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Welcome to Get Sleepy. where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy.
My name's Thomas and I'm your host.
Thank you so much for joining us.
Tonight, we'll travel back in time to a rural American town in the late 19th century.
In this era of the one-room schoolhouse, It was common for far-flung neighbors to trek into town for the evening and gather in what might be the town's only community building.
This was sometimes an occasion upon which to raise funds for the school or to support a special cause.
One such event was called a pie auction, also known as a pie supper.
For these entertaining gatherings, ladies of the town would bake and donate their best pies, which were then auctioned off to men in the community.
The extra bonus of the pie auction was that the lady who baked the pie would share a slice with the man who offered the winning bid.
This created a much appreciated opportunity for young people to meet and converse at a time when those chances to interact were often few and far between.
This evening we'll experience a cozy pie auction, along with Liza, who is very much looking forward to all that the evening will bring.
She's brought her best baking along and she's hoping to share a slice of that pie with a certain someone.
Thank you to Alicia Stefan for writing this one, and to Heather who'll be narrating for us.
Before we begin, make yourself comfortable in bed, placing any physical distractions to one side and allowing your eyes to gently close when you're ready.
Take some deep, steady breaths, allowing your body to relax into the support of your bed.
I hope you're feeling calm and untroubled, perhaps even starting to drift towards sleep already.
And if your mind is determined that it needs to remind you of certain things, or if some concerns or anxieties are restricting you from total relaxation, just let me remind you of something.
You have the power to soften and quell your worries and anxieties.
When we worry about something, it's just our mind's way of trying to keep us safe, to protect us from a perceived problem or danger.
But unfortunately it tends to prevent us from getting the ideal rest and from feeling completely relaxed in both body and mind.
So, should you be feeling any sense of worry or anxiety, or even if your mind is just busy with various thoughts, let your mind know that you appreciate its efforts to keep you safe, but you can handle whatever life throws at you.
The anxieties and fears that you feel are born out of your mind's conditioned response to whatever it may be that is troubling you.
But you can say to your mind thank you for looking out for me, but I can handle this and it's not as problematic as you think.
I know this practice is easier said than done and the subconscious doesn't always believe what you say at first.
But just see if you can gradually increase that inner awareness and softly extinguish whatever is weighing you down or disrupting your rest.
Continue embracing that sense of reassurance as you welcome deep rest tonight.
And when you're ready, begin to imagine yourself in a small farmhouse surrounded by fields and trees.
There is a wonderful smell of cinnamon and apples filling the cozy kitchen is where our story begins.
Liza peered out the window of the farmhouse.
She had the unshakable feeling that winter would be early this year.
Fall had been beautiful, full of bright blue skies and perfectly ripened apples.
The time of the harvest had flown by and it seemed like a thousand years already had since they savored the last swimming hole visit of the summer.
But now, as if announcing its own arrival, the colder season seemed ready to knock on their door.
It was the stillness of everything, she mused to herself silently.
No more leaves were falling, no more birds were flying, No more crops waved in the wind or waited to be gathered.
The world was poised at that subtle moment between fall and winter, when the landscape held its breath in anticipation.
Anticipation, yes, she was feeling it herself.
The colder season came with its inconveniences, but it also brought festivities.
The picnics and the barn raisings would give way to quilting bees and church suppers.
And tonight, she'd get to take part in one of her favorite events of all, the autumn pie auction.
With a little thrill of excitement, Liza stole a peek she had baked that day.
It was resting on the counter while it cooled.
An apple pie might not have been the most original choice for her contribution to the auction, but Mother had taught her that the making of a proper apple pie was an art that took years to master.
Too often, The crust was disappointing, Mother cautioned.
Numerous mistakes could cause this problem, she had explained.
If your butter wasn't cold enough, for example, although luckily that it was less likely in the colder temperatures at this late time of the year.
And if you didn't vent the pie enough while it was cooling, She added, your beautiful crust would turn soggy.
Better yet, make a lattice top, she advised.
The basket weave crust pattern wasn't just for show, she explained.
It also let the heat out of the filling.
And of course, you had to know your apple trees. and choose the best fruit.
Tart and crisp, she instructed Liza.
That would be the best apple for your pie.
There were a couple of apple trees on the farm that had been there when her family had bought the place.
The previous owner couldn't tell them what type of apples they were, but Liza had learned to know them apart over the years.
She had chosen her apples for the pie with care, knowing on sight which would make the perfect filling to complement her golden flaky crust.
She had rolled the dough so very carefully, working under Mother's watchful eye Every step of the way.
She feared she would make a mistake.
But the pie had turned out beautifully and she had basked in her mother's approval when she was done.
At the age of 16, Liza was proud to have gained her mother's compliments in the making of such an important dessert that would earn her admiration at gatherings in the years to come.
