranquil, verdant spaces. It's also about a gray cat in a window, iced tea and moonflowers, a view of the whole village from a rooftop, and the contagious calm of the outdoors. Now light's out, it's time slide down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. Maybe you've been waiting for this moment all day. Well, now it is here. Let yourself enjoy it. Soften your jaw, relax your shoulders, take a deep breath in and sigh out. Do one more breathe in and out. Good Garden Tour Part two. We were headed to the last stop on our tour. The weather was still brisk and cool, a bit of early fall, making the hours wandering through yards and flower beds a treat instead of a slog. All of the stops on the tour had been within walking distance of each other, and we'd been treated to refreshments more than once along the way by hospitable homeowners. We'd started at a little cottage just a block up from the old school. It had a picket fence painted a deep forest green that blended in with the plants around it, and a single gate with an iron latch. It felt like a fairy tale, this little house with an overflowing garden, wild with hollyhocks and foxglove in pots of lavender and jasmine lining the front steps. We followed a gravel path around to the back of the cottage, and our guide pointed out moonflower and sunflower planted together. It was a garden clearly tended by someone who thought about the ebb and flow of nature's rhythm, and it gave me a calm, steady feeling just to stand among the flowers and shrubs. I noticed a rose vine growing along the fence and stepped away from the group a bit to follow it through the side yard and close to the house. The roses were as big around as teacups, and a deep, deep red I stopped to smell one and found they had a true rose scent with a bit of sweet citrus mixed in. As I stood my hands still cupping the flower, I looked in through the cottage window and spotted a small gray cat with bright yellow eyes watching me from the sill. She seemed to nod at me, like you might when you pass someone on the sidewalk, and I found myself nodding back. She tilted her head toward the back yard, and when I followed her gaze, saw that the group was on the move, this first tore having obviously concluded. When I looked back at the window, she was gone, and I shook my head, thinking it was a bit early in the day to get into a prolonged conversation with the cat anyway, so hurried to follow the group out through the gate. The next stop on our tour was a roof top garden on a building down town. I'd spied the greenery before from an outdoor table at the cafe, so when I realized where we were headed and that i'd finally be able to see it up close, I'd been giddy with excitement. The building had an old fashioned elevator. Our guide told us it was called a bird cage elevator, since well that's what it looked like. Wood paneling came up to waist height and a cage sealed us in. Above that, a scissor gate was stretched across the entrance. Once we were loaded in, and I guessed that this would have had an operator back when it was first built. We made it up to the top safely, and when the gate was drawn back, stepped out from under an awning into a little urban oasis. White planters edged the roof, filled with tall grasses and giant elephant ear plants colius and cordiline. So different from the wild cottage garden. This was modern and neat, with polished stepping stones overcrushed granite. There was a long bench under a Japanese horn beam, and I sat and closed my eyes and listened. Could hear cars down on the street, but not the sounds of pedestrians. I could hear the wind, the corner of the yawning flapping in it, and the sound of the others as the gravel crackled beneath their feet. I could smell rain, though it wasn't raining, and I wondered if there were rain barrels up here to water the plants and the trees. Slowly I opened my eyes and looked out at the village. I could see as far as the apple orchards in one direction, and the inn on the lake and the other. The train was chugging along the tracks that ran behind the cemetery, and the doors were wide open at the library north of the park. What a new perspective I was being given, just sitting here and taking in my little town from up in this garden. Before we took the bird cage back down to the street, we were served chilled glasses of green tea, sweet and minty, and I felt quite fancy as I dabbed my lips with the proffered napkins. I didn't know that I would ever be back up in this garden to see what it might look like at night, or decorated in the winter, but I would keep the idea of it in my head to revisit when I felt the need to step away in busy times and imagine myself in a calm, green space. We'd made a couple more stops, a Victorian house covered with ivy and clematis, a lot on the edge of downtown with raised beds full of vegetables and herbs, and finally, the last stop on the tour. We'd arrived at the Sunken Garden in the park, which was full of sculptures and edged with tall arborvities. I'd been here before more than once, but usually visited at night and came in through a break in the greenery. Now we circled around to the top of some stone steps that led down into the garden, and I admired the iron railings as I descended, full of flourishes and curly cues. This garden was a big, recked tangle, with a round fountain in the middle, and in each corner a sculpture, a bench, a flower bed with something fragrant growing. I stepped away from the others and closer to the fountain. The sound of the water cascading made me sigh, and I realized that this day of green things and flowers had left me deeply relaxed. The metronome inside me that sometimes ticked too fast had slowed to the pace of my strolling feet. As I circled the fountain and stepped closer to one of the sculptures, it was a bust of a person with long flowing hair. I imagined this person standing at the bow of a ship as the wind carried their hair out behind them. They had a look of freedom on their face, and I felt it spread over my own. I had seen so much since setting out this morning. The old School, the gray cat and the foxglove, the view from