A Quiet Greenhouse on a Cold Day — Calm English Listening

Transcript

Introduction

A: Hello, and welcome.

A: This is slow, calm B1 English for a quiet afternoon or a quiet evening.

A: Today you’ll hear two gentle stories about plants, and a warm green place on a cold day.

A: Between them, we’ll review ten phrases. Then there will be some quiet practice and a slower final pass.

A: Here are a few of the phrases. Warm and humid. A watering can. To water the plants.

A: And a few more. The smell of wet soil. A tiny new leaf. To breathe slowly.

A: If you miss a word, let it go. Another one will come.

A: You can practice the phrases in Recursio another day. The link is in the description.

A: For now, just listen.

Wednesday in the glass house

A: It is a Wednesday at the end of October, and it is cold.

A: Not winter yet, but close. There was frost on the cars this morning, and the sky is low and white.

A: People walk quickly, with their hands in their pockets and their scarves up to their noses.

A: Behind the town library, there is an old greenhouse.

A: It is long and narrow, made of glass and thin white metal. It is almost a hundred years old.

A: The town owns it, but volunteers take care of it. Five or six people, most of them retired.

A: Alice is one of them. She is sixty-six, and she comes every Wednesday afternoon.

A: She unlocks the small glass door and steps inside.

A: Immediately, the cold is gone.

A: Inside, it is warm and humid, like a summer afternoon after rain.

A: Her glasses fog up, and she has to take them off and wipe them on her sweater.

A: Then she stands still for a moment and just looks.

A: There is green everywhere.

A: Big leaves, small leaves, long thin leaves hanging down from the shelves.

A: Ferns in old pots on the floor. A lemon tree in the corner, with three small green lemons on it.

A: Orchids on a high shelf, white and pale pink.

A: Outside, the town is gray. In here, it looks like a different country.

A: The air smells of leaves, and water, and earth.

A: Alice takes off her coat and hangs it on a hook by the door.

A: She takes a deep breath, and then another one.

A: Here, she always starts to breathe slowly without thinking about it.

A: Her shoulders go down. Her hands get warm.

A: Her first job is always the same. She has to water the plants.

A: She fills a watering can at the faucet in the corner. It is old, and made of metal.

A: The watering can is green, and it has a long thin spout and a small dent on one side.

A: Nobody knows how old it is. It was here before Alice, and before the volunteer before her.

A: She walks slowly along the shelves and checks each pot. She waters the plants that need it.

A: Not too much. Some plants like a lot of water. Some plants like almost none.

A: After seven years, she knows most of them the way you know old neighbors.

A: The ferns are always thirsty. The cacti almost never are.

A: The water goes into the dry soil with a soft sound. The smell of wet soil rises up to her.

A: It is a deep, dark, clean smell, like a forest after rain.

A: Outside, a cold wind moves the trees behind the library.

A: Inside, the windows fog up more and more. Soon the town outside is only a soft gray light.

A: A few drops of water run slowly down the glass.

A: It feels like being inside a cloud.

A: At three o’clock, the door opens, and a gust of cold air comes in.

A: It is George, another volunteer. He is eighty, tall and thin, with a gray wool hat.

A: He comes on Wednesdays too, but only for an hour. Standing longer makes his knees ache.

A: “Afternoon, Alice,” he says, and takes off his hat.

A: His glasses fog up too, and they both smile.

A: George takes care of the orchids. He talks to them. Alice pretends not to hear.

A: For a while, they work at opposite ends of the greenhouse without talking.

A: It is a comfortable silence, the kind you only have with people you have known for years.

A: Her second job today is to repot a plant. It is a small job, but she has been looking forward to it all week.

A: There is a little fig tree on the bottom shelf. It has grown too big for its pot.

A: Its roots are coming out of the hole at the bottom, looking for more space.

A: Today, it gets a bigger home.

A: She puts an old newspaper on the wooden table and finds a bigger clay pot.

A: She turns the little fig tree on its side and gently pulls it out of the old pot.

A: The roots are white and brown. They go around and around, in the shape of the pot.

A: She loosens them carefully with her fingers.

A: Then she puts fresh soil into the new pot. She places the tree in the middle and adds more soil around it.

