Early Signs of Autumn

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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 Wittercheim.

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You can learn more about them in our show notes.

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Now,

let's do a little cognitive reshuffling.

We're going to light up certain sections of your brain while we sing a lullaby to others.

And the effect, with with almost no effort on your part, will be to train you to fall asleep more quickly and return to sleep more easily.

So just listen to the sound of my voice and the gentle shape of the story.

I'll tell it twice

and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

Our story tonight is called Early Signs of Autumn.

And it's a story about turning leaves

and a slight spicy scent on the breeze.

It's also about zucchini bread and hot coffees traded for iced,

school supplies and new mysteries at the bookshop, orange candles, shifting evening light.

and excitement for new experiences to come.

It's night-night time, friends.

Get as comfortable as you can and take a moment to really be in your body

and feel how good it is to be in bed, to be done with the day,

safe,

calm,

ready for sleep.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh from your mouth.

Do that again.

Breathe in

and let it go.

Good.

Early signs of autumn.

The box elder at the end of my street was turning yellow

and when I saw it I thought

it was much too soon.

It was still August after all

and the days were plenty hot and sunny.

I said as much to a friend

and she reminded me that we'd had the same conversation

the August before

and possibly the one before that, too.

It's always this way, she sighed.

A few trees turn early,

some because it's just their makeup,

and some because the end of summer dry spells send a signal to them to wrap it up for the year.

I knew she was right,

but still,

this early sign of the coming season surprised me.

And it wasn't the only one that did.

There was a row of burning bushes along the country road near the lavender farm,

and their deep green leaves were now crimson.

The farmers' market stalls were absolutely overflowing with produce.

But it wasn't the tender lettuce and sweet berries of early summer.

I'd brought home a zucchini the size of my arm,

a spaghetti squash,

and a basket of crisp, sweet apples the last time I'd gone.

I suspected any day now,

Brussels sprouts and curly endive would show up.

And then would come the pumpkins.

I could hardly believe it.

We were,

at most, weeks away from pumpkins.

And I wasn't sad

about how the summer had flown.

Just sort of shocked.

I thought back.

It had been a wonderful summer.

Maybe that is what had made it pass so quickly.

How much I had enjoyed it.

I'd taken a watercolor class that met at the beach.

I'd gone to the evening picnic and concert out at the village museum.

There had been lazy days floating in the pool,

backyard cookouts,

and I'd read a half-dozen books at least,

thanks to the long evenings and lasting light.

There'd been a double feature at the drive-in,

bike rides,

and the thrill of growing my first ranunculus,

tomato sandwiches

and rainbows thrown from the sprinklers in the yard,

naps on the porch, mint iced tea,

and finally writing in that pretty journal I'd had for years

and been afraid to mark up with my scribbles.

So yes, now that I thought back on it,

they had been a very full few months.

I was a little more ready

to welcome what would come next.

And as I walked through downtown,

I saw I wasn't the only one.

I turned a corner and came upon the bookstore.

I stopped to look at the window display.

There was a tall stack of books with their titles turned to the street,

each one just a gradient of color different from the one below,

beginning with green

and blooming upward into yellows, oranges, and reds.

Beside them were this season's crop of witchy mysteries and romances,

intriguing covers showing fog

and eerie houses,

skeleton keys and candlesticks.

My eyes went wide and I chuckled to myself,

still sweating in the summer heat,

but very very excited to get several of them onto my bedside table.

A little farther down the street, the stationery shop was stocking classic black and white composition notebooks and pencil cases.

From their open door, I heard a snippet of conversation between a parent and a child

about how many marker tops had been lost the year before,

how said markers had then dried out

and had to be tossed prematurely.

Still,

it seemed another set was being acquired for the coming school year.

Their shopping basket was full of folders and notebooks,

art supplies and pencils.

I had a feeling this was the usual preschool pep talk

to take good care of their things

and make them last as long as could be.

A tale as old as time.

In the gift shop on the corner, I caught a distinct and familiar scent wafting from inside.

Could it be?

I went in

and wandered the aisles till I found the candle section.

Sure enough, the pumpkin candles had arrived,

and among the rows of them, in prominent position,

one set slowly melting under a warmer.

I leaned out of the aisle and caught the eye of the clerk behind the desk.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

I'm ready, she said simply.

I nodded.

I get it, I assured her.

I checked the sandwich board sign outside of the bakery.

So far, no pumpkin muffins or maple spiced scones.

Though

there was zucchini bread,

which I think is the bridge between peach pie

and those autumn treats.

At the coffee shop, pumpkin spice and apple cider drinks hadn't been chalked up on the board,

but I noticed more customers drinking their lattes hot rather than iced.

It was as if a subconscious signal had gone out through the town

to start to shift course

toward fall.

Walking on, I searched my memory

for a a word I'd learned years before.

A word that described the biological response plants and animals have

to the subtle shift of day to night ratio.

Um

photo

photoperiodism.

Yes,

that was it.

In late summer, as the days began to get a bit shorter,

the change in light triggers birds to prepare for migration,

trees to shift toward dormancy,

animals to grow their winter coats,

and even humans to change their behavior a bit.

Appetites and sleep schedules

would begin to alter.

At the flower shop, a wagon full of mums

with tightly closed buds

sat temptingly on the sidewalk.

The clothing shop had a red raincoat and yellow Wellington boots on display in the window.

