Find comfort,
Peace,
And community in a sweet historic village in Vermont with tonight's cozy sleep story for grown-ups.
Let your cares drift like autumn leaves as you celebrate the season's bounty with a harvest gathering.
Feel safe and tended to as you snuggle up for sleep.
It's time to dream away.
Welcome to Michelle's Sanctuary.
I'm Michelle,
Your guide on this New England adventure,
Where we return to a chalet on a lake that is always yours.
It offers another home,
A sanctuary in your mind to go to when it's hard at the end of the day and you long to find softness.
Think of me as your trusted,
Long-time friend and ally.
I'm here to remind you how much your rest and peace matter,
And we will protect them with each breath as you approach the bridge to sleep.
I first began writing about the chalet on the lake in an effort to honor my grandparents with the characters of Martha and Ike.
My grandfather was so influential in my life that my long-haired chihuahua who now sleeps on my lap as I create this story was named after him.
There's something magical and hopeful about having an older generation to look to.
Kind,
Wise,
Nurturing souls that accept you without judgment and have a deep understanding of what ties us all together.
Martha and Ike are the gentle spirits who bring us a common ground with values that put people and kindness first.
Storytelling is a way to open our minds and develop empathy.
Simply imagining these kinds of connections and knowing they exist makes it easier to find them in our waking lives.
Before you find the perfect autumn escape in Vermont,
Take a few moments to slow down your breath and draw inward.
Set the tone for the night as you let out a sigh,
Audible if you like,
Of deep release.
Cast away everything into the brilliant starry sky over a lake and then inhale slowly,
Imagining the best smells of autumn coming alive in your room.
Wood smoke,
Caramelized pumpkins,
Dry crisp leaves rustling across a forest floor.
Feel free to yawn or pause at the top of your breath and then let out another sigh.
Continue this style of breathing a few more times,
Going deeper with each breath,
But free of pressure,
Not pushing too much.
Now is a time for gentleness and ease as you parent yourself and soothe your nervous system,
Inhaling,
Perhaps yawning,
And sighing.
5.
The essence of the season of letting go permeates the air with a warm golden wave that tucks you in,
Starting at the crown of your head.
4.
The warm wave spreads down your spine,
Creating a sense of safety in your core,
All your organs protected and nurtured as you settle.
3.
Revel in this time for drawing inward,
Getting cozy,
And slowing down.
4.
Nature brings the reminder that it's not just okay,
But vital to have a season of rest.
2.
The warmth and love of this season of thanks and harvest now extends down your arms and legs,
Fully encapsulating you in a sense of abundance and gratitude.
1.
Every part of your being slows down.
Your heart rate,
Your breath,
And your thoughts.
In this easy state,
Your mind is a blank canvas,
Ready to conjure the most evocative and soothing sensations of the harvest.
As the story begins,
In the sweet,
Sleepy interlude between leaf-peeping season and holiday festivals,
A small general store in Vermont returns to shorter hours.
Summer brings the most bustling months,
With a screened door of the coppery log structure squeaking and slapping against the frame.
But November brings an ease.
3.
Some days are still golden,
Some hit with the pearly frost of low mountain temperatures.
A few snow squalls arrive,
Oversized lacy white flakes falling to match the tempo of the russet and fiery orange leaves that dance and land on the forest floor.
The region is rife with apple orchards and pumpkin patches.
Hot apple ciders and fresh pies filling the air,
Wafting from the general store.
Martha and Ike,
The owners of the general store,
Married for over 60 years,
Have managed to maintain a sense of tradition while also offering an adaptability to new trends.
Which is why Ike,
Though slightly begrudgingly,
Found himself with Martha's antique beaters.
For those old-school kitchen appliances were built to last,
And the back of the shop with dozens of pumpkins each weekend.
Suddenly,
Everyone seemed to want to drink their coffee and hot cider out of pumpkins,
And his strong old hands were put to use cleaning out these orange orbs with help from his grandson and the part-time staff.
He made sense of it,
Knowing it saved a lot of people the effort when they finished their seasonal sips and carved faces into the empty sugar pumpkins.