A: She presses it down, gently, with both hands.

A: When she finishes, there is soil on the table, soil on her sleeves, and soil under her nails.

A: “Soil under your nails,” she says to George. “That’s how you know you’ve done some work.”

A: She never wears gloves for this. She likes to feel what she is doing.

A: Later, at home, she will scrub her hands with a brush. Some of the soil will still be there tomorrow.

A: She doesn’t mind. It reminds her of Wednesday.

A: She waters the fig tree for the first time in its new pot and puts it back on the shelf.

A: It looks a little surprised, the way plants do after they are moved.

A: “You’ll be happy there,” she tells it quietly. “Give it a week.”

A: Then she notices something on the lemon tree in the corner.

A: Near the top, on a thin branch, there is a tiny new leaf.

A: It is smaller than her fingernail, and a very light, bright green, almost yellow.

A: It is so new that it still looks soft and folded, like a baby’s hand.

A: In October, when the trees outside are losing their leaves, the lemon tree is making something new.

A: Alice looks at it for a long time.

A: “George,” she says. “Come and look.”

A: George comes over and looks up at the branch.

A: “Well,” he says softly. “Somebody didn’t read the calendar.”

A: At four o’clock, the light outside begins to fade.

A: George left a few minutes ago. He always goes home before it gets dark.

A: Alice sits on the old wooden bench by the door for a few minutes before she goes.

A: She doesn’t do anything. She just sits, and listens to the small sounds.

A: Water dripping somewhere. The heater humming. A leaf moving, though nobody is touching it.

A: Then she puts on her coat and her scarf.

A: When she opens the door, the cold air hits her face. She pulls her scarf up around her chin.

A: She smiles at the sudden change and walks home through the gray streets.

A: Under her nails, there is still a little soil. And in her head, a tiny green leaf.

Phrase review

A: Now, slowly, the ten phrases.

A: Warm and humid. Warm, with a lot of water in the air. It can feel heavy, like summer after rain.

A: “It’s warm and humid in the bathroom after a hot shower.”

A: The windows fog up. The windows become white and cloudy, because warm, wet air touches the cold glass.

A: “When we cook pasta, the kitchen windows fog up.”

A: “My glasses fog up when I come inside in winter.”

A: A watering can. A container with a handle and a long spout, for giving water to plants.

A: “I keep a watering can on the balcony.”

A: To water the plants. To give water to plants.

A: “Can you water the plants while I’m away?”

A: “I water the plants every Sunday morning.”

A: To repot a plant. To move a plant from its old pot into a new, bigger one.

A: “The roots are coming out of the bottom. It’s time to repot the plant.”

A: Soil under your nails. A little dirt under your fingernails after working with plants.

A: “After an hour in the garden, I had soil under my nails.”

A: The smell of wet soil. The deep, fresh smell of earth when it gets wet.

A: “I love the smell of wet soil after the first rain.”

A: A tiny new leaf. A very small leaf that has just started to grow.

A: “Look — there’s a tiny new leaf on my plant!”

A: Green everywhere. A lot of plants and leaves, in every direction.

A: “I stepped into the garden and saw green everywhere.”

A: To breathe slowly. To breathe in and out without hurrying.

A: “I watched the cat breathe slowly in its sleep.”

A: “By the sea, I always start to breathe slowly.”

One plant on the windowsill

A: In a big city, in a small apartment on the sixth floor, lives a young woman named Hana. She has exactly one plant.

A: It is a pothos, with long green vines and heart-shaped leaves.

A: Her friend gave it to her two years ago, when she moved to the city for work.

A: It lives on the windowsill in the kitchen, the only window that gets morning sun.

A: On a cold Sunday afternoon in late October, Hana decides it is time.

A: The plant has grown a lot. Its vines hang almost to the floor, and the pot is too small.

A: She bought a new pot and a bag of soil on Friday. They have been waiting by the door since then.

A: She puts newspapers on the kitchen floor and sits down on them.

A: Outside, the wind is cold, and the sky is dark gray. But the kitchen is warm, and the kettle has just boiled.

A: The window over the sink fogs up a little.

