The Gatekeeper Tree

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If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest.

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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 write and read

all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Unbound

dedicated to ending human poverty in all its forms.

Learn more about them in our show notes.

We have some lovely things coming up in the village in the near future, including my second book, Eek.

More to come on that soon.

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And not too long after that, an app that is the next best thing to actually living in the village of Nothing Much.

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I don't want you to miss out on any of this cozy fun.

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Bedtime stories aren't a new invention,

but recognizing just how effective they are for sleep training for folks of all ages and needs kind of is.

All you need to do is listen.

I'll tell the story twice,

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

If you wake later in the night,

don't hesitate to restart an episode.

With practice, falling and returning to sleep will happen within mere moments.

Our story tonight is called the Gatekeeper Tree.

And folks,

it is ever so gently a spooky bedtime story.

And I know that's not for everyone, so if it doesn't sound like it's for you, the good news is that we have hundreds of other episodes to listen to, always at your fingertips.

This story is about a late-night expedition, the flickering light of a lantern in the woods, tree roots that might trip you or make way,

depending on whether or not you ought to be there, a fox kit, and a fairy circle.

And the prize found at the journey's end.

Okay, it's time.

Maybe you've been waiting all day for this moment.

The moment when nothing else is needed from you, when there is no expectation of you.

We're there.

Let everything go.

Take a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh through the mouth.

And again, breathe in

and out.

Good.

The gatekeeper tree

In the thick of the forest,

the light from my lantern bounced off the tree trunks

and mossy roots.

I could hear the crunch of twigs and dried leaves under my feet.

The sound of my breath, a little fast from the climb,

but not much else.

Then, at the edge of the tree line,

the sound of flapping wings startled me.

A bird,

by the sound of it, a large bird,

set off into the dark sky.

Tonight's walk wasn't just for the joy of it.

I was on a mission

as a member of the friendly circle of village witches.

The task of foraging something special from the wood,

as the veil thinned,

had fallen to me.

The path leveled off,

and I stepped out into a clearing full of moonlight.

The difference was so stark

that I blinked for a few moments

as my eyes adjusted to it.

I let my arm drop to my side,

the lantern knocking against my knee,

and took a deep breath of cool air in

and out.

I could smell so much in this field

the damp soil after the recent rain

old logs and fallen branches slowly breaking down

leaves crisp and spicy were the top note of this perfume

and somewhere in the middle

was just the open

uncluttered scent of night time

my breath fogged in the air

and I began to walk again

before the cold could take hold of me

I was headed somewhere further out

and though I didn't have a paper map to follow

There was one written in the land

and so far I'd been able to follow along.

I scanned the edge of the wood opposite until I found what I was looking for.

When I spotted it, I lifted the lantern again to confirm

and whispered under my breath

There she is.

The tree stood a bit apart from the others,

and right at the edge of a clear, worn-down path.

Many of its roots were exposed and crossed over the trail

to the ground cover on the other side.

The gatekeeper tree.

Every magical wood has one,

one at least, in fact

a tree that,

like a ticket-taker on a carnival ride,

or a bouncer behind a velvet rope,

inspects and possibly welcomes those who pass through.

I approached with some respect,

just pausing and breathing down deep into my belly.

When trying to communicate with something that doesn't use a spoken language,

it's wise to rely instead

on the most ancient language ever devised.

sensation

so i paid attention

to what I felt in my body.

The calm beat of my heart.

The warmth in my tissues from the exercise.

The fresh feeling on the back of my neck as the cool air blew over it.

I reached out slowly and laid a hand on the gatekeeper's trunk.

I'd read about a study done

a few years before

in which

intention

communicated through touch was tested.

Two people separated by a barrier so they couldn't see each other.

One reached out

and for a few seconds touched the arm of the other

trying to encode that bit of contact

with an emotion.

Love,

embarrassment,

envy,

surprise,

gratitude.

Then the recipient of the touch reported

what emotion they felt had been transmitted.

If they'd simply guessed,

they would have been correct about eight percent of the time.

But they were correct nearly seventy percent of the time.

We can speak through touch.

I thought of that whenever I said hello to a tree,

whenever I hugged a friend or shook the hand hand of someone I hoped would become one.

I did my best to say now to the gatekeeper that I was good-hearted,

respectful of the woods,

and here to play and learn.

I felt a slight vibration in the bark,

a warmth that traveled from the wood into my palm.

I heard branches high up shaking

and shifting, and a few dry leaves

showered down over me.

