Dandelions and Mayapples (Encore)

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Speaker 1 Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone

Speaker 1 in which

Speaker 1 nothing much happens.

Speaker 1 You feel good

Speaker 1 and then

Speaker 1 You fall asleep.

Speaker 1 I'm Catherine Nikolai.

Speaker 1 I write and read

Speaker 1 all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Speaker 1 Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

Speaker 1 We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment.
in a different location.

Speaker 1 And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different.

Speaker 1 But the stories are always soothing and family-friendly. And our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.

Speaker 1 Now,

Speaker 1 here is how this podcast works.

Speaker 1 I'm going to tell you a story,

Speaker 1 and it has just enough in it to catch your busy mind

Speaker 1 and hold it still for a bit

Speaker 1 so that you can peacefully fall asleep.

Speaker 1 All you need to do is listen.

Speaker 1 I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower on the second telling.

Speaker 1 If you wake later in the night,

Speaker 1 Don't hesitate to start the story over.

Speaker 1 We are training your brain to fall asleep and return to sleep quickly.

Speaker 1 And with a bit of practice, it'll begin to happen within seconds.

Speaker 1 Our story tonight is called Dandelions and Mayapples.

Speaker 1 And it's a story about a trip down to the creek. on a spring afternoon.

Speaker 1 It's also about a bench on the bank where the sound of the water echoes,

Speaker 1 rhododendrons and stone steps,

Speaker 1 and giving yourself grace to ebb and flow.

Speaker 1 Now, switch off your light.

Speaker 1 Snuggle down into your favorite sleeping position

Speaker 1 and let your whole whole body soften.

Speaker 1 You are being held by the earth right now,

Speaker 1 and you are safe.

Speaker 1 And I am here to watch over until you wake.

Speaker 1 Take a deep breath in through your nose

Speaker 1 and let it out with a soft sigh.

Speaker 1 One more, please. In

Speaker 1 and out.

Speaker 1 Good.

Speaker 1 Dandelions

Speaker 1 and Mayapples.

Speaker 1 A week or two ago,

Speaker 1 I'd spotted them down by the creek,

Speaker 1 their yellow heads visible among the bright green new grass,

Speaker 1 even from a ways away.

Speaker 1 On the day I'd seen them

Speaker 1 it had snowed again.

Speaker 1 Just a flurry of flakes

Speaker 1 that seemed to melt

Speaker 1 before they made it all the way to the ground.

Speaker 1 But among the budding trees and forsythia branches,

Speaker 1 it had felt like a prank, a cruel joke

Speaker 1 after warm days in which

Speaker 1 we'd all cautiously started to believe

Speaker 1 that winter was finally over.

Speaker 1 And I guess it was.

Speaker 1 Not just because

Speaker 1 the sun had come out the very next day

Speaker 1 and the warmth and sweet air along with it.

Speaker 1 But because nature and the seasons,

Speaker 1 just like most everything else,

Speaker 1 don't go in a straight line.

Speaker 1 Just because spring had pivoted on her heel for a moment,

Speaker 1 I didn't mean anything wasn't as it should be.

Speaker 1 Spring has a bit of winter in her, after all.

Speaker 1 I think of this a lot,

Speaker 1 of how nature spirals,

Speaker 1 pivots,

Speaker 1 retreats, and begins again,

Speaker 1 and how often we forget that we are meant to do the same.

Speaker 1 How we would never look at the sky or

Speaker 1 at a formation of rock and earth and think,

Speaker 1 Well, that's not right.

Speaker 1 It just is.

Speaker 1 And so am I.

Speaker 1 And so are you.

Speaker 1 So when the clouds had finished dropping their last snowflakes,

Speaker 1 at least for a while,

Speaker 1 and the sun was out again.

Speaker 1 I peered through the window in my room at the top of the house

Speaker 1 and spied the dandelions

Speaker 1 still yellow and blooming beside the creek.

Speaker 1 I have a lovely view from this window,

Speaker 1 and it was changing seemingly by the minute

Speaker 1 as the trees budded and flowers emerged.

Speaker 1 I pushed it up by the sash, and the air that rolled in was warm and fresh-smelling.

Speaker 1 What was I doing up here?

Speaker 1 I asked myself.

Speaker 1 I could be

Speaker 1 out there.

Speaker 1 So I raced down the stairs

Speaker 1 until I was at the back door,

Speaker 1 stepping into my shoes

Speaker 1 and on to the patio.

Speaker 1 I hadn't planted anything yet,

Speaker 1 besides one small pot of pansies

Speaker 1 that stood beside the door, and I stopped to admire them.

Speaker 1 Purple and yellow and white with green leaves.