And all those pumpkin guts were transformed into breads,
Pies,
Soups,
And pumpkin seeds that would last through the season.
In actuality,
Martha said it seemed to create less waste than the styrofoam cups they used a few decades ago.
Though lifelong Vermonters,
Martha had always been informed of trends from her cousin in Manhattan.
She was even the first in the village to coat her fingernails in electric blue nail polish in the 80s.
And when she did,
A lot of parents had a hard time telling their daughters that it was an unacceptable color for a lady.
In truth,
Villagers and visitors alike looked to Martha and Ike with deep reverence.
They weren't afraid of change,
But at the same time,
All the change in the world wouldn't rock their core values.
Their sweetness,
Their hope,
And their lifelong love.
Both would argue that you just have to keep moving.
Being stagnant never did anyone a bit of good,
And it was okay to be disappointed if something new didn't work.
But hey,
At least you gave it a try.
And in the midst of the harvest season,
Aware of their bounty of both food and love,
Martha and Ike opened their lakeside home to the community.
A late afternoon potluck served as a time of thanks for those who might not have a place to go.
The air this afternoon is an unexpected gift.
You step out of your own lakeside retreat.
A familiar cozy haven nestled near their cabin that's been prepared for the evening's festivities.
Today is unseasonably warm with a high of 60 degrees Fahrenheit,
Making the walk around Lake Reverie a perfect transition into the warmth of the gathering.
The crispness of the late season air feels invigorating,
Yet gentle.
A stark contrast to the sharp winds that usually sweep through the valley by late November.
You begin your walk on a path composed of fine,
Pale gravel and packed earth,
Crunching softly underfoot.
Most of the maples and birches are bare,
Their branches creating a fine,
Dark latticework against the hopeful blue sky.
A delicate etching that reveals the shape of the mountains beyond.
But the last remaining leaves cling to the occasional oak and beech,
In deviant bursts of rust,
Bronze,
And gold,
Illuminated by the low,
Orange-gold sun.
The colors are muted compared to the peak of the season,
But they carry a sense of tenacity with a most delicate rattle.
They are the last to let go,
And every human knows what it's like to cling to something a little longer than expected.
It's quite okay,
You decide,
Knowing they will soon surrender.
The lake's surface is a sheet of deep,
Tranquil blue,
Reflecting the perfect sky with startling clarity,
And the few,
Puffy white clouds that pass.
As you walk,
Bearing a special dish you prepared for the occasion in a canvas bag,
With a card to Martha and Ike,
The beauty of the season settles over you.
The stillness of the water,
The gentle rocking of a few weathered rowboats,
And gleaming red canoes still tied to docks before being put into storage for the winter.
The vastness of the darkening woods bring a wave of profound relaxation.
You inhale deeply,
Letting the cleansing scent of the cool air fill your lungs.
The air smells cleanly of pine needles and damp earth,
A grounding,
Natural perfume.
You pass the other year-round homes,
Dotted along the shore.
You notice the small,
Personal signs of celebration.
Laughter from decks where families gather and step out in the sun.
Clinking glasses and children running.
The plume of smoke curling lazily from chimneys.
The faint sound of Americana music drifting from a nearby porch.
These homes,
Built of logs and tinder,
Seem to settle deeper into the landscape as the seasons change.
Most feature grand windows and A-frame designs,
And the molten sunlight reflects off the glass.
You walk through a world of warm reflections.
The collective feeling of preparation,
The tempting scent of wood smoke mingling with distant baking,
And the muffled sounds of laughter carried across the water all hint at other festive gatherings underway.
This collective,
Shared sense of celebration makes the whole community of Lake Reverie feel warm and alive,
All culminating at Martha and Ike's.
As you come up the path to their driveway,
Now full of trucks and sedans that spill out onto the lane,
The details of Martha and Ike's cabin conjure a sense of home.
Their lakeside nest combines a unique blend of modern organization with artistic touches.
The wood lily theme in the main room lending pops of bright orange-red,
A color that now perfectly complements the late autumn decor,
And can be seen from outside the windows.
