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 beautiful, rich red color, and I spooned it into a few bowls which I could set around the table, surrounded by fresh veggies and toasted flatbread. The soup was nearly ready, and our friends were expected soon, and I had just one more thing to make. It was a treat, a bit rich in flavor, but one of those snacks that folks just can't leave alone. Truffle popcorn.

I popped a huge pot of popcorn, and when the kernels stopped pinging in the pan, I tipped all the fluffy hot pieces into a big brown paper bag. I drizzled truffle oil in a tiny stream over the corn and added a good bit of pink salt. Then I folded the top of the bag up and shook it for all I was worth. I heard the fire crackling in the grate.

and had a feeling I was being watched in my dance of the truffle corn fairy. But I didn't mind. How's that fire going? I called out. I just heard a laugh come back at me. I tipped the popcorn into a few bowls and set them out with a muhammara, I stuck a few stacks of napkins around the place and turned on some music. I had a few bottles of bubbly for toasting the new year.

I pushed open the door from the kitchen out to the backyard and stuck them neck deep into the nearest snow drift. This is a handy part of living somewhere with plenty of snow. Any snowbank can be an extension of your refrigerator. As I was coming back in to stir the soup, I heard a friendly knock and the jingle bells on the front door ringing as our friends began to pile in.

Oh, the loveliness of having friends, dear and old enough to treat your home as their own. As soon as coats were hung up and hugs exchanged, folks were reaching into cupboards for glasses, knowing just where the corkscrew and bottle openers were, and setting themselves down at the table. rolling up their sleeves and getting ready to play.

I turned off the soup and set the lid ajar to let it cool and poured myself a glass of something. The popcorn was disappearing just like I knew it would, and everyone wanted to know what its secret ingredient was. But I was stubborn about sharing. It's special to my house.

You'll have to come here when you crave it, I finally said, and set down a few board game boxes and decks of cards on the table. As we debated what we'd play tonight, Last game night, I had taught them a card game that my family had played when I was young. And once everyone had caught on to its breakneck pace, we couldn't quit till nearly midnight. We'd called it Nutsy, or sometimes Peanuts.

but I'd heard it go by a dozen funny names, including The Racing Canfield, Peanuts Pounce, Scramble, Squeal, and Scrooge. We all agreed, after last time, we had a few scores to settle, and decided to make it another night of cards. We cleared away the boxes and passed around decks of cards, and all started to shuffle. Card games had been a big deal in my family.

I knew how to shuffle cards like a blackjack dealer by the time I was seven years old. And as I watched my friends mix and count out the first thirteen of each deck and pass them over to the person on their left, I had a strong memory of being the littlest one at the table with all my aunts and uncles.

my feet not yet touching the ground, as we set up our hands and waited with excitement for someone to shout, go. Then the sounds of flipping cards, cards slapped onto the table, and grown-ups elbowing each other out of the way to get that seven of spades onto the sixth.

Now, to be in my own home, my own family of friends, the smell of the popcorn and soup in the air, and all of us grinning around the table at each other, drumming our fingers and waiting to turn that first card. I guessed we'd probably forget to count down at midnight. too busy laughing and playing, and then, at some point, run out into the snow to retrieve the champagne.

We'd raise our glasses and make a resolution. This year, more fun. Holiday at Weathervane Farm Just hanging the lights would take a day. But I didn't mind at all. It was a special time of year. One that I looked forward to through the rainy days of spring, the summer heat. and especially as the leaves dried and fell.

On the drive up the road at night, when the farm came into sight, and you saw the trees wrapped in white lights, their branches suddenly picked out against the dark sky, the roofline of the house and barn, and even the weather vane, all glowing. Well, it made a day of work well worth it. And besides the beauty, it was a way to guide visitors.

our farm relied on the community to help us keep our rescued pigs and goats and donkeys in hay and feed for the winter. So a few years ago, we hatched an idea to bring them all together It involved lots of twinkle lights, hot cocoa and cider, and Santa hats with holes cut out for long, floppy ears. After all, who wouldn't want to drive out to the country on a snowy December evening?

And be wished season's bleedings by all the goats. A volunteer knitted giant Christmas sweaters for the donkeys. Our oldest and sweetest dog. A slow-moving pug who couldn't see too well. Played Santa Paws. laying on the cushioned seat of a small sled in the barn, where people could tell him what they wanted for Christmas and get their pictures taken. He often snoozed through the whole thing.

We strung mistletoe above the pig's enclosure And while no one had actually gone in for a kiss, they did get quite a lot of belly rubs and treats. We found big yoga balls, painted like ornaments, that the goats chased and tried to jump on.

Mostly it was an excuse to bring people close to our animals and let them be reminded of how beautiful they were, how much they enjoyed their lives here, where they would never be in danger, where they would only know love. And that being part of giving that safety and love was an excellent way to celebrate the season.

Over the years, we'd found a few ways to make the trip out to the country even more worthwhile. a Christmas tree farm down the road began donating wreaths and garlands. And now it was a regular part of the tradition for lots of people to get their front door wreath from Weathervane Farm. We also had urns of hot cocoa

and trays of donuts and Christmas cookies set up around heaters on the front porch of the farmhouse, and the tractor hitched to a wagon lined with hay bales to take folks out for rides through the snowy fields. So today, as I took boxes of lights and decorations out to the yard, I was already full of holiday spirit. I watched the ducks waddling off to the pond, which hadn't frozen over yet,

to spend the day sunbathing on the banks. They called to each other as they went, and I sang out, Honk the herald angels sing. I crack me up. I looked down at the lights in my hands. I knew there was a system for this. Where to start and the best way to proceed. Without getting the cords all tangled up. But I never remembered it. It was always a process of trial and error.

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