The Farmer and the Cow | Ep. 259

In a tight spot. 

In a hole. 

Between a rock and a hard place.

These three idioms (or expressions) all refer to the same thing: being in a tough and tricky situation. And in this week’s episode, we’ll meet some characters who can relate to these idioms – uncomfortably well!

Our story is called “The Farmer and the Cow.” It’s inspired by tales from the North Atlantic island country of Iceland.

This episode was the first of three recorded live at Tanglewood, summer home of the Boston Symphony Orchestra, in Lenox, Massachusetts. Joining host Rebecca Sheir on stage was a star-studded cast of actors: Adam Goldberg, Gideon Irving, Faith Salie and Thomas Warfield.

Providing musical accompaniment, under the direction of composer Eric Shimelonis, was a world-class quintet from the BSO: Chris Elchico on clarinet, Clint Foreman on flute, Cathy French on violin, Ben Levy on double bass and Suzanne Nelsen on bassoon.

This episode was adapted for Circle Round by Rebecca Sheir. It was edited by Dean Russell. Original music and sound design is by Eric Shimelonis. Our artist is Sabina Hahn.

GROWN-UPS! PRINT THIS so everyone can color while listening. We’re also keeping an album so please share your picture on Facebook and Instagram, and tag it with #CircleRoundPodcast. To access all the coloring pages for past episodes click HERE. Our resident artist is Sabina Hahn and you can learn more about her HERE.

Now It’s Your Turn

Think of a time you were in a tight spot. How did you get there? How did you get out of it?

Tell your story to someone you have fun with. Then ask them to talk about a time they were in a tight spot – and how they got themselves out!

Script:

NARRATOR: Once upon a time, in a land up north, there lived a farmer. The farmer owned a modest patch of earth, a coop full of hens, and a gentle brown cow named Bukolla.

BUKOLLA: Moooo!

NARRATOR: Every morning, afternoon, and evening, the farmer grabbed his bucket and headed to Bukolla’s barn for her milking. And every morning, afternoon, and evening, she filled that bucket to the brim with rich, sweet, creamy milk.

FARMER: Attagirl, Bukolla! Not only do you give MORE milk than any cow ever… you give the BEST milk! Whatever would I do without you?

BUKOLLA: Moooo!

NARRATOR: Bukolla wasn’t just the farmer’s prize cow. She was also his dear friend, and he talked to her about everything.

He talked about happy things…

FARMER: (happy) One of our hens hatched two-dozen chicks this morning, Bukolla! Two-dozen!

BUKOLLA: (happy) Moooo!

NARRATOR: He talked about not-so-happy things…

FARMER: (sad) That windstorm did a real number on our crops, Bukolla. The field is covered with uprooted plants!

BUKOLLA: (sad) Moooo!

NARRATOR: And even though Bukolla never responded with anything more than her usual…

BUKOLLA: Moooo!

NARRATOR: …it was almost as if she understood every word.

Early one morning, when the farmer strode into Bukolla’s barn for her first milking of the day…

FARMER: Rise and shine, Bukolla!

NARRATOR: …his brow creased with worry.

FARMER: Dear me! Bukolla’s not in the barn! (beat) She’s never wandered off before… Perhaps she was hungry? And went outside to graze?

NARRATOR: But when the farmer raced to the pasture, his brow crease increased! For there was no sign of Bukolla anywhere – not even a hoofprint! The farmer cupped his trembling hands around his mouth and called out.

FARMER: (worried) Bukolla, Bukolla, my darling cow! If you hear my voice, please moo for me now!

NARRATOR: The farmer held his breath as he awaited a response. He waited… and waited… and then… from somewhere far off in the distance…

BUKOLLA: (distant; troubled) Moooo!

FARMER: (GASP!) That’s her! That’s Bukolla! And she sounds troubled. I must find her!

NARRATOR: The farmer set off running in what he hoped was Bukolla’s direction. He sprinted through a grassy meadow…

FARMER: (sounding as if sprinting) Bukolla, Bukolla, my darling cow! If you hear my voice, please moo for me now!

BUKOLLA: (less distant; troubled) Moooo!

NARRATOR: He leaped across a fast-flowing stream…

FARMER: (sounding as if leaping) Bukolla, Bukolla, my darling cow! If you hear my voice, please moo for me now!

BUKOLLA: (even less distant; troubled) Moooo!

NARRATOR: With every call and response, Bukolla sounded louder, and the farmer sprinted faster.

Eventually Bukolla’s moos led the farmer to a broad green valley, nestled beneath a craggy mountain. Once more, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called out.

FARMER: Bukolla, Bukolla, my darling cow! If you hear my voice, please moo for me now!

NARRATOR: The farmer tilted his head and waited. And then…?

BUKOLLA: (much less quiet) Moooo!