up on the rooftop, vegetable beds and climbing vines, and this calm faced sculpture. I thought I might be digesting it all for days, and if I was very lucky revisiting these places in my dreams. Garden Tour Part two. We were headed to the last stop on our tour. The weather was still brisk and cool, a bit of early fall, making the hours wandering through yards on flower beds a treat rather than a slog. All of the stock up on the tour had been within walking distance of each other, and we'd been treated to refreshments more than once along the way by hospitable homeowners. We'd started at a little cottage just a block up from the Old School. It had a picket fence painted a deep forest green that blended in with the plants around it, and a single gate with an iron latch felt like a fairy tale. This little house with an overflowing garden, wild with hollyhocks and foxglove, and pots of lavender and jasmine lining the front steps. We followed a gravel path around to the back of the cottage, and our guide pointed out moonflower and sunflower planted together. It was a garden clearly tended by someone who thought about the ebb and flow of nature's rhythm, and it gave me a calm, steady feeling just to stand among the flowers and the shrubs. I noticed a rose fine growing along the fence and stepped away from the group to follow it through the side yard and close to the house. The roses were as big around as teacups, and a deep, deep red. I stopped to smell one, but found they had a true rose scent with a bit of sweet citrus extend. As I stood my hand still cupping the flower, I looked in through the cottage window and spotted a small gray cat with bright yellow eyes watching me from the sill. She seemed to nod at me like you might when you pass someone on the sidewalk, and I found myself nodding back She tilted her head toward the backyard, and when I followed her gaze saw that the group was on the move, this first tour having obviously concluded. When I looked back at the window, she was gone, and I shook my head, thinking it was a bit early in the day to have a prolonged conversation with a cat anyway, so hurried to follow the group out through the gate. The next stop on our tour was a rooftop garden on a building downtown. I'd spied the greenery before from an outdoor table at the cafe, so when I realized where we were headed and that i'd finally be able to see it up close, I'd been giddy with excitement. The building had an old fashioned elevator. Our guide told us it was called a bird cage elevator, since well that's what it looked like. Wood paneling came up to waste height and a cage sealed us in above that. A scissor gate was stretched across the entrance. Once we were loaded in, and I guessed that this would have had an operator when it was first built. We made it up to the top safely, and when the gate was drawn back stepped out from under an awning into a little urban oasis. White planters edged the roof, filled with tall grasses and giant elephant ears, colius and cordeline. So different from the wild cottage garden. This was modern and neat, with polished stepping stones over crushed granite. There was a long bench under a Japanese horn beam. When I sat and closed my eyes and listened, I could hear cars down on the street, but not the sound of pedestrians. I could hear the wind, the yawning flapping in it, and the sound of the others as the gravel crackled beneath their feet. I could smell rain, though it wasn't raining, and wondered if there were rain barrels up here to water the plants and the trees. Slowly, I opened my eyes and looked out at the village. I could see as far as the apple orchards in one direction, and the inn on the lake in the other. A train was chugging along the tracks that ran behind the cemetery, and the doors were wide open at the library north of the park. What a new perspective I was being given, just sitting here and taking in my little town from up in this garden. Before we took the bird cage back down to the street. We were served glasses of chilled green tea, sweet and minty, and I felt quite fancy as I dabbed my lips with the proffered napkin. I didn't know that I would ever be back up in this garden to see what it might look like at night. Were decorated in the winter, but I'd keep the idea of it in my head to revisit when I felt the need to step away in busy times and imagine myself an a calm green space. We'd made a couple more stops, a Victorian house covered with ivy and clematis, a lot on the edge of down Town with raised beds full of vegetables and herbs, and finally the last stop on the tour. We'd arrived at the Sunken Garden in the Park, which was full of sculptures and edged with tall arbor vities. I'd been here before more than once, but usually visited at night and came in through a break in the greenery. Now we circled around to the top of some stone steps, led down into the garden, and I admired the iron railings as I descended, full of flourishes and curly cues. This garden was a big rectangle, with a round fountain in the middle, and in each corner a sculpture, a bench, a flower bed, was something fragrant growing. I stepped away from the others and closer to the fountain. The sound of the water cascading made me sigh when I realized that this day of green things of flowers had left me deeply relaxed. The metronome inside me that sometimes sticked too fast had slowed to the pace of my strolling feet. As I circled the fountain and stepped closer to one of the sculptures, it was a bust of a person with long flowing hair. I imagined this person standing at the bow of a ship as the wind carried their hair out behind them. They had a look of freedom on their face, and I felt it spread over my own. I'd seen so much since setting out this morning, the old school, the gray cat and the fox glove, the view from up on the rooftop, vegetable beds and climbing vines, and this calm faced sculpture. I thought I might be digesting at all for days, and that if I was very lucky, I'd be revisiting these places in my dreams, sweet dreams,

Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep

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