Welcome to Sleepy Shorts Short Stories for Bedtime. This podcast is brought to you
by I have a story to tell you that will help take your mind off
all of your worries and cares. Just listen and relax, then drift peacefully
into sleep. It's time to turn off the lights and snuggle into your bed.
Find your most comfortable position there. Now take a few seconds to relax
your mind. It's time to sleep. Time to rest and rejuvenate our minds
and bodies. In order to prepare our bodies for sleep, let's do a
couple of muscle relaxation and breathing exercises. I want you to inhale for account
of three, and while doing so, tighten all of your muscles and inhale
one two, three, Hold your breath, keep your muscles tense. Now
exhale to account of six. While you relax all of your muscles one two,
three, four, five six, feel your body sinking deeper into your
bed. Let's do this one more time. Take a deep three second breath
as you tighten your muscles, hold it now, relax and exhale to account
of six. Let your body sink even deeper into your bed. Now it's
time for your sleepy short let me help you fall asleep a trip on the
river. Driving south past the entrance to the National Forest, I can feel
the cares of the everyday world begin to fade away. The soft growl of
my friend's jeep sounds as if it also wants to get away from the city
and play on the mountain roads. After I am dropped off, my friend
has plans to take the jeep to the dunes down south and let it play
in the sand. I have other plans. Strapped to the rack of the
roof is my yellow canoe, and what I have planned is not play exactly,
but a release of the tension and expectations of the workweek. This is
going to be me time. We don't pass another car in the last fifteen
minutes of the drive, and the story is there won't be many out this
weekend. With school getting ready to let out in a couple of weeks,
most people are saving up their vacation for the summer. Once that happens,
this kind of day won't be possible until the kids head back to school in
the fall. Best to enjoy this while I can. My friend makes the
left turn off the main road onto a rutted dirt track, and after a
few minutes we find the launch site, just a small gravel covered spot on
the bank of the river and not very well known to most people. After
helping me pull the canoe down and slip it into the water, my friend
promises to see me Sunday afternoon. Then all I see are the tail lights
of the jeep heading back out the way we came in. After doing a
quick check of my gear and getting it placed in the canoe where it would
provide the best balance, I step in and launch myself away from the shore.
Settling myself in, I pick up the paddle and begin moving it out
to the center of the river. Every now and then I dip my hand
into the water and it feels cool to the touch. This is a late
spring day, so the temperature is comfortable, with very little heat being reflected
off the water. As I reach the center of the river, I point
the canoe downstream and lift the paddle. The current is just strong enough to
move the canoe at a slow, leisurely pace. I know this part of
the river. There are no rapids, no rocks or waterfalls during the entire
forty mile stretch, just a slow, meandering waterway that never once thinks of
forming any white water. The sound of the water lapping against the side of
the canoe is enough to calm even the most high strung soul. Putting in
just below Thompson Dam meant forty plus miles of dreamy, relaxing waters to float
down, and I meant to enjoy every inch of it. The river weaves
its way through the forest, and it seems I am the only one who
feels the urge to be on the water. In some places, the river
narrows enough so that the trees on opposite banks reach toward one another, like
a mother reaching for a child, where they can touch each other. Their
branches intertwine like interlocking fingers. Sitting back against the seat, I closed my
eyes for a few minutes and let the water carry me south at whatever pace
the river decides. Most of the time, that is a slow walking speed.
That's okay, because I have nowhere to be and no one to see.
Instead of visiting someone else, I decided to pay a little visit to
myself. I pulled my hat down a little lower over my eyes to shield
them from the sun poking its way through the leaves overhead. I can hear
the birds high up in the trees, yapping back and forth as if they're
discussing the goings on in the past week. Periodically, I add my two
cents to the conversation. Closing my eyes, I feel the motion of the
canoe as it glides over the surface of the water. The gentle rocking is
enough to bring peace to my soul and take away the cares of the previous
week. No longer do I worry about the meeting on Monday. No longer
does the size of my retirement account weigh on my mind. I am in
the moment, just me and the river and whatever sense of calm the universe
is fit to bestow upon me. A fish jumps a few yards away,
trying to catch a mosquito that had gotten too close to the surface of the
water. I'm so relaxed, I don't even consider the thought of not having
my fishing gear with me. Rest easy to day, fish, You are
safe until next time. I look ahead and notice a deer and her fawn
standing at the edge of the water, refreshing themselves. They watch as I
float slowly by, Sensing no danger from me at all. They make no
attempt to run and hide. The large brown eyes of the young one follow
me as I look at her. The white spots on her back are fresh
and bright, telling me she isn't much more than a month old. I
think of saying something softly to them, but to side against it, not
wanting to cause them any distress. About the time the sun begins to dip
to the west, I begin looking for my favorite spot to spend the night,
Having done this a couple of times before, I know to look for
the two fallen trees forming an X on the right side of the river.
It only takes a few minutes for them to come into view, and I
know that I have reached my stopping point for the day. Hauling the canoe
out of the water, I drag it about twenty feet past the two trees
into a small clearing that is no bigger than the average bedroom bedroom. That's
exactly what this space is going to be tonight. I empty out my vessel
and then gather a good number of small branches from some nearby trees and lay
them in the bottom of the canoe, spreading them out like a mat.
Then I roll my sleeping bag out over them. And finally, taking a
light tarp from my pack, I stretch it over the canoe. This is
going to be my weatherproof bed this evening. Sitting down, I start a
small fire and use it to heat some water. The hot water becomes soup
and tea, adding that to a sandwich purchased at a small deli. On
the weight of the river, dinner is served. Darkness claims the forest near
the river, and I crawl into the canoe with a flashlight, sliding into
my sleeping bag and pulling a treasure from my pack. In a dusty,
musty used bookstore, I recently found a first edition of Hemming Waves, a
movable feast. At that moment, I feel a kinship to Ernest, feeling
sure that he would have loved to go on a trip just like this.
About an hour later, I turn out the light and lay my head back
on the soft part of my pack and close my eyes. In the distance,
I hear a hoot owl declaring its dominion over this dark realm. As
I drift off to sleep, I smile to myself with a knowledge that no
small animals in the forest would challenge the owl's right to rain over this kingdom.
The soft, gentle breeze blowing through the upper branches of the trees serves
as a final lullaby before the dream state finds me. The morning sun is
my alarm clock. Though the tarp still shields my eyes. The sun brightens
up the day enough that it's obviously time to get up and get ready to
move on. After a quick cup of coffee in a bagel, the canoe
is repacked, dragged back into the water, and I am on my way
again. These early morning hours are filled with plenty of activity along the river.
Ducks and geese swim and dive for their morning meals. A great blue
heron stalks the edges of the shoreline, looking for a meal that isn't paying
attention. The day is a repeat of yesterday, with its lazy pace and
uncrowded waterways. In the twenty four hours since I put into the water,
I have only seen four other people, and they all seem to be in
a hurry to get somewhere. That's okay with me. You have to live
your life at whatever pace you see fit. The morning fades into the afternoon,
and I know my time on the river is coming to an end.
Regretting having to do it. I pull my phone for my pack and send
a text message to my friend letting her know I'm about an hour away from
the pickup spot. She responds with a quick smiley face. About an hour
later, as I am pulling the canoe out of the water, I hear
the sound of the familiar jeep and turn to see it coming into the parking
lot. Almost before it has come to a stop, my friend is out
of a driver's seat and giving me a big hug. How is the river,
she asks me, to which I respond truthfully, If it had been
any nicer, I might never have come back. Good night. One m
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