The house built decades ago is meticulously maintained,
Yet always feels timeless.
Martha,
Ever the organizer,
Cannot stand clutter and fights the urge to save so much.
And with over 80 years on this planet,
She always expresses what a challenge this is.
But like the trees,
She's learned that time requires letting go,
And so their home maintains a sense of airiness and openness.
As you approach the cabin,
The light spilling from the many windows has a rich,
Golden hue.
And you can hear Ike's hearty laughter as you ascend the steps,
And the door swung open by their granddaughter,
Who seems to be growing up so fast.
The energy inside the cabin is immediate,
Vibrant,
And comforting.
The volume of conversation is louder than a typical evening,
But still offers a melodious hum of happy voices.
The guests arriving at the autumn harvest are always an interesting mix.
Some new faces,
Some beloved family,
And old friends of Martha and Ike that go back to their days in grade school.
You see neighbors who live down the road,
Greeting relatives who have driven hours to be here.
Each person arrives with a gift of food,
A bottle of something to share,
Or a warm bouquet of dried flowers,
Adding to the growing,
Gorgeous display.
The main room glows.
The fire crackles happily in the hearth as the doors to the deck are slightly ajar to bring in the sweet smell of autumn and its crisp air.
The firelight and setting sun throw dancing light onto the walls,
Making the brass and copper accents around the room gleam.
The light refracts in sun catchers that hang above the collection of potted plants brought indoors since the first frost.
The scent of burning cedar and pine is a foundational aroma,
Now competing beautifully with the traditional baking spices pouring from the kitchen.
The long,
Rustic table,
Set meticulously for twenty,
Dominates the dining area.
It is a sturdy,
Worn antique of dark wood,
Dressed simply with gold cheesecloth runners and small,
Carefully arranged clusters of bittersweet vines.
Tall,
Elegant taper candles are nestled in antique brass candlesticks,
Waiting for the moment they will be lit.
The glassware is polished until it gleams,
Catching the interior light.
The atmosphere is one of abundant gratitude,
A quiet acknowledgement of the year's bounty and the joy of shared company.
You move through the crowd,
Nodding to familiar faces,
And accepting introductions to new ones.
The potluck dishes are a feast for the eyes and nose.
Large platters of deep,
Earthy colors,
Glistening golds,
And silky deep oranges.
Dishes representing the satisfying flavors of the season.
Casseroles arrive with a rich,
Creamy luster,
Suggesting hidden depths of steamy decadence.
And breads with a satisfying,
Rustic texture.
The air is thick with the inviting aromas of cinnamon,
Clove,
And ginger.
Mingling with savory herbs like sage and thyme.
And the distinctive and deniable sweetness of roasted seasonal vegetables and steaming cider.
Ike,
Licking every bit the scholarly host,
Stands near the fireplace.
Chatting easily with a group of friends.
He is in his familiar corduroy blazer with elbow patches.
A pressed collared shirt beneath,
An outfit he seems to bring out every November for this gathering.
His rugged,
Blue-collar fashion of day-to-day is replaced for the affair,
And Martha teasingly refers to him as the Professor.
Martha,
Wearing a colorful,
Hand-stitched vest over a vintage chocolate brown jumpsuit,
Moves with her signature spryness and stamina through the crowd,
Making introductions and ensuring every newcomer feels instantly at home.
She knows just what conversation starter will connect two strangers and liven up the conversation amongst loved ones.
You watch her interact with one young man,
A nervous new acquaintance,
And she settles his anxiety with a simple direct question about what has inspired him recently.
Her bluntness is always rooted in a profound,
Non-judgmental,
Accepting soul.
Exposed wooden beams in the cathedral ceiling now drip with tiny pumpkin ornaments and garland made of colorful leaves.
Music plays faintly,
Filling the cabin with holiday jazz tunes arranged for the piano in such unique ways that it takes a moment to recognize them.
The melodies provide the perfect,
Nostalgic backdrop.
You catch a quiet,
Powerful glimpse of Martha and Ike interacting.
They are on opposite sides of the room,
Both busy,
Yet their eyes meet across the crowd.