FARMER: Bukolla sounds closer than ever! In fact, it seems like her mooing is coming from the mountain! (beat) Only it doesn’t sound like she’s ON the mountain. It sounds like she’s IN the mountain! (gasp!) Oh no.

NARRATOR: The farmer’s blood turned cold. He had heard the legends about deep, dark caves in the mountains… and the ogres who made their homes there. The huge, hairy brutes took great pleasure in snatching up and feasting on all sorts of creatures.

FARMER: …including COWS! And come to think of it… HUMANS! (beat) But no matter. If Bukolla is trapped inside an ogre’s cave, I must rescue her!

NARRATOR: The farmer found a narrow trail and followed its twists and turns up the steep slope. Before long, he came to an opening in the rocks. With knocking knees and a hammering heart he stepped through the gap and into a shadowy cave. And guess who he spied tied to an iron ring on the damp and stony cave wall?

BUKOLLA: Mooo!

FARMER: Bukolla! How did you get here? Were you stolen by ogres?

BUKOLLA: Moooo!

FARMER: Don’t worry, my friend. I’ll keep you safe – and get you home!

NARRATOR: The farmer untied Bukolla from the wall, then led her into the open air and down the mountainside. But right when they reached the bottom of the twisting, turning trail…

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Where do you think YOU’RE going???

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! Where do you think YOU’RE going???

NARRATOR: The farmer whirled around. Clambering down the slope… were two ogres! Brother ogres, as it happens: one older and bigger, one younger and slightly smaller, but both hulking, hairy, and fierce.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: There’s no use running ya know!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! There’s no use running ya know!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: My little brother and I will CATCH you!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! My little brother and I will CATCH you!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Dude! I’m your BIG brother!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Oh! Right! (awkwardly correcting) My BIG brother and I will catch you!

NARRATOR: A chill ran down the farmer’s spine. The ogres’ legs were long, and their strides were, too! He and Bukolla could never outrun these brutish brothers.

FARMER: Oh Bukolla! My dear Bukolla! Whatever shall we do? (beat) (sigh) And between you and me, I could really use more than one of your “moos” right now!

NARRATOR: Well, little did the farmer know, but he was about to get his wish.

Because Bukolla would respond with more than one of her “moos.”

She would respond… with MAGIC!

What kind of magic does Bukolla have in store? Will she and the farmer escape the ogres’ clutches?

We’ll find out, after a quick break.

[BREAK]

NARRATOR: I’m Rebecca Sheir and welcome back to Circle Round, live at Tanglewood in Lenox, Massachusetts! Today our story is called “The Farmer and the Cow.”

Before the break, two huge, hairy ogre brothers were chasing after the farmer and his beloved cow, Bukolla.

The terrified farmer cried out to Bukolla, asking her what they should do. But instead of responding with her usual “moo,” the cow opened her mouth… and SPOKE!

BUKOLLA: Pluck a hair from my tail, farmer. And lay it on the ground.

FARMER: Bukolla! Since when do you TALK????

BUKOLLA: I’ve ALWAYS talked! In so many words. Well, more like ONE word. You know: “Mooooo”...? (beat) Let's just say that most days I prefer to listen. But TODAY, YOU must listen to ME! You must pluck a hair from my tail and lay it on the ground.

NARRATOR: The surprised farmer did as he was told. He plucked a hair from Bukolla’s tail…

[violin pizzicato/plucking sound]

NARRATOR: …then laid it on the ground. Bukolla stared at the hair, fixing it with her bright brown eyes.

BUKOLLA: Magic hair from my tail, please help me and my friend prevail. Become a river so deep and wide, only birds and fish can reach the other side!

NARRATOR: No sooner had Bukolla uttered these words than the hair vanished. In its place appeared a rushing river – its broad, surging waters blocking the ogres’ path completely!

BUKOLLA: Come on, farmer! Let’s go!

NARRATOR: At the sight of Bukolla and the farmer scurrying away, the two ogres scowled and shook their fists.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Blast this rushing river!!!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! Blast this rushing river!!!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: It’s too wide to swim across!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! It’s too wide to swim across!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: (annoyed sigh) I’m sorry, but must you repeat everything I say, little brother? It’s flattering and all, but it’s also irritating.

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! It’s flattering and all, but it’s also – (catches himself) Oh. Yeah, I guess that IS irritating, isn’t it. It won’t happen again.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Thanks. (beat) ANYWAY… if you and I can’t swim across this river, then we must GET RID of this river. Go and fetch our BULL!

NARRATOR: The smaller ogre lumbered away and came back with an enormous black bull. He led the animal to the river, where it lowered its giant head and began to drink… and drink… and drink… until every drop of water was gone.

Now that the river was dry, the ogres could continue their chase. Bukolla and the farmer were a quarter of the way home when they heard the brothers’ plodding footsteps behind them.

FARMER: My dear Bukolla! Somehow the ogres got across the river! And now they’re catching up with us! Whatever shall we do?

