Hello everyone, this is Rhea with a quick note. This is a full episode preview of a story featured on Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive bedtime podcast just for my Little Story's premium subscribers. The episode I'm sharing with you today is part of a series I'm calling Wandering Sleep Stories. These new stories are peaceful, calming, and perfect for that last track on a bedtime playlist. On Little Stories for Sleep, Wandering Sleep Stories have no intro or outro, it's just the story framed by soft music. Now, grab your weighted blanket, snuggle up, and fall asleep to this sweet tale. It was a bright, steaming morning in the woods. The day Charlie asked for the 11th time in as many days whether it was finally time to set up his lemonade stand. He was a persistent squirrel, had been all his life. He had climbed early, talked right away. It was as though if he didn't learn as fast as he could, run at top speed, shell nuts quicker than all his brothers and sisters, life, all of it would pass him by. So Charlie hurled himself into tasks and projects and challenges, and did not let up until he walked away triumphant. Charlie, that's the tallest tree in the forest. How are you going to climb that? Branch by branch. And he did. Sometimes he took things too far. Mama, mama, Charlie strung up a zip line from one side of the lake to the other. Oh, did he? Oh, did he? It was a feature of childhood that sometimes, despite his efforts, he was told no, or nearly worse to his mind that he had to wait. That's what he'd been told about the lemonade stand, not while the nights are so cold. But he had decided that a lemonade stand was the best way to earn enough sunflower seeds to purchase material to build a go-kart that he would then race down the north side of Huckleberry Hill. His mother did not know about that plan just yet. All she knew was that her darling, yet exasperating son, wanted to sell lemonade. And every single day for 11 days, beginning in mid-spring, he asked for her permission. But only 11, because on that day, she said, Yes, today you can bring one of your brothers with you. Charlie had 10 brothers. Half of them were too young and would likely create more work than they would perform. Among the other half, three were his biggest critics, always going on about the outlandishness of his ideas. That left two, Lakeland and Cal. Having looked up to Charlie since birth, Cal went along with all of Charlie's ideas, no matter how little sense they made. He was an agreeable, sort of squirrel, ever reliable, ever ready to help. Cal would be an attentive little lemonade stand helper, and the customers would find him cute. Lakeland was older than Charlie, believed himself to be wiser, tended to warn Charlie about what could go wrong with his plans, brought up details that Charlie had not considered. Months ago, Charlie had announced his intention to plant a flag in the very middle of the newly frozen lake. Lakeland had pressed him. How thick is the ice exactly? Had he measured it? What was his emergency plan? It would be inconvenient to have Lakeland around with all his questions. Charlie pondered the choice between the brothers briefly, perhaps for a minute. He invited Lakeland to join him. Charlie had the perfect spot in mind, a point where two rivers joined. The brothers stopped there first, leaving a cart and two empty pictures out of sight. Charlie hid a sign under a bush. It said, fresh lemonade, trades, welcome. The lemons were a bit of an afterthought. It was Lakeland who brought this up, in his many questions before he'd agreed to accompanying Charlie, which he did. Eventually, he did say yes, but not before Charlie had answered his questions. How are you going to get lemons? The market, of course, Charlie said, even though he had no idea whether the market sold lemons this time of year. Lakeland was doubtful, but said nothing beyond, hmm. Hmm. The brothers set off into the bright morning woods with baskets swinging from their paws. The market was bustling by the time they arrived. There were dozens of booths, selling everything from preserved garlic cloves to elderberry pies, to sun-dried persimmons, to aged planks of maple wood. Charlie fiddled with the pouch of sunflower seeds he had brought to trade as he scanned the market for lemons. He had earned the seeds from odd jobs, clearing snow, off treehouse roofs, raking leaves from forest garden plots, helping neighbors move into and out of boroughs. Among all his siblings, Charlie always had the most sunflower seeds, as he was tireless in searching out ways to earn them. And he expected to earn more, a lot more today for the go-kart of his dreams, if only. He could find the lemons. I don't know, Charlie, Lakeland said, after they'd done a loop around the perimeter of the market, can't make lemonade without lemons. Charlie had never allowed such details to hold him back. He stared at several bowls of fruit at a nearby booth, oranges, limes, grapefruit. You're right, Lakeland. You can't make lemonade without lemons. We'll take all your fruit, Charlie said to the market seller, and pour the contents of his drawstring pouch on the counter. The seller eyed the pile, then glanced at the fruit, squinted at the bold young squirrel before him, looked back to the pile, and sniffed. Ideas swirled in Charlie's mind. He could offer to work for the seller, run the booth for him if he wanted, for a few hours. He wasn't about to give up. But before he said any of this, Lakeland withdrew his own pouch from his pocket and poured the contents of it on the counter. The additional seeds nearly doubled the pile. Charlie looked at his brother in surprise. Lakeland shrugged. I've been tutoring the squirrel who lives around the corner. The fruit seller gave them a sly grin. By the time the young squirrels set up shop on a boulder where the two rivers joined, the sun was at its highest point in the sky. The forest was hot, and the air was dense with water. They had decided to juice the fruit in batches. Right there, instead of attempting to transport pitchers across the forest, Charlie crossed out lemonade and wrote fresh fruit juice on the sign before propping it up. Their first customer arrived before they'd filled the first pitcher. Sure glad I saw you, said the elder squirrel, fanning herself with a broad leaf. Thought I was going to faint in this heat. She pushed a cloth sack across the boulder, filled with dried pumpkin seeds, as Lakeland offered her a cup. Oh, delicious! The brothers grinned. They had a steady stream of customers, a family of beavers, several mice, a sheep who was terribly lost. They pointed her in the direction of the closest farm. By sunset, the juice was running low. It had been swapped for a pile of seeds, nuts, dried berries, twine, garlic, and several jars of preserved vegetables. As the sky dimmed, Charlie and Lakeland packed up their cart with their earnings. On the way home, Charlie revealed his go-cart making plans. He asked if Lakeland would join him. Lakeland had many questions. He pressed Charlie on the details. Then he said yes. The sky darkened and stars appeared. They traveled home together, yawning. After a long day of work, it was time to rest. This has been a special full episode preview of a Wandering Sleep Story. To hear more wandering sleep stories, you can join Little Stories Premium by visiting littlestoriespremium.com. And thank you, as always, for listening in.