Speaker 1 I picked up the watering can

Speaker 1 where I'd left it a day or two ago

Speaker 1 and gave them a quick drink.

Speaker 1 On the patio stones were long black marks

Speaker 1 And I remembered watching a deer from my window

Speaker 1 scraping her hooves along the stones.

Speaker 1 I imagined her using them as I used an emery board on my nails.

Speaker 1 I was glad the doe had gotten some self care Sunday,

Speaker 1 I thought with a chuckle.

Speaker 1 Beyond the edge of the patio

Speaker 1 were stairs made of flat stones wedged into the earth

Speaker 1 and I stepped onto them cautiously.

Speaker 1 They felt solid and secure,

Speaker 1 but I hadn't climbed them since last autumn.

Speaker 1 So I went slowly,

Speaker 1 checking that each one was

Speaker 1 without wiggle as I went.

Speaker 1 When we'd first moved in,

Speaker 1 these steps weren't even visible from the house,

Speaker 1 and I could only guess how old they were.

Speaker 1 It had been such a treat to find them

Speaker 1 when we were exploring the yard

Speaker 1 that first summer.

Speaker 1 We'd cleared out some brush

Speaker 1 and cut away an invasive vine

Speaker 1 to find

Speaker 1 what had felt like a secret garden.

Speaker 1 Beyond the steps was another surprise.

Speaker 1 A bench,

Speaker 1 cast iron, and still with a few flakes of white paint clinging to its seat and back.

Speaker 1 I remembered finding it that day

Speaker 1 and going to sit on it.

Speaker 1 It was in the shade of a giant maple,

Speaker 1 and near enough the creek to enjoy the sound,

Speaker 1 But far back enough that when she overran her banks each spring,

Speaker 1 your toes wouldn't get wet.

Speaker 1 Sitting there, I'd been struck with the thought

Speaker 1 of someone sitting in the exact same spot

Speaker 1 many,

Speaker 1 many years before,

Speaker 1 having their picture taken,

Speaker 1 shading their eyes

Speaker 1 against the bright glint of the sunshine,

Speaker 1 and smiling at the camera.

Speaker 1 Had I just stepped into someone else's memory,

Speaker 1 or was it just a fanciful thought

Speaker 1 born of the romance of the spot

Speaker 1 and the warm air?

Speaker 1 I hadn't known, but hoped that

Speaker 1 somewhere up in my attic,

Speaker 1 I'd one day find an old box

Speaker 1 with the photo I'd just imagined waiting inside it.

Speaker 1 The sound of the creek pulled me over,

Speaker 1 and I peered down into it.

Speaker 1 Clear water flowed over stones,

Speaker 1 and a sandy bottom scored with ripples.

Speaker 1 Upstream the creek curved, and the water rushed and ran,

Speaker 1 and I walked closer, wanting to bottle the sound of it,

Speaker 1 and to carry it around with me in my pocket.

Speaker 1 I stood stood there for a bit,

Speaker 1 just watching it flow,

Speaker 1 thinking about

Speaker 1 how the stones in the creek bed

Speaker 1 were sometimes exposed

Speaker 1 when the water was low

Speaker 1 and how you could use them as a bridge to step across.

Speaker 1 But now they were submerged

Speaker 1 and though I knew they didn't, I imagined them

Speaker 1 sighing as the cool water flowed over them.

Speaker 1 I kept walking,

Speaker 1 following the creek upstream.

Speaker 1 The trees were only just budding out.

Speaker 1 So even in the deeper woods,

Speaker 1 the light was bright,

Speaker 1 Along with the dandelions growing from every patch of green were daffodils,

Speaker 1 some all yellow,

Speaker 1 and others with a yellow cup of petals inside

Speaker 1 and an outer ring of bright white petals around them.

Speaker 1 On the far side of the creek

Speaker 1 was a rhododendron with long, shiny leaves.

Speaker 1 It was a giant, ranging along the water for yards,

Speaker 1 and up toward the thick branch of a beech tree almost as far.

Speaker 1 It must have been planted a hundred years ago

Speaker 1 to grow this big,

Speaker 1 and around its roots were dozens of maya apples.

Speaker 1 I recognized them by their shape.

Speaker 1 They were tiny,

Speaker 1 only five or six inches tall,

Speaker 1 but shaped like little umbrellas.

Speaker 1 As they grew over the summer, the umbrellas would open up,

Speaker 1 and their leaves would stand out rather than droop down.

Speaker 1 Eventually,

Speaker 1 they would grow small, green, lemon-shaped fruits, which were edible, but

Speaker 1 didn't have much flavor.