They've been together so long that words aren't necessary for them to convey a message.
Their eyes still sparkle with stolen glances that unpack a near-lifetime of shared moments,
Jokes,
And love.
You feel their gratitude radiating as every year becomes more precious.
You remember their philosophy.
They are never bored by rituals or routines,
Treating every day as a chance to celebrate life and savor the simple moments.
Their quiet pride in the gathering,
In the community they have built,
Is palpable.
And it's built on knowing too well what it's like to not feel safe and cherished.
Their love was built on the promise to change that.
The conversation naturally drifts towards the past,
Not with melancholy,
But with warmth.
As you hear,
Some stories new,
Some old but still funny.
Someone mentions Ike's famous incident.
With a split pants and a scarf at the restaurant,
A story you know well,
And his laughter rings out rich and deep.
Martha comes over and pulls back his scholarly blazer.
Doing what she calls the pants check,
He takes her teasing in stride.
You find yourself drawn into a conversation with a new resident of Lake Reverie.
A kind,
Thoughtful woman named Renee,
Who spent a lifetime traveling the world with a non-profit organization before settling here this autumn.
She explains,
Humbled and delighted by the invitation from Martha that this spontaneous exchange of food,
Warmth,
And community feels so universal.
She feels more welcome here than she could have imagined,
Making quick friends.
From remote villages to cosmopolitan celebrations,
She remarks how there's something special about this place.
It feels like home,
Even for the drifting soul who never settled.
It's a place that makes settling easy.
Martha and Ike's harvest gathering has always been more about community than the food.
Even in the years when mishaps and power outages meant fewer traditional dishes,
The energy flows seamlessly between the main dining room and the adjoining kitchen.
Where a children's table is set up,
Bubbling with the light laughter of the younger guests.
The table is covered with butcher paper and crayons,
Allowing for spontaneous artistic expression alongside the pre-dinner snacks.
You instinctively gravitate toward them,
Finding a small chair and sitting down to chat.
You listen attentively to their simple,
Clear observations of the world.
The best color leaf they found that day.
The funny sound the ice maker makes.
A detailed explanation of a drawing they just completed.
You make them feel seen and special.
A small moment of one-on-one attention that adds to the communal harmony before gracefully excusing yourself to move back to the main room.
As the late afternoon transitions to evening,
The sun disappears.
The lighting outside is now a deep,
Dark blue,
An almost black velvet backdrop.
You look out the large glass doors.
The gilded light of the lakefront cabins and chalets,
Martha and Ike's among them,
Begins to reflect onto the water,
Creating long,
Shimmering columns of amber and gold that dance as the weather shifts and a gentle breeze rolls in.
The reflections stretch and distort,
Making the lake feel like a liquid galaxy of heavenly light.
Above the mountainside,
The stars begin to light up,
And at the same time,
A guest begins to light the taper candles.
Ike rings a large cowbell,
A relic a local dairy farm gave him as a gift when he started carrying their milk in the general store.
His granddaughter wants a turn,
And you see her struggle to lift the heavy bell,
But finally she manages,
And it lets out a low,
Resonant ding.
The large,
Satisfying meal is set,
And the long table is filled end to end with platters of abundance.
Plates are passed,
And you find yourself slowing down,
Savoring every texture and subtle note of spice.
The rich flavors of the harvest dishes fill you with a deep,
Physical contentedness that settles into your shoulders and chest.
Everyone takes their time,
Which passes by in suspended animation.
Clinking crystal,
Past baskets of warm bread and biscuits,
Shared jokes,
And varying styles of cranberry sauce in competition.
Martha jokes,
But she was gifted more crystal and dinnerware than any person needs throughout the decades,
But clearly she's grateful there's enough to host.
A gathering this large without a problem,
Even with all the accidentally broken glasses over time,
And Ike is sure to own up to a few of them.
Dinner winds down as the last plates are scraped clean,
And the process of cleanup begins.
Some of the children have settled on a fluffy blanket on the floor near the hearth,
Already falling asleep.
Everyone else helps,
And you find yourself helping to clear plates and stack bowls,
Comfortable in their kitchen.
