Catherine Nicolai

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319 appearances 2 recordings 1 series first heard Dec 2024 last heard Jan 2025

Catherine Nicolai’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.

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Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep · Merry Much Happens - 2024 · 16 Dec 2024 podcast

It was a careful system, rotating the fields so that the soil could rest, so that the trees would have time and space to grow. And as I rolled through them, I felt a deep peace settle into me. The night air was like peppermint in my nostrils, making me feel awake and attuned to the trees and the stars. I had read once that the minerals in our bones

had been born in the belly of a star, light years away and ages ago. And when I rode through the fields at night and looked up, I did feel my place. I was a child of the universe, the same as the pine trees and the deer bedded down in their dens. I stopped on the edge of the Douglas firs, turned off the engine, and reached for my thermos.

When I twisted off the top, steam, sweet and spicy, rose up and rippled in the air. I poured my hot cider, spiced with cinnamon, into the thermos mug. and wrapped my hands around it. I leaned back in the tractor seat and propped my feet unprofessionally on the dash. For a few minutes, I just sat and sipped and listened and looked. The sky was cloudless.

There would be no snowfall tonight, and there was only the faintest bit of wind stirring the treetops. When I'd had that last sip of cider from my cup, I closed up my thermos and started the tractor to finish the loop back to the shop. Just as I came over the slight rise near the Nordman firs, I spotted a tree cut and left behind near the trail. I clicked my tongue and shook my head.

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a while someone will cut a tree and change their mind, spot a better one, and leave the first behind. We ask our guests not to do this, but it happens. I stopped the tractor and jumped down. I stood the tree up on its cut end and looked at it. perfectly handsome tree. Why anyone would have left it was beyond me.

I loaded it onto the trailer and climbed back in. A few minutes later, I was turning in toward the barn when I spotted headlights coming slowly down the drive. I stepped down from the tractor and pulled my gloves on, going to meet them. The car stopped a few yards from the shop, and a man stepped out.

He had a worried look about him, his hands crammed in his pockets, and he hurried to the shop door and found it locked. Hello, I called out to him. He turned toward me, shielding his eyes from the bright strings of Christmas lights. Hello, he called back. Looks like I've missed the, well, not the boat, but maybe the sleigh? I chuckled and strolled into the pool of light.

Nearly, but as long as I'm here, I might be able to help. Need a tree? He sighed and smiled gratefully. Yes, I meant to make it out earlier, but work kept me late, and I just don't want to go home one more day without one. I'll take any tree you've got. Must be Kismet. I just found an orphan tree in the field. I pulled the tree down from the trailer and stood it for him beside the baler.

The piney scent was thick in the air, and I saw his face soften as he looked at it. That's just the kind we had when I was a kid. It smells just the same. Well then, I thought someone had left it behind, but now I guess they'd cut it for you. They must have known you'd be late and needed it. His eyes brimmed, and he bent his head, feeling around in his pockets for his wallet.

The shop was closed, our register shut down for the day. And as he drew out a card, I reached for the bailing twine to tie the tree to his roof. Ah, never mind, I said. Just pass it along, okay? Before the year is out. Deal? He helped me hoist the tree up onto his car and caught the edge of the twine as I tossed it. Deal. And Merry Christmas. Game Night The tree was still up.

and we still had plates of cookies, decorated with red and green icing, and plenty of leftover holiday cheer. And while the days before the 25th were full of that lovely anticipation that only happens once a year, The days immediately after felt like a deep sigh of relaxation. Everything was done, and now we could just enjoy a bit of time before we put our ducks in a row for the coming year.

A few years back, we'd started a tradition for the 31st, and it had stuck. we'd had our share of glamorous New Year's Eves. Nights out, dancing into the wee hours, coming home with confetti in our hair and crumpled noisemakers in the pockets of our coats. At some point, that kind of celebration had slipped down the other side of the hill and gone from exciting to exhausting.

and that's when we started game night. We'd invite half a dozen or so friends, make a big buffet of snacks, and clear off the kitchen table to make space for fun. Remember fun? When we were kids, we woke each day with a deep-seated need and an insatiable appetite for it. We sought it out and often found it a hundred times a day.

We made up games in an instant, played them until we thought up a better one, and then played that. Game night always reminded me how vital fun was. how good it felt to laugh until my cheeks hurt. And now, instead of waking up bleary-eyed and head achy on New Year's Day, I was guaranteed to wake up feeling like a kid again.

We had a bit of cleaning up to do before our guests arrived, and we divvied up the jobs. there was firewood to be brought in, food to prepare, and a few scraps of wrapping paper still kicking around under the sofa in the living room to be picked up. I volunteered for all kitchen-related chores and left my better half to attend to the rest. I always opted to be in the kitchen if I could.

It never felt like work to me. Not when I could turn on some music, dance around in my socks, and chop and sauté, and wind up with something delicious at the end. I started by making a soup, something thick and hearty for a cold December night. I took a couple leeks from the fridge. I thought they looked like green onions that had grown up and lived adult lives now.

I sliced them into coins and dropped them into the colander to rinse in the sink. Leeks are grown in sandy soil and need to be washed carefully before they're cooked. Some might find that a pain, but I liked all the small, fiddly parts of cooking. Dicing things into even pieces, snipping herbs from stems, and even washing leeks.

Once they were squeaky clean, I sauteed them in the bottom of a giant soup pot. with olive oil and a pinch of salt. While they cooked down, I overturned a bag of golden potatoes onto the counter and started peeling and chopping. Then in with the potatoes and broth and fresh thyme and black pepper.

I had a grandfather who believed wholeheartedly in the healing properties of black pepper, and I always added an extra pinch for him. I set the soup to simmer away and turned to the next task. The soup would be perfect to serve up in cups between rounds. But we also needed finger foods that wouldn't interrupt our all-important play.

For this, I made muhammara, a delicious dip of Syrian origin that felt pretty fancy but came together in a flash. It was made with roasted red peppers, walnuts, breadcrumbs, chili flakes, and pomegranate molasses, all blended together in my food processor.

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