Speaker 1 Luckily,

Speaker 1 wildlife, turtles, and others liked them just fine.

Speaker 1 And they would make for good meals when the time was right.

Speaker 1 On my way back toward home, toward the stone steps and the patio,

Speaker 1 I reached out and touched trees along the path.

Speaker 1 I bent down near the stream and let my fingers trail through the cold water.

Speaker 1 The dandelions were all yellow.

Speaker 1 None had turned to fluff yet,

Speaker 1 ready for a wish to be made.

Speaker 1 But mine had already been granted.

Speaker 1 The static in my head had quieted,

Speaker 1 replaced by the sound of the creek.

Speaker 1 I was calm

Speaker 1 and happy

Speaker 1 and restored.

Speaker 1 Dandelions

Speaker 1 and Mayapples

Speaker 1 A week or two ago, I'd spotted them

Speaker 1 down by the creek,

Speaker 1 their yellow heads visible

Speaker 1 among the bright green new grass,

Speaker 1 even from a ways away.

Speaker 1 On the day I'd seen them,

Speaker 1 it had snowed again.

Speaker 1 Just a flurry of flakes

Speaker 1 that seemed to melt

Speaker 1 before they made it all the way to the ground.

Speaker 1 But among the budding trees and forsythia branches,

Speaker 1 it had felt like a prank.

Speaker 1 A cruel joke after warm days,

Speaker 1 in which we'd all cautiously started to believe

Speaker 1 that winter was fully over.

Speaker 1 And I guess it was

Speaker 1 not

Speaker 1 just because the sun had come out the very next day,

Speaker 1 and the warmth and sweet air along with it,

Speaker 1 But because nature and the seasons,

Speaker 1 just like most everything else,

Speaker 1 don't go in a straight line.

Speaker 1 Just because spring had pivoted on her heel for a moment,

Speaker 1 it didn't mean anything wasn't as it should be.

Speaker 1 Spring has a bit of winter in her, after all.

Speaker 1 I think of this a lot

Speaker 1 of how nature spirals,

Speaker 1 pivots,

Speaker 1 retreats, and begins again,

Speaker 1 and how often we forget that we are meant to do the same.

Speaker 1 How we would never look at the sky or

Speaker 1 at a formation of rock and earth and think,

Speaker 1 well, that's not right.

Speaker 1 It just is.

Speaker 1 And so am I.

Speaker 1 And so are you.

Speaker 1 So when the clouds had finished dropping,

Speaker 1 their last snowflakes for a while at least,

Speaker 1 And the sun was out again.

Speaker 1 I peered through the window

Speaker 1 in my room at the top of the house

Speaker 1 and spied the dandelions

Speaker 1 still yellow

Speaker 1 and blooming beside the creek.

Speaker 1 I have a lovely view from my window,

Speaker 1 and it was changing seemingly by the minute

Speaker 1 as the trees budded

Speaker 1 and flowers emerged.

Speaker 1 I pushed it up by the sash,

Speaker 1 and the air that rolled in

Speaker 1 was warm and fresh smelling.

Speaker 1 What was I doing up here?

Speaker 1 I asked myself.

Speaker 1 I could be

Speaker 1 out there.

Speaker 1 So I raced down the stairs

Speaker 1 until I was at the back door,

Speaker 1 stepping into my shoes

Speaker 1 and onto the patio.

Speaker 1 I hadn't planted anything yet,

Speaker 1 besides one small pot of pansies

Speaker 1 that stood beside the door,

Speaker 1 and I stopped to admire them.

Speaker 1 Purple and yellow and white,

Speaker 1 with green leaves.

Speaker 1 I picked up the watering can where I had left it

Speaker 1 a day or two ago

Speaker 1 and gave them a quick drink.

Speaker 1 On the patio stones

Speaker 1 were long black marks.

Speaker 1 And I remembered watching a deer from my window

Speaker 1 scraping her hooves along the stones.

Speaker 1 I imagined her using them as I used an emery board on my nails.

Speaker 1 Glad the doe had gotten her own self-care Sunday,

Speaker 1 I thought with a chuckle.

Speaker 1 Beyond the edge of the patio were stairs made of flat stones

Speaker 1 wedged into the earth,

Speaker 1 and I stepped on to them cautiously.

Speaker 1 They felt solid and secure.

Speaker 1 But I hadn't climbed them since last autumn.

Speaker 1 So I went slowly,

Speaker 1 checking that each one

Speaker 1 was without wiggle as I went.

Speaker 1 When we'd first moved in,

Speaker 1 these steps weren't even visible from the house.

Speaker 1 And I could only guess how old they were.