The efficiency of the group working together is its own quiet pleasure.
Stolen glances of Martha and Ike across the busy counter,
However,
Never stop.
A reminder that their sparkling connection is the fuel for this enduring hospitality.
Everyone insists,
Though a bit unsuccessfully,
That they sit and relax.
They continue to help,
But eventually,
They nestle for a few moments on the sofa for the sleeping tots on the floor.
Once the dishes are cleared and the kitchen counters are wiped clean,
The group moves to the living room for coffee,
Digestives,
And a final activity,
Charades by the fire.
At this,
The kids pop open their eyes,
Awaking from their disco naps.
Ike adds another log and stokes the embers,
Throwing dancing shadows across the room.
Martha,
True to form,
Is particularly animated and expressive,
Conveying complex ideas and silly phrases with effortless,
Playful talent.
Her attempts at famous novels are legendary.
The laughter is warm,
Free,
And uncomplicated,
Extending the precious moments of the evening into the deepening night.
You don't want the gathering to end.
The atmosphere is one of perfect,
Complete contentment.
But you notice the taper candles have burned down to their wicks,
Small flames flickering low in the antique brass candlesticks.
This is the subtle,
Time-honored signal of the evening's close.
Martha gives Ike a final,
Sweet yawn that he mirrors with a gentle smile.
It is the wordless,
Shared cue that all the guests catch,
Slowly rising and leaving,
Gathering children and dishes and packed up leftovers.
They offer long,
Warm hugs and express their profound gratitude before piling into cars or starting their quiet walk home along the dark,
Peaceful lake path.
Martha hands you a generously-sized container of leftovers.
A slice of pie,
Some savory stuffing,
A small,
Perfect serving of every element of the feast.
She declares it's a harvest that will last for days.
Tucked alongside it are a few small,
Special tidbits for your pet,
Wrapped in a napkin.
You exchange final,
Grateful words with Martha and Ike.
Their face is tired,
But a light with pride and happiness embody the success of the night.
You step out of their cabin and begin your walk,
Tracing your steps along the shoreline path.
The night is quiet now,
The air sharper with a palpable change.
The gentle lapping of the water on the shore becomes crystal clear,
Joined by the crunching of leaves with each step.
A fawn sips at the lake's edge,
Cast in the moonlight as you approach your side of the lake and cozy chalet.
You ascend the hill,
A mosaic of decaying leaves and fading grass,
And enter through the back door on the deck.
Your pet,
Who sleepily greets you with a silent,
Enthusiastic wiggle and a soft,
Welcoming sound,
Is happy to see your return.
You give them the special treats from Martha,
Which they devour happily.
You let your pet out beneath the awning for a few minutes,
While you breathe in the clear night air.
You notice the perfect stillness of the stars above.
The cold air bites slightly at your nose,
And you take it as a signal to return indoors.
Back inside,
You place the leftovers in the fridge and ascend the winding,
Knotty pine staircase to the loft.
You enter the bathroom,
And your pet settles on the bathmat while you turn on the shower.
The warm water washes away the day,
Relaxing your muscles as the soap leaves a cleansing,
Soporific fragrance.
The soothing water spreads warmth deep into your bones that lingers as you towel off.
You hear Martha's gentle voice in your head,
With her winter reminder,
Don't forget to moisturize,
And gather a rich lotion purchased at the general store.
You rub it into your skin,
And then dress into your pajamas.
Out of routine,
Your beloved furry companion races to the bedroom and cuddles on the mattress.
You follow,
Peeling back the covers and settling beneath the heavy quilted spread.
Everything feels right in the world tonight.
The warmth of your pet brings a reassuring sense of safety and comfort as your eyelids become heavy,
And the joyous laughter of Martha and Ike softly echoes in your mind.
You are full of the lingering warmth of community,
Generosity and the silent love of your companion.
You feel a profound sense of gratitude,
A quiet,
Beautiful harvest of bliss.
Wherever they are,
Wherever you are,
You know this feeling is home,
And it carries you into your dreamscape.
Finding peace,
Finding comfort,
Finding serenity,
Finding peace.