The side door opened and closed, letting in a wall of chilly air.
Liza's younger sister, Minnie, stood in the kitchen, her cheeks and nose rosy with the cold.
She inhaled appreciatively and leaned over as if to scrutinize the pie on the counter.
Liza issued her a warning not to touch it and Minnie rolled her eyes, responding that she wasn't going to mess up Liza's chance to attract a beau with her baking skills.
Liza felt herself blush, even as she feigned indifference.
Each young lady in attendance tonight would be bringing her own best effort at a pie.
As was the tradition, all the pies would be auctioned off to the highest bidder, with the single gentleman at the gathering bidding for their favorite.
In the end, the winner of each pie would share a slice with the girl who baked it.
The proceeds from the night would be contributed to the upkeep of the schoolhouse.
It was a popular way to raise funds for good causes in the community.
But Liza was most excited about the opportunity to share a slice of pie with one of the young men in town.
After all, In a country community like theirs, there wasn't a lot of chances for young people to meet and socialize.
The pies were meant to be entered into the auction anonymously.
The idea was to keep the bidding process fair and offer all the ladies a chance to be rewarded for their baking skills rather than their obvious personal charms.
However, savvy girls found ways to pass on information to friends who might whisper to other favored friends which pie was whose and how to recognize it telling feature of the basket it came in would usually do.
If a certain gentleman was meant to bid generously on a particular pie, there were ways to make it happen.
Liza was bringing her pie in a small wooden box her father had made and details of that little pine crate had been passed on to her friend Molly.
The ever-perfect accomplice.
Molly had assured Liza that the details about her lattice-top pie and its packaging would be passed to Molly's brother Sean, who was sure to tell Charlie Johnson.
To sit and eat a slice of pie with Charlie was Liza's most fervent secret wish and she hoped it might happen tonight if the stars aligned.
The afternoon seemed to drag on forever and Liza was fidgety and inattentive during supper.
After clearing up, she eagerly returned to her room, where her Sunday dress was waiting, all clean and using her small mirror to make sure every hair was in place.
Afterwards she sternly instructed Minnie to examine her from front to back and make sure nothing was amiss.
Seeing her sister's seriousness about the matter, Minnie refrained from making any jokes and assured Liza that she looked absolutely perfect.
Liza beamed at her gratefully and bustled back into the kitchen to pack up her pie for the ride.
Darkness was already falling as the family made their way to the schoolhouse.
It was the beginning of the firelight season, Liza thought to herself.
Evenings on the porch would be traded for rocking chairs by the hearth. now.
The world always seemed to get a little smaller in the winter, as they traded one indoor refuge for another, staying close to the stove or the fire.
But it also got cozier, and that was something to look forward to.
The warmer seasons involved so much outdoor work, so many tasks that had to be completed while the weather was cooperating.
In some ways, the late fall and the winter were a relief, a time for the family to rest and reflect on the year that was ending.
Liza rearranged the skirt of her dress and sat up taller thinking about the evening ahead.
The pie rested in its box on her lap.
She smiled to herself, envisioning who might bid on it and what final price it might fetch.
Raising the most money with your pie was, after all, a badge of honor, in the name of charity, of course.
When they pulled up to the schoolhouse, there were already many horses tied up, wagons parked around the yard.
A few men lingered outside in the cold with their hands shoved in their pockets, talking.
But most of the folk in attendance had gone straight inside, piling their shawls and coats in the cloakroom entrance.
As Liza walked up the steps behind her parents, Molly appeared out of the gloom and grabbed onto her arm, smelling of fresh air and wool.
She and her family had been able to walk since they lived in town.
Liza admonished her with false seriousness not to upset the pie she was holding.
Molly wasn't carrying a pie. but her mother had one in her hands.
It seemed she had not trusted Molly to transport the precious cargo, since the girl was known for being impetuous and frequently a little clumsy.
Liza secretly suspected Molly's mother had also done most of the baking, as her friend had many fine qualities.
Cooking skills were not among them.
Liza walked right to the side of the room, where a long table held a growing collection of pies, some in baskets, some in boxes and others just lightly covered with a cloth.
Looking around in hope that Charlie Johnson might see what her pie looked like, She was disappointed to find he wasn't there yet.
She blushed a little at her own foolishness and carefully set her box down with the others.
Then she turned and greeted numerous people as she made her way back to the cloakroom and hung her shawl on one of the few remaining empty pegs.
The interior of the schoolhouse was buzzing with happy activity as friends and neighbors filed in.
Very quickly, the darkness outside turned the windows into mirrors.
The reflection of the merrymakers inside made the room seem much larger than it really was.
Liza hadn't experienced feeling that the evening held the promise of adventure.
