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Arthur and the Talking Teapot of Thyme
Please vote for “A Bedtime Story” for Volume One’s Best Local Podcast!
Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!
“A Bedtime Story” Season 2 is coming soon!
Arthur was a quiet, dedicated gardener who believed that his plants held deep, philosophical secrets. He longed to know their inner thoughts, perhaps about the sublime nature of photosynthesis or the struggle of the root system.
One day, he found a tiny, copper antique teapot at a yard sale. The tag read: "Caution: Plant Translator. May cause existential crises." Arthur bought it immediately.
He brewed a cup of mint tea, poured it into the teapot, and held it up to his prize-winning, towering rosemary bush, named George. A low, annoyed voice immediately sounded from the spout.
"Oh, finally. It's about time, Arthur! That squirrel, Stanley, was here again, burying peanuts right next to my roots! It's terribly vulgar!"
Arthur frowned. “George, I thought you would speak of the sun's golden touch!"
"The sun is fine," George sniffed through the teapot. "But Stanley has terrible taste in nuts. And speaking of vulgarity, the petunias next door? Their color clash is a disgrace to the entire herbaceous border."
Arthur walked over to his bed of prize-winning thyme. He held the teapot near it. The thyme’s voice, a high-pitched, whiny squeak, came through: "I need more mulch! And less water! And that daisy is looking at me funny!"
The worst was the giant, leafy philodendron in the living room. Its voice, slow and incredibly deep, lamented: "I haven't been rotated clockwise in four days. Four. Days. My lighting profile is ruined. RUINED, I tell you."
Arthur realized his plants weren't serene thinkers; they were petty, demanding divas obsessed with soil quality and perceived slights. He spent the rest of the day moving the philodendron exactly 15 degrees clockwise, telling George to calm down about Stanley’s peanuts, and trying to mediate a feud between the thyme and a very innocent-looking daisy.
That evening, as the sun set, Arthur placed the teapot back on the shelf. Maybe he didn't need to know the cosmic secrets of the garden after all. It was much easier when the plants just looked pretty and kept their opinions about the neighbors to themselves.
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By Matthew MitchellPlease vote for “A Bedtime Story” for Volume One’s Best Local Podcast!
Visit the “A Bedtime Story” show website to submit your story ideas for a future episode!
“A Bedtime Story” Season 2 is coming soon!
Arthur was a quiet, dedicated gardener who believed that his plants held deep, philosophical secrets. He longed to know their inner thoughts, perhaps about the sublime nature of photosynthesis or the struggle of the root system.
One day, he found a tiny, copper antique teapot at a yard sale. The tag read: "Caution: Plant Translator. May cause existential crises." Arthur bought it immediately.
He brewed a cup of mint tea, poured it into the teapot, and held it up to his prize-winning, towering rosemary bush, named George. A low, annoyed voice immediately sounded from the spout.
"Oh, finally. It's about time, Arthur! That squirrel, Stanley, was here again, burying peanuts right next to my roots! It's terribly vulgar!"
Arthur frowned. “George, I thought you would speak of the sun's golden touch!"
"The sun is fine," George sniffed through the teapot. "But Stanley has terrible taste in nuts. And speaking of vulgarity, the petunias next door? Their color clash is a disgrace to the entire herbaceous border."
Arthur walked over to his bed of prize-winning thyme. He held the teapot near it. The thyme’s voice, a high-pitched, whiny squeak, came through: "I need more mulch! And less water! And that daisy is looking at me funny!"
The worst was the giant, leafy philodendron in the living room. Its voice, slow and incredibly deep, lamented: "I haven't been rotated clockwise in four days. Four. Days. My lighting profile is ruined. RUINED, I tell you."
Arthur realized his plants weren't serene thinkers; they were petty, demanding divas obsessed with soil quality and perceived slights. He spent the rest of the day moving the philodendron exactly 15 degrees clockwise, telling George to calm down about Stanley’s peanuts, and trying to mediate a feud between the thyme and a very innocent-looking daisy.
That evening, as the sun set, Arthur placed the teapot back on the shelf. Maybe he didn't need to know the cosmic secrets of the garden after all. It was much easier when the plants just looked pretty and kept their opinions about the neighbors to themselves.