My brother and I spent a lot of time at our grandparents home over the summer. There were dinners I still crave. I would never grill a hamburger the way my grandfather did but I would give up so much to eat one of those burgers one more time. We ran around the neighborhood. We rode bikes. We watched a lot of Yankees games and golf nearly every weekend (well, I was in the room while everyone else watched). Even quiet moments like eating chives from my grandfather’s garden while watching bats feast at dusk are some of the most peaceful and meditative moments of my life. But the opposite of meditative or peaceful were the games my brother and I would create and play for hours.
Pine Cone Wars.
I am honestly shocked we didn’t get in more trouble for this. My grandparents had two massive pine trees in their backyard. These trees were legendary. My mom and her siblings remember the trees when they were small. Human height small. Now they tower over the house. And they dropped a ton of pinecones into the yard. My grandparents were very smart people, but I don’t think they knew what they were about to unleash when they asked us to clean up all the cones in the yard. There isn’t really a summer equivalent to a snowball fight but we were about to try. My brother and I ran through the yard, each trying to collect as many cones as we could. We piled dozens, maybe hundreds of them, at opposite ends of the yard. Then the battle began. We whipped cones at each other for hours. Using anything in the backyard as a shield of some sort. Trying to avoid getting hit but also running in close to hit the other. One pinecone in the throwing hand, two or three in the other, and some more in our pockets. Multiple hits in one attack. Of course, all we’re doing is creating more work for ourselves because now we have to pick up all of these pinecones all over again. We were bruised and scratched up. I don’t think either of us could have really been hurt, but I am shocked we didn’t break a window.
Obstacle Course Tag.
This was more than a friendly game of tag. This was tag with the goal of not getting in trouble. There were certain places in that backyard that were protected. Don’t damage them, don’t mess with it, and don’t bother certain neighbors. Thus our course shape was formed. While neither of us would get in trouble for running through the compost pile, who would want to? Someone trying to not get tagged, that’s who. Don’t cut through the neighbors yard on the right side because that’s where the flowers are, but the left side is safe. Climbing up one of the pine trees is allowed, but is it worth the risk to get tagged while gingerly climbing down?
No Net Badminton.
This one is by far my favorite, and the one we played the most. We were given a badminton set with rackets and birdies, and I know there was a net but that never got set up. Instead we measured the half way point of the backyard. Along that line we set down every bat we could find in the garage. Base, soft, or whiffle. The imaginary line down the center of the yard was now physically set in plastic, wood, and aluminum. The rules were simple: hit the birdie over the net until one of us misses and the opponent gets the point. When I say over the net, I mean over the range of widths of the bats. As long as it goes over the bat, it counts. This led to many shady volleys, dives, and strategies. Sure, one could lightly tap the birdie over the bats for the easy point, but if your opponent does connect and hits it back full force, now it becomes a fast run to the back of the “court”. Smashes from corner to corner, light taps of inches, and hours upon hours of fun. We played so long we forgot to keep score. We played so long we would try to hit 100 volleys back and forth and then try to break that record. If I ever live somewhere with a big enough back yard, I will set up a line of baseball bats before a grill or a single lawn chair.
And yes, a badminton racket is just long enough to be the perfect tool to retrieve any pinecones or birdies that may have landed in the garden without leaving a footprint.
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