BUKOLLA: Pluck another hair from my tail, farmer. And lay it on the ground.

NARRATOR: So the farmer pulled out another hair…

[violin pizzicato/plucking sound]

NARRATOR: …and placed it on the ground. Bukolla stared at the strand with her twinkling eyes.

BUKOLLA: Magic hair from my tail, please help me and my friend prevail. Become a fire so hot and high, its flares and sparks reach up to the sky!

NARRATOR: In an instant, the hair was replaced by a blazing fire – its crackling, twisting flames creating a scorching-hot wall that cut off the ogres’ path.

BUKOLLA: Now’s our chance, farmer! Let’s go!

NARRATOR: While the two friends streaked off toward home, the ogres gnashed their yellow teeth and stomped their heavy feet.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: How dare they try and thwart us with their raging inferno???

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! How dare they try and thwart us with their – (catching himself) (covering, overcompensating, trying to be cool/casual) I mean, what is up with THIS nonsense???

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Not to worry, though! Just as we dealt with their river, so shall we deal with their fire. Go and fetch our bull again!

NARRATOR: Now, as we just heard: the ogres’ bull had just drunk an entire river, right? So when the younger ogre brother brought him back, the mighty bull looked more like a massive balloon! And as the swollen animal stood in front of the fire, he let out a big snort…

[flute/bassoon/double bass/clarinet snort sound]

NARRATOR: …then proceeded to spit out every drop of water he had swallowed! The water shot out of his mouth and nose and soaked the flames through and through… until the fire fizzled out… and the ogres continued on their way.

Bukolla and the farmer were halfway home when, once again, they heard the brothers stamping and stomping behind them.

FARMER: My dear Bukolla! Somehow the ogres passed through the fire and are catching up with us AGAIN! Whatever shall we do?

BUKOLLA: Pluck another hair from my tail, farmer. And lay it on the ground.

NARRATOR: So, once again, the farmer plucked a hair…

[violin pizzicato/plucking sound]

NARRATOR: …and laid it down. And once again, Bukolla gazed at it with her glittering eyes.

BUKOLLA: Magic hair from my tail, please help me and my friend prevail. Become a mountain so colossal and vast, no living creature could ever get past!

NARRATOR: And with that, the hair magically transformed into a towering mountain, its distant, jagged peak shrouded in clouds.

BUKOLLA: Now’s our chance, farmer! Let’s go!

NARRATOR: Bukolla and the farmer raced off like lightning. The ogres, meanwhile, thundered with rage.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: We could never climb over this massive mountain!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! We could never climb over this mass – (catching himself, trying to play it cool) I mean, what lousy luck, right?

BIG BROTHER OGRE: But no use panicking. Just as we dealt with their river, and their fire, so shall we deal with their mountain! Go and fetch… my DRILL!

NARRATOR: The younger ogre brother did as instructed and lumbered off. When he returned, he was carrying a long tool with a handle on one end, and a sharp screw on the other.

The older ogre brother grabbed the drill and got to work boring a hole through the mountain. He drilled… and he drilled… until at last, he could see all the way to the other side.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Now’s our chance, little brother! Let’s go through the hole!

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: Yeah! Let’s go through the – (beat) Wait a second! Isn’t that hole too narrow for us to squeeze through?

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Oh! So you’re questioning me now…? I think I liked it better when you repeated everything I said. (beat) Look, just follow me through the hole, okay? We’ll be feasting on farmer and cow in no time!

NARRATOR: The older brother gritted his teeth and thrust his hefty body into the hole. But his younger brother was right: it WAS too narrow. And as the huge, hairy creature pushed and squeezed his way forward, it wasn’t long before he got STUCK!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: Ugh! I can’t move! (beat) Don’t just stand there, little brother! Get me out of here!

NARRATOR: The smaller ogre squeezed into the hole. He pushed…

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: I’ve gotta get you out of here!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: YEAH! You’ve gotta get me out of here!

NARRATOR: He pulled…

LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: I can’t let you stay stuck forever!

BIG BROTHER OGRE: YEAH! You can’t let me stay stuck forever!

NARRATOR: …But it was no use. The larger ogre was lodged in tight…. And now, the SMALLER one, was too! The two brothers were jammed so deep inside, they could neither move forward…

BIG BROTHER OGRE: / LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: (ad-lib humorous efforting sounds)

NARRATOR: …nor backward.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: / LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: (ad-lib humorous efforting sounds)

NARRATOR: In fact… much to their dismay… they couldn’t move at all.

BIG BROTHER OGRE: / LITTLE BROTHER OGRE: (ad-lib humorous groan)

NARRATOR: And according to legend, the two ogres are still stuck inside the towering mountain, to this very day.

So… in a manner of speaking… I guess you could say that they truly are in a tight spot… in a hole… between a rock and a hard place… FOREVER.