As they touched the earth at my feet,

I noticed the roots that crossed the path

wriggle themselves deeper into the soil so that I wouldn't trip over them

and one of the fallen leaves shimmered as it turned back to the glossy dark green

it had been in the peak of summertime

I bent and scooped it up

and in my hand

it continued to glow and shift

from green to deep red, then bright yellow,

and fiery orange.

And that's where it settled.

And I wove its stem into a lock of hair in my braid

and stepped into the forest.

I thought of the time I had been tripped by the roots of a gatekeeper tree

on my way into the woods.

It was before I understood much

about speaking the language of trees.

Before I relearned to trust my instincts.

I'd laid a hand on the bark

and had felt a twist in my stomach.

But I hadn't paid any attention to it,

just barreled forward brazenly,

only to fall flat on my face on the dusty trail.

Even then I hadn't listened.

I dusted myself off,

shaken my head at my own clumsiness,

and continued on my way.

The quiet of the birds hadn't registered,

nor had the heavy branch I'd found across my path.

It wasn't until I noticed an unnatural darkness looming ahead

and felt a sudden cold wind blowing on what had been a warm day

that I finally tuned in to the alarm that was ringing through my tissues.

The gatekeeper had tried to turn me away that day.

The whole forest had heard her call

and added their voices in the ways that they could.

I don't know exactly what fate I'd been saved from.

But once the chill hit me

and I realized I was was somewhere I oughtn't be,

I spun on my heel and made my way out

and to safety in a flash.

That day,

when I'd learned that important lesson

about listening to my instinct and trusting a literal gut feeling

had been a bright,

sunny midsummer day.

Now, in the dark of night, at the tail end of autumn, I felt safer than I had then.

I could feel down to my bones

how welcome and protected I was among these trees.

They had helped make me a dryad.

And when I was here, I was as safe as a fox kit,

snuggled in its den.

I pulled my braid over my shoulder and smiled

as I noticed that the single orange leaf had become a beautiful chain

of golden maples

and acorns and luminous moss

that glowed as it fell down my back.

I smiled, thinking of how

I just

might brag to my sister witches about this garland I'd acquired,

how the trees themselves had clearly dubbed me queen.

In a clearing ahead of me,

I finally found what I'd been looking for.

Inside a ring of saplings

was a pumpkin patch with ripe orange gourds and prickly stems

just waiting to be picked and carried away.

They were growing in a fairy circle on a full moon,

and so they carried within them

the magic of the forest

and the protection of of the gatekeeper tree.

We would carve them

and set them out along the ley lines of the village.

To our neighbors, they would seem just like any other Halloween decoration.

But they would assure that the season of all hallows

would be safe for all.

Not a single trick-or-treater

would so much as skin their knee from a fall

while our pumpkins were lit.

I set my lantern down on a stone at my feet,

took a breath,

and stepped into the circle.

The Gatekeeper Tree

In the thick of the forest,

the light from my lantern

bounced off the tree trunks and mossy roots.

I could hear the crunch of twigs

and dried leaves under my feet,

the sound of my breath,

a little fast from the climb,

but not much else.

Then at the edge of the tree line,

the sound of flapping wings startled me.

A bird,

by the sound of it, a large bird,

setting off into the dark sky.

Tonight's walk wasn't just for the joy of it.

I was on a mission

as a member of the friendly circle

of village witches.

The task of foraging something special

from the wood

as the veil thinned

had fallen to me.

The path leveled off,

and I stepped out into a clearing full of moonlight.

The difference was so stark

that I blinked for a few moments

as my eyes adjusted to it.

I let my arm drop to my side,

the lantern knocking against my knee

and took a deep breath of cool air in

and sighed it out.

I could smell so much

in this field

the damp soil

after the recent rain

old logs logs and fallen branches slowly breaking down.

Leaves,

crisp and spicy,

were the top note of this perfume.

And somewhere in the middle

was just the open,

uncluttered scent of nighttime.

My breath fogged in the air,

and I began to walk again

before the cold could take hold of me.

I was headed somewhere farther out,

and though I didn't have a paper map to follow,

there was one written in the land

And so far I'd been able to follow along.

I scanned the edge of the wood opposite

until I found what I was looking for.

When I spotted it

I lifted the lantern again to confirm

and whispered under my breath, there she is.

The tree stood a bit apart from the others

and right at the edge of a clear, worn-down path.

Many of its roots were exposed

and crossed over the trail

to the ground cover on the other side.