A: She has never tried to repot a plant before, so she watches a short video first.

A: Then she pulls the pothos out of its old pot, very slowly, like she is afraid to hurt it.

A: The new soil from the bag is cool and damp, and the smell of wet soil fills the small kitchen. It reminds her of her grandmother’s garden, far away, in another country.

A: She puts it in the new pot, adds fresh soil, and presses it down.

A: When she is finished, there is soil on the newspaper, soil on her jeans, and soil under her nails.

A: She looks at her hands and laughs. She hasn’t had dirty hands like this since she was a child.

A: She remembers helping her grandmother in the garden, pulling up carrots with muddy fingers.

A: Her grandmother used to say that soil under your nails is the sign of a good day.

A: She doesn’t have a watering can, so she waters the plant with a big coffee mug.

A: Then she puts it back on the windowsill and sits on the floor, looking at it.

A: She feels calm. She notices that she has begun to breathe slowly.

A: A little over two weeks later, on a Tuesday morning, Hana sees it.

A: At the end of one of the long vines, there is a tiny new leaf, bright green and still rolled up.

A: She takes a photo and sends it to the friend who gave her the plant.

A: “It’s growing,” she writes. “In November. Can you believe it?”

A: Her friend sends back a heart, and a photo of her own kitchen — green everywhere.

Quiet repetition

A: Now a few quiet questions. Try them in your mind, or just listen if you prefer.

A: Alice steps inside, and it feels like a summer afternoon after rain. What is it like in the greenhouse?

A: It is warm and humid.

A: Warm, wet air touches the cold glass, and the town outside becomes a soft gray light. What happens to the windows?

A: The windows fog up.

A: It is old and green, with a long thin spout and a small dent on one side. What is it?

A: A watering can.

A: What is always Alice’s first job on Wednesday?

A: To water the plants.

A: The little fig tree is too big for its pot. What does Alice do?

A: She repots the plant.

A: Alice never wears gloves. What does she have after her work, even the next day?

A: Soil under her nails.

A: The water goes into the dry soil, and something deep and clean rises up. What is it?

A: The smell of wet soil.

A: Smaller than her fingernail, bright green, on the lemon tree. What does Alice see?

A: A tiny new leaf.

A: Big leaves, small leaves, ferns, orchids, a lemon tree. What is it like inside?

A: It is green everywhere.

A: Alice takes a deep breath, and then another one. Without thinking about it, what does she start to do?

A: She starts to breathe slowly.

The greenhouse, more slowly

A: Now the greenhouse again, very slowly. You don’t need to answer anything. Just listen.

A: It is a cold day at the end of October.

A: You open a small glass door and step inside.

A: It is warm and humid, like summer after rain.

A: There is green everywhere. Big leaves, small leaves, long leaves hanging down.

A: In the corner, a lemon tree with three small green lemons.

A: Outside, the town is gray. In here, it looks like a different country.

A: You take a deep breath. Here, without thinking about it, you start to breathe slowly.

A: Your shoulders go down. Your hands get warm.

A: You fill an old green watering can at the faucet.

A: You walk along the shelves and water the plants that need it.

A: The smell of wet soil rises up to you.

A: Slowly, the windows fog up.

A: The town outside becomes a soft gray light.

A: You repot a small fig tree, with your hands in the soft, dark earth.

A: Afterward, there is soil under your nails. You don’t mind.

A: In the corner, on the lemon tree, there is a tiny new leaf.

A: Soft and folded, bright green.

A: You sit on the old wooden bench and listen.

A: On a high shelf, the orchids are white and pale pink.

A: Water dripping. The heater humming.

A: For a moment, there is nowhere you have to be.

Final phrases and goodbye

A: The ten phrases, one last time.

A: Warm and humid.

A: The windows fog up.

A: A watering can.

A: To water the plants.

A: To repot a plant.

A: Soil under your nails.

A: The smell of wet soil.

A: A tiny new leaf.

A: Green everywhere.

A: To breathe slowly.

A: That’s all for today. Thank you for listening.

A: If you’d like to practice these phrases later, the link is below.

A: Enjoy the rest of your day, or have a peaceful evening. Goodbye for now.