Who might she talk with?
What new friendships could be formed?
The possibilities seemed endless at that moment.
Soon the room was called to order by the good-natured Mr Shepherd, who happened to run the small bank in town.
He was a leader on the school board and his outgoing personality always made him a favorite for directing these types of gatherings.
He welcomed everyone and told the crowd what they already knew that the proceeds from the pie auction this evening would benefit the schoolhouse, which was in need of some repairs.
The audience nodded approvingly and clapped.
He then thanked all the ladies who had worked so hard to contribute their baked goods, and he urged the gentlemen present to be generous with their bids.
There was much elbowing among friends and quiet laughter, as the young people in the audience, about the true benefit of a winning bid, which was, of course, a brief dessert date with the young lady who baked the pie.
The evening began with the auction of a lovely looking pumpkin pie.
As Mr. Shepard pointed out it was a true fall classic that was sure to please any fellow.
Liza scanned the room, trying to discern by look or by stance what girl might have brought it.
The men who were bidding appeared to have a clue, because three of them drove the price up pretty far before a winner was determined.
It turned out that the pie had been baked by a local seamstress.
Miss Wainwright made sense to Liza.
As the men who had been so anxious to win the pie were older, single gentlemen.
Miss Wainwright would be a very appropriate sweetheart for any of them.
She seemed happy with the prospects for the evening and graciously nodded her head to the man who would join her in a while for pumpkin pie.
One by one, the baked goods came to the podium.
Liza knew that the ladies made an effort not to make the same pies as their friends, and the variety showed that.
Some simpler ones were auctioned next.
A chess pie appeared and Liza felt a little proud, knowing it was far easier to make a pie like that than it was to make one like her apple pie.
After all, a chess pie was really just a rich custard poured in a pie crust.
It was delicious, but the dessert was also easy to do well.
Shoofly pie appeared after that.
Numerous men bid on it, and Liza was not surprised.
Its delicious blend of molasses and brown sugar was perfect for the season.
She found herself wondering if the girl who made it had done the crust wet or dry.
A wet crust version would be more gooey in consistency... dry one would be more like a cake.
Her friend Mary, who was in a class below her at school, turned out to be the one who made it.
She resolved to ask her later about her methods.
Liza knew immediately which pie belonged to Molly, because her exuberant friend was quite indiscreetly interested in the bidding.
She and her mother had made a cranberry pie and it raised a fair penny for the school.
Molly beamed when it was won by a cheerful boy she liked from class.
She squeezed Liza's hand with excitement and whispered to her that her own apple pie would be up shortly and that Charlie Johnson was right across the room watching for it.
There was a murmur of extra interest in the room when a maple syrup pie was announced.
Liza had heard days ago that it was the pie choice of Genevieve, a quiet new girl whose French-Canadian family had recently moved to the outskirts of town.
Liza looked at Genevieve with interest as she gazed steadfastly upon Mr Shepherd at the podium, looking neither to the right nor the left.
In the end, she had good fortune.
The young man who worked at the mill bid generously, and the two smiled shyly at each other.
A perfect match for the evenings.
Liza felt happy to imagine them getting to know each other and resolved to offer a friendly overture to Genevieve soon.
And then the long-awaited moment arrived.
Mr Shepard placed Liza's pie in front of him and made a great show of opening the box and making an admiring face.
The beauty of her lattice-top apple pie in great detail, drawing enthusiastic words from the crowd.
Liza saw her mother beaming at her from across the room.
She was proud of her daughter's handiwork and was clearly hoping to see the fruits of her labor bring in a good bid.
Eliza was torn between watching the bidding and looking at her own feet.
Her stomach was full of butterflies as several gentlemen jumped in.
Some of them surely didn't know who had baked the pie, although they probably had a clue based on the process of elimination which ladies, had not yet been revealed.
Liza knew that Charlie Johnson was aware of the baker behind the perfect crust.
He didn't send her so much as a glance, but seemed prepared to empty his pockets for the cause.
In the end, Liza's pie fetched the second highest price of the evening, and her wish came true.
Charlie was the one to make the final bid.
The only pie to earn more money for the school was the one made by the venerable Mrs Danforth, and it had been purchased by her own husband.
Everyone in town knew that he was obligated to offer a high price or he'd be getting an earful later.
So in a way, Liza's pie was the star of the evening.
Before completing the presentation and releasing the couples to their pie dates, Mr Shepard announced a further component to the fundraiser.
Some comical awards would be given to the men, to include such categories as Worst Square Dancer and most hen-pecked husband.
In order to cast a vote for a fellow, each man who wanted his opinion to count had to pay a penny.
When the voting started, there was quite a rush to get to the ballot boxes and pennies flew quickly into the jars.