The gatekeeper tree

Every magical wood has one,

one at least, in fact,

a tree that, like a ticket taker on a carnival ride,

or a bouncer behind a a velvet rope

inspects

and possibly welcomes

those who pass through.

I approached with some respect,

just pausing

and breathing down deep into my belly.

When trying to communicate

with something that doesn't use spoken language,

it's wise to rely instead

on the most ancient language ever devised,

sensation.

So I paid attention to what I felt in my body,

the calm beat of my heart,

the warmth in my tissues from the exercise

and the fresh feeling at the back of my neck

as the cool air blew over it

I reached out slowly

and laid a hand on the gatekeeper's trunk

I'd read about a study done a few years before,

in which

intention,

communicated through touch, was tested.

Two people,

separated by a barrier, so that they couldn't see each other.

One reached out

and for a few seconds

touched the arm of the other,

trying to encode

that bit of contact

with an emotion.

Love,

embarrassment,

envy,

surprise,

gratitude.

Then the recipient of the touch reported

what emotion they felt had been transmitted.

If they'd simply guessed,

they would have been correct about eight percent of the time,

but they were correct nearly seventy percent of the time.

We can speak

touch.

I think of that whenever I say hello to a tree,

whenever I hug a friend,

or shake the hand of someone

I hope will become one.

I did my best to say now

to the gatekeeper

that I was good-hearted,

respectful of the woods,

here to play and learn.

I felt a slight vibration in the bark,

a warmth that traveled

from the wood into my palm.

I heard branches high up

shaking and shifting,

and a few dry leaves

showered down over me

as they touched the earth at my feet.

I noticed the roots that crossed the path

wriggle deeper into the soil

so that I wouldn't trip over them.

And one of the fallen leaves shimmered

as it turned back to the glossy dark green

it had been in the peak of summertime.

I bent and scooped it up,

and in my hand

it continued to glow

and shift

from green to deep red

then bright yellow

and fiery orange

That's where it settled

And I wove its stem into a lock of hair in my braid and stepped into the forest.

I thought of the time I had been tripped by the roots of a gatekeeper tree

on my way into the woods.

It was before I understood much

about speaking the language of trees,

Before I relearned to trust my instincts

I'd laid a hand on the bark

and had felt a twist in my stomach

but

I hadn't paid any attention to it

just barreled brazenly forward

only to fall flat on my face on the dusty trail.

Even then I hadn't listened.

I dusted myself off,

shaken my head at my own clumsiness,

and continued on my way.

The quiet of the birds

hadn't registered,

nor had the heavy branch I'd found across my path.

It wasn't until I noticed an unnatural darkness looming ahead

and felt a sudden cold wind blowing

on what had been a warm day

that I finally tuned into the alarm

that was ringing through my tissues.

The gatekeeper had tried to turn me away that day.

The whole forest

had heard her call

and added their voices in the ways that they could.

I don't know exactly what fate

I'd been saved from.

But when the chill hit me

and I realized I was somewhere I oughtn't be,

I spun on my heel

and made my way out

and to safety in a flash.

That day,

when I'd learned that important lesson

about listening to my instinct

and trusting a literal gut feeling,

had been a sunny, bright midsummer day.

Now in the dark of night,

at the tail end of autumn,

I felt safer than I had then.

I could feel down to my bones how welcome and protected I was among these trees.

They had helped make me a dryad.

And when I was here,

I was as safe as a fox kit

snuggled in its den.

I pulled my braid over my shoulder

and smiled as I noticed that the single orange leaf

had now become a beautiful chain

of golden maples

and acorns

and luminous moss

that glowed as it fell down my back.

I smiled, thinking of how

I just might

brag to my sister witches

about this garland I'd acquired,

How the trees themselves

have clearly dubbed me queen

In the clearing ahead of me

I finally found what I'd been looking for

Inside a ring of saplings

Was a pumpkin patch

with ripe orange gourds on prickly stems,

just waiting to be picked and carried away.

They were growing in a fairy circle on a full moon,

and so they carried within them the magic of the forest

and and the protection of the gatekeeper tree.

We would carve them and set them out along the ley lines of the village.

To our neighbors, they would seem just like any other Halloween decoration,

but they would assure that the season of all hallows

would be safe for all

not a single trick or treater

would so much

as skin their knee from a fall

while our pumpkins were lit

I set my lantern down on a stone at my feet,

took a breath,

and stepped into the circle.

Sweet dreams.