Street Sweepers

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Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone

in which

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You feel good.

And then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens

with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim.

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all our stories are family friendly.

It doesn't mean you've outgrown the need for a bedtime story.

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I'll tell the story twice,

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If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn another episode right back on.

Our story tonight

is called Street Sweepers, and it's a story about an early morning tending of the village lanes.

It's also about hoppers and windrows, zinnia heads and locust pods, clearing small floods near blocked up drains,

and a simple but important way to care for a place you love.

Now,

lights out, campers, Snuggle down into your sheets

and let your whole body

relax.

The day is over.

It's over.

Nothing left to do

or attend to.

Soften your jaw,

your shoulders,

your hands,

and your feet.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh from your mouth.

Once more, breathe in

and let it out.

Good

Street Sweepers

There was certainly a time in my life

when I didn't find much pleasure

in being the first one up,

when my body just required too much rest

to rise before the sun.

Those days still still hold their own allure.

Being able to sleep

into the late morning,

waking, feeling so replete and relaxed,

then able to stay up late,

to have adventures that didn't start until long after the sun went down.

Maybe I am romanticizing those times now.

But no

they were romantic.

They were fun.

And now

so is this.

So is being alone on the street at dawn

as the sky just begins to shade lighter by a degree at a time.

The air is so fresh and clean,

it feels like the molecules have just come off the production line.

I stood for a few moments,

breathing them in,

breathing them out,

knowing a moment

of true excitement

for being alive and awake

just where I was,

then began to sort through my brushes and rakes,

outfitting my sweeper

for the morning's work.

There is more than one of us in the village a whole crew, in fact.

But our sweepers are stored all across the town.

So I was on my own as I climbed aboard.

She started right up,

and I steered her out of her garage

and on to the street.

Each neighborhood gets to name their own sweeper,

and this has led to a friendly rivalry,

each set of streets looking for the best name.

The cleaner by the park was called

a broom with a view.

Grime and punishment worked through downtown,

west of the village by the cemetery.

The grim sweeper cleaned up,

and my own avenues were tended by sweep dreams,

a nod to my own tendency to be the first one at work,

quietly cleaning

while the houses around me slept.

I rode close to the curb,

watching the bristles of the gutter broom rotating

and clearing away debris.

This time of year we were cleaning up linden blossoms and locust pods.

There was still a bit of cottonwood fluff,

plenty of grass clippings and whirly birds.

I could see marigold heads and zinnia leaves that had blown from someone's yard.

It was all swept into the main broom,

the rotating bristles that lived in the belly of sweet dreams.

They, in turn, swept the windrow into the hopper.

Behind me, a fine mist was spraying out onto the pavement

to keep dust down

until the next cleaning.

It was a very satisfying experience

to roll slowly down the street

and see the clutter in front of me,

then

to turn in my seat

and see the clean, damp road behind.

The scope of work for a street sweeper

depended very much on the season

and while you'd not likely be surprised to hear

that autumn is a very busy time of year for us

there are moments from spring through summer that rival it

when the cottonwood flies at the end of May

the sweepers shake their heads at the snow drifts of sticky fluff

piled along the curbs.

We sighed and clucked our tongues in July

when the heat led maples and lindens to drip sap onto the street,

turning every loose leaf gummy and clogging up our bristles

And don't even get me started on parades

Heavy end of the season storms, clogged drains with twigs and mud

Though

And I think I wasn't alone in this

Coming across a small flood at a gutter

and raking out the debris

till the water began to spin

and spiral

and empty through the spillway

was actually something I looked forward to.

Sometimes a homeowner would wave me down,

point toward a blocked-up drain on a side street,

and a small crowd would gather till I cleared it out.

They'd clap

as it drained,

and I'd stop to take a bow.

I turned down another street,

continuing to sweep away dust and dirt.

I noticed a grey cat in a window watching me as I inched past.

I raised a hand to wave to her,

but she blinked in a slow way

that felt like a returned greeting.

In another house, I saw windows being pushed open on the ground floor.

A front door pulled back to let the breeze in.

The village was starting to come to life.

So far,

I hadn't seen a stretch of road

that needed more than one pass

Until I rounded the curve by the corner store

And saw the cement speckled

with nickel sized purple stains

I paused, sweep dreams

Then turned her key to off

and climbed down

The arch enemy of the street sweeper had arrived.

Mulberries

I circled the stained section of concrete,

eyeing the mess,

and taking out my handkerchief

to wipe my glasses.

Out came my hose.

I started by washing down the curb and pavement

with a bit of cleaner.

Then I selected the right size hand broom

and got to scrubbing.

The next few weeks

would see me doing the same here

day after day.

but

I wouldn't be bowed by the persistence of the berries.

I too

could be persistent.

After I scrubbed and rehung my broom,

I climbed aboard and started sweep dreams back up.

We rolled over the Sudzy mess slowly,

and I looked behind us to see that we'd made good progress.

At the corner I turned and made a second pass.

The street was nearly stain-free now,

but still I stopped to rinse the spot with my hose

one more time

to flush the last bits of soap and seeds down the sewer.

I liked a job well done,

a job that was completed,

even if it took a bit of extra time and energy.

It was a of pride to me

that the streets in my territory

were well tended and cared for.

It was probably something that people didn't really notice.

They'd only be likely to notice the mess,

not the lack of it.

But that was okay with me.

I was happy to work in the background

and give the village a sense of order

and being well kept.

I thought it lent itself to the overall sense of this place

just as a good place to be.

That was enough.

enough.

I re-hung the hose and kept on with my work.