It was the perfect chance for the men to get into the action, casting friendly aspersions upon one another.
Meanwhile, the gentlemen with the winning bids met up with the women who had baked their delicious pies.
Plates and silverware were thoughtfully provided by the women in charge of the event.
Lemonade was served to all who were present and some light-hearted fiddle music began to play from the front of the room.
The atmosphere was merry and congenial, providing a comfortable backdrop for the impromptu couples to find a couple of desks in a corner or a seat on a windowsill.
More than one child was guilty of interrupting the dessert dates in order to beg a small piece of a large pie, and no man could refuse.
The point was not, after all, to take a huge pie home for himself.
Liza and Charlie were both eager to escape the hubbub and have a real conversation, so they agreed to put on their warm clothes and perch on the steps of the schoolhouse.
This was a brilliant move, as few of the other couples had ventured outside.
Sitting there a seemingly distance apart, but near enough to feel the companionship.
They were oddly within the bounds of propriety and still completely alone.
Liza served the pie to Charlie, as was the custom, and then she took a small slice for herself, tasting it.
She was torn between mentally issuing a critique of her baking skills and focusing on the more important matter at hand, which was her proximity to Charlie felt a bit tongue-tied, but he rescued her, starting with a compliment about her crust.
He couldn't have pleased her more.
She felt her nervousness melting away as she let loose a torrent of conversation about the failures she had had in the past and how many tries it had taken her to get to this point.
He laughed and smiled and she knew she had done the right thing by making herself approachable.
It was nice for Charlie to see that she was a person who was willing to laugh at herself.
Liza pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and gazed up at the stars falling silent.
They were so bright and the sky was brilliantly clear.
The autumn chill pressed down on them, resolute, as if to insist that winter was nigh.
There was a stillness that came with the seasonal shift, and it was peaceful.
Sitting here with Charlie.
She felt tiny butterflies, but she also sensed strangely, that she was at home.
This was her place, and Charlie was an ideal fit.
It was oddly perfect timing when the irrepressible Molly stuck her head out of the schoolhouse door and exclaimed that she had been looking for them.
Standing up and shaking off the stiffness in their limbs.
Liza and Charlie followed Molly back inside.
The music had stopped and the men who had been playing were packing up their instruments, albeit slowly.
The rest of the party goers were clustering in small groups, exchanging parting words and making promises to get together soon, sitting on the steps outside.
She and Charlie hadn't even heard the awards being given out from the penny voting, but now she saw a couple of men in the room wearing blue ribbons of dubious honor, showing that they were terrible square dancers or henpecked husbands.
They bore the ribbons proudly, as it was all in good fun and they'd raised many cents for the school with their candidacy.
Peering all the way around the room.
Liza smiled to see Miss Wainwright still talking quietly with the kindly looking bachelor who had worked so hard to win a few moments in her company.
And she didn't have to look far to spot Genevieve, who was laughing over something with the nice man from the mill.
Amid all of it, children ducked and darted among their elders.
Women chatted amiably and Liza could hear little snatches of their conversations about recipes sewing, whose chickens were and were not laying eggs, and so on.
People in the town lived far from their neighbors in some cases, and even these everyday matters were interesting to discuss with a sympathetic friend.
Occasions like this were a precious time to forge new bonds and strengthen existing connections.
And speaking of connections, how many budding romance might have been started that night, in the midst of the baked goods and the revelry.
Charlie caught Liza's eye just as he was putting the cap on his head in the coat room.
He gave her a lopsided smile that bordered on cheekiness and waved.
Her heart skipped a beat just a little. and she raised her hand in return.
Then he was gone.
As she and her family bundled themselves against the temperature on their wagon ride home, Liza once again looked up at the sky, staring deeply into the darkness.
She warmed her nose by breathing into her cupped hands, continued to look upward, imagining that she was floating on a vast lake under the cold canopy of the heavens.
Clip-clop clip-clop, the horse's hooves went, making her feel sleepy with their mesmerizing rhythms.
She heard her mother giving her a rundown of her opinions on all the pies that she'd seen that night and once again praising her daughter for doing such a lovely job.
Liza looked back down again, focusing on the road ahead.
They were almost home.
The evening had gone by, so fast would she make for the next auction?
She wondered.
It would be tough to top the apple pie, but she was eager to try.
But first there were holiday parties to look forward to and with them all the winter things she loved dancing and sledding, and cooking comfort, comfortable things all day in the oven.
And maybe, just maybe, Charlie Johnson would be at the next party.
Later, Liza was tucked up all snug under her quilts that night, with Minnie breathing softly in her nearby bed night wrapped around her, she allowed herself to dream of that next gathering, the one where Charlie would be.
And she drifted.