A sign at the bicycle shop, propped in a basket and surrounded by helmets,

had a countdown to the first bike bus of the school year.

Just then,

a breeze of cooler air blew over me,

and I could smell

the slightest hint of dry grass and spice in it,

I took a deep breath

and opened my arms to let the wind circle around me.

We still had time to enjoy the summer.

Her days weren't done yet.

But when they were,

I'd be ready for a change.

Early signs of autumn.

The box elder at the end of my street

was turning yellow.

And when I saw it,

I thought

it was much too soon.

It was still August, after all,

and the days were plenty hot and sunny.

I said as much to a friend,

and she reminded me that we'd had the same conversation the August before,

and possibly the one before that too.

it's always this way, she sighed.

A few trees turn early,

some because

it's just their makeup,

and some

because the end of summer dry spells

can send a signal to them to wrap it up for the year.

I knew she was right,

but still,

this early sign of the coming season

had surprised me,

and it wasn't the only one that did.

There was a row of burning bushes

along the country road

near the lavender farm,

and their deep green leaves were now crimson.

The farmers' market stalls

were absolutely overflowing with produce.

But it wasn't the tender lettuce and sweet berries

of early summer.

I'd brought home a zucchini

the size of my arm,

a spaghetti squash,

and a basket

of crisp, sweet apples

the last time I'd gone.

I suspected

any day now,

Brussels sprouts

and curly endive

would show up

and then

would come the pumpkins.

I could hardly believe it.

We were,

at most,

weeks away from pumpkins.

I wasn't sad about how the summer had flown,

just sort of surprised.

I thought back

it had been

a wonderful summer.

Maybe that is what had made it pass so quickly

how much I had enjoyed it.

I'd taken a watercolor class

that met at the beach.

I'd gone to the evening picnic and concert out at the village museum.

There had been lazy days

floating in the pool,

backyard cookouts,

and

I'd read a half-dozen books at least,

thanks to the long evenings

and lasting light.

There'd been a double feature at the drive-in

bike rides

and the thrill

of growing my first ranunculus,

tomato sandwiches,

and rainbows thrown from the sprinklers in the yard,

naps on the porch,

mint iced tea,

and finally writing in that pretty journal I'd had for years

and been afraid to mark up with my scribbles.

So,

yes,

now that I thought back on it,

they had been

a very full few months.

I was a little more ready

to welcome what would come next.

and as I walked through downtown

I saw that I wasn't the only one.

I turned a corner and came upon the bookstore.

I stopped to look at the window display.

There was a tall stack of books

with their titles turned to the street.

Each one

just a gradient of color different

from the one below.

Beginning with green

and blooming upward

into yellows and oranges and reds

Beside them were this season's crop of witchy mysteries and romances,

intriguing covers

showing fog

and eerie houses,

skeleton keys,

and candlesticks.

My eyes went wide,

and I chuckled to myself

still sweating in the summer heat

but very excited

to get several of them

on to my bedside table

a little farther down the street

the stationery shop

was stocking

classic

black and white composition notebooks

and pencil cases.

From their open door,

I heard a snippet of conversation

between a parent and child

about how many marker tops

had been lost the year before

how

said markers

had then dried out

and had to be tossed prematurely

still

it seemed another set was being acquired

for the coming school year.

Their shopping basket

was full of folders

and notebooks,

art supplies,

and pencils.

I had a feeling this was the usual preschool pep talk

to take good care of their things

and make them last as long as could be

a tale as old as time

In the gift shop on the corner

I caught a distinct and familiar scent wafting from inside

Could it be?

I went in

and wandered the aisles

till I found the candle section.

Sure enough

The pumpkin candles had arrived

and among the rows of them

in prominent position

one set

slowly melting under a warmer.

I leaned out of the aisle

and caught the eye of the clerk behind the desk.

She shrugged her shoulders and smiled.

I'm ready, she said simply.

I nodded.

I get it,

I assured her.

I checked the sandwich board

outside of the bakery.

So far,

no pumpkin muffins or maple spiced scones.

Though

there was zucchini bread,

which

I think is the bridge

between peach pie

and those autumn treats

at the coffee shop

the pumpkin spice and apple cider drinks

hadn't been chalked up on the board

But I noticed more customers drinking their lattes hot

rather than iced.

It was as if a subconscious signal had gone out through the town

to start to shift course

toward fall

walking on

I searched my memory for a word I'd learned

years before

a word that

described the biological response

plants and animals have

to the subtle shift

of day to night ratio.

Um,

photo

photoperiodism.

Yes, that was it

in In late summer,

as the days begin to get a bit shorter,

the change in light triggers birds to prepare for migration.

Trees to shift toward dormancy.

Animals

to grow their winter coats,

and even humans to change their behavior a bit.

Appetites and sleep schedules

would begin to alter.

At the flower shop,

a wagon full of mums

with tightly closed buds

sat temptingly on the sidewalk.

The kitchen shop had a red raincoat

and yellow Wellington boots on display in the window.

A sign at the bicycle shop,

propped in a basket

and surrounded by helmets,

had a countdown

to the first bike bus of the school year.

Just then,

a breeze of cooler air

blew over me

and I could smell

the slightest hint of dry grass and spice in it.

I took a deep breath and opened my arms to let the wind circle around me.

We still had time

to enjoy the summer.

Her days weren't done yet.

But when they were,

I'd be ready

for change.

Sweet dreams.