When I got sweep dreams back to her garage,

I cleaned out the bristles of her brushes,

emptied her hopper,

and refilled her tanks for tomorrow.

Outside, the sun was rising above the horizon,

and traffic was just beginning to pick up.

I gave my sweeper a pat on the hood.

Those mulberries would be back tomorrow,

but so would we

street sweepers

There was certainly a time

in my life

when I didn't find much pleasure in being the first one up

when my body just required too much rest

to rise before the sun.

Those days

hold their own allure

being able to sleep into the late morning

waking feeling

so replete

and relaxed

Then able to stay up late

to have adventures adventures

that didn't start

until long after the sun went down.

Maybe I am romanticizing those times now,

but

no,

they were romantic,

they were fun,

and so is this

So is being alone on the street at dawn

As the sky just begins to shade lighter

by a degree at a time

The air is so fresh and clean

It feels like the molecules

have just come off the production line.

I stood for a few moments,

breathing them in,

breathing them out,

knowing a moment

of true excitement for being alive

and awake

just where I was,

then

began to sort

through

my brushes and rakes,

outfitting my sweeper

for the morning's work.

There is more than one of us in the village

A whole crew, in fact.

But our sweepers are stored all across the town.

So

I was on my own

as I climbed aboard.

She started right up,

and I steered her out of the garage

and on to the street.

Each neighborhood gets to name their own sweeper

and

this has led to a friendly rivalry

Each set of streets

looking for the best name

The Cleaner by the Park

was called

A Broom with a View

Crime and Punishment

Worked through Downtown

West of the village by the cemetery

The grim sweeper cleaned up

And my own avenues were tended by sweep dreams

A nod to my tendency to be the first one at work,

quietly clearing

while the houses around me slept.

I rode close to the curb,

watching the bristles

of a gutter broom

rotating

and clearing away debris.

This time of year

we were cleaning up linden blossoms

and locust pods.

There was still a bit of cottonwood fluff

and plenty of grass clippings

and whirly birds

I could see marigold heads

and zinny leaves

that had blown from some one's yard

It was all swept

into the main broom

The rotating bristles

That lived in the belly of sweet dreams

They in turn

swept the windrow

into the hopper

Behind me

a fine mist

was spraying out

on to the pavement

to keep dust down

until the next cleaning.

It was

a very satisfying experience

to roll

slowly down the street

and see the clutter in front of me,

then to turn in my seat

and see the clean damp road behind

the scope of work

for a street sweeper

depended very much

on the season

and while you're not likely to be surprised to hear

that autumn is a very busy time of year for us

there are moments

in the spring and summer

that rival it

when the cottonwood flies

at the end of May

The sweepers shake their heads at the snow drifts

of sticky fluff piled along the curbs.

We sighed

and clicked our tongues in July

when the heat

led maples and lindens

to drip sap into the street,

turning every loose leaf gummy

and clogging up our bristles.

And don't even get me started on parades.

Heavy end-of-the-season storms

clogged drains with twigs and mud,

though,

and I think

I wasn't alone in this

coming across a small flood at a gutter

and raking out the debris

till the water began to spin

and spiral

and empty through the spillway

was actually something I looked forward to.

Sometimes a homeowner would wave me down,

point toward a blocked-up drain on a side street,

and a small crowd would gather

till I cleared it out.

They'd clap as it drained,

and I'd stop to take a bow.

I turned down another street,

continuing to sweep away dust and dirt.

I noticed a gray cat in a window

watching me as I inched past.

I raised a hand to wave to her,

and she blinked in a slow way

that felt like a returned greeting.

In another house

I saw windows

being pushed open on the ground floor,

a front door pulled back to let the breeze in.

The village was starting to come to life.

So far,

I hadn't seen a stretch of road

that needed more than one pass

until

I rounded the curve by the corner store

and saw the cement speckled

with nickel-sized purple stains.

I paused sweep dreams,

then turned her key to off

and climbed down.

The archenemy of the street sweeper

had arrived.

Mulberries

I circled the stained section

of concrete,

eyeing the mess

and taking out my handkerchief to wipe my glasses.

Out came my hose.

I started by washing down the curb and pavement with a bit of cleaner,

then selected the right size hand broom

and got to scrubbing.

The next few weeks would see me doing the same here,

day

after day

But

I wouldn't be bowed by the persistence of the berries.

I too

could be persistent.

After I scrubbed and re-hung my broom

I climbed aboard

and started sweep dreams back up.

We rolled over the Sudsey mess slowly.

I looked behind us

to see that we'd made good progress.

At the corner I turned

and made a second pass.

The street was nearly stain-free now,

but I still stopped to rinse the spot with my hose

one more time

to flush the last bits of soap and seeds down the sewer.

I liked a job well done,

a job that was completed,

even if it took a bit

of extra time and energy.

It was a point of pride to me

that the streets in my territory were well tended and cared for.

It was probably something that

people didn't really notice.

They'd only be likely to notice the mess,

not the lack of it.

But that was okay with me.

I was happy to work in the background

and give the village a sense of order and being well kept.

I thought it lent itself to the overall sense of this place

as a good place to be.

And that was enough.

I re-hung the hose

and kept on with my work.

When I got sweep dreams

back to her garage,

I cleaned the bristles of her brushes,

emptied her hopper,

and refilled her tanks for tomorrow.

Outside, the sun was rising above the horizon,

and traffic was just beginning to pick up.

I gave my sweeper a pat on the hood.

Those mulberries would be back tomorrow,

but so would we,

sweet dreams.