Speaker 1 It had been such a treat

Speaker 1 to find them

Speaker 1 when we were exploring the yard

Speaker 1 that first summer.

Speaker 1 We'd cleared out some brush

Speaker 1 and cut away an invasive vine

Speaker 1 to find

Speaker 1 what had felt like a secret garden.

Speaker 1 Beyond the steps was another surprise.

Speaker 1 A bench,

Speaker 1 cast iron,

Speaker 1 and still with a few flakes of white paint clinging to its seat and back.

Speaker 1 I remembered finding it that day,

Speaker 1 going to sit on it.

Speaker 1 It was in the shade of a giant maple,

Speaker 1 and near enough the creek

Speaker 1 to enjoy the sound,

Speaker 1 but far back enough

Speaker 1 that when she overran her banks each spring,

Speaker 1 your toes wouldn't get wet.

Speaker 1 Sitting there, I'd been struck with the thought

Speaker 1 of someone else sitting in the exact same spot

Speaker 1 many, many

Speaker 1 years before,

Speaker 1 having their picture taken,

Speaker 1 shading their eyes

Speaker 1 against the bright glint of the sunshine

Speaker 1 and smiling at the camera.

Speaker 1 Had I just stepped into someone else's memory?

Speaker 1 Or was it just a fanciful thought

Speaker 1 born of the romance of the spot

Speaker 1 and the warm air?

Speaker 1 I hadn't known,

Speaker 1 but hoped that somewhere

Speaker 1 up in my attic,

Speaker 1 I'd one day find an old box with the photo I'd just imagined waiting inside it.

Speaker 1 The sound of the creak pulled me over,

Speaker 1 and I peered down into it.

Speaker 1 Clear water flowed over stones,

Speaker 1 and a sandy bottom scored with ripples.

Speaker 1 Upstream the creek curved,

Speaker 1 and the water rushed and ran.

Speaker 1 And I walked closer,

Speaker 1 wanting to bottle the sound of it,

Speaker 1 and to carry it around with me in my pocket.

Speaker 1 I stood there for a bit,

Speaker 1 just watching it flow,

Speaker 1 thinking about how the stones in the creek bed

Speaker 1 were sometimes exposed when the water was low,

Speaker 1 and how you could use them as a bridge to step across.

Speaker 1 But now they were submerged.

Speaker 1 And though I know they didn't

Speaker 1 I imagined them sighing

Speaker 1 as the cool water flowed over them.

Speaker 1 I kept walking, following the creek upstream.

Speaker 1 The trees were only just budding out

Speaker 1 So even in the deeper woods the light was bright

Speaker 1 Along with the dandelions growing from every patch of green

Speaker 1 were daffodils

Speaker 1 some

Speaker 1 all yellow

Speaker 1 And others

Speaker 1 with a yellow cup of petals inside,

Speaker 1 and an outer ring of bright white petals around them.

Speaker 1 On the far side of the creek was a rhododendron with long shiny leaves.

Speaker 1 It was a giant ranging along the water for yards,

Speaker 1 and up toward the thick branch of a beech tree nearly as far.

Speaker 1 It must have been planted a hundred years ago

Speaker 1 to grow this big,

Speaker 1 and around its roots were dozens

Speaker 1 of may apples.

Speaker 1 I recognized them by their shape.

Speaker 1 They were tiny,

Speaker 1 only five or six inches tall,

Speaker 1 but shaped like little umbrellas.

Speaker 1 As they grew over the summer,

Speaker 1 the umbrellas would open up,

Speaker 1 and their leaves would stand out

Speaker 1 rather than droop down.

Speaker 1 Eventually,

Speaker 1 they would grow small, green,

Speaker 1 lemon-shaped fruits,

Speaker 1 which were edible,

Speaker 1 but didn't have much flavor.

Speaker 1 Luckily,

Speaker 1 wildlife, turtles and others,

Speaker 1 liked them just fine,

Speaker 1 and they would make for good meals when the time was right.

Speaker 1 On my way back toward home,

Speaker 1 toward the stone steps and the patio,

Speaker 1 I reached out and touched trees along the path.

Speaker 1 I bent down near the stream

Speaker 1 and let my fingers

Speaker 1 trail through the cold water.

Speaker 1 The dandelions were all yellow.

Speaker 1 None had turned to fluff yet,

Speaker 1 ready for a wish

Speaker 1 to be made,

Speaker 1 but mine had already been granted.

Speaker 1 The static in my head had quieted,

Speaker 1 replaced by the sound of the creek.

Speaker 1 I was calm

Speaker 1 and happy

Speaker 1 and restored.

Speaker 1 Sweet dreams.