The Pinecone Roll

“This stump is the perfect target,” Wyatt says, holding up a pinecone like a game-show prize.

Chloe peers at the wide, low stump in the middle of the clearing. It is flat on top, with a rim like a little wooden stage. Ferns grow around its feet, and tall pine trees stand beyond them.

“It is a good target,” she says. “But what’s the game?”

Wyatt turns the pinecone in his hands. Its brown scales stick out like tiny wooden petals. “We roll it toward the stump. Whoever gets closest wins.”

“From where?” Chloe asks.

Wyatt points to a patch of soft dirt nearby. “From right here. I’ll go first, because I thought of it.”

Chloe folds her arms. “That sounds like a rule made by the person who gets to go first.”

Wyatt looks down at the pinecone. “Oh. Maybe we should both get a turn.”

“Better,” says Chloe. “And we need a line to roll from.”

They find a fallen twig and lay it across the dirt. Chloe stands behind it, then studies the stump. “If we hit the stump, does that count as a win?”

“Definitely,” Wyatt says. “Unless it bounces away. Then it’s a bounce-win.”

“What if it rolls off the side?”

“Then it’s a side-win.”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “You are making up a lot of ways for you to win.”

Wyatt grins. “I’m very talented.”

They agree to take turns and see whose pinecone stops closest to the stump. Wyatt crouches behind the twig line. He gives the pinecone a careful push.

It rolls over the dirt, past a clump of grass, and—bonk!—stops against the stump’s wooden side.

“Target!” Wyatt cries.

“Your turn is good,” Chloe says. “But now I get one.”

She places the pinecone on the line and rolls it with a little flick. It travels smoothly for a few feet. Then it bumps over a root growing across the surface of the ground. The pinecone wobbles, veers sideways, and stops beside a fern.

Chloe looks at the root. Wyatt looks at the pinecone.

“Well,” he says, “that was a very surprising side-win.”

“It was not a win,” Chloe says, walking over to retrieve the pinecone. “The root knocked it off course.”

Wyatt rubs the back of his neck. “You’re right. That wasn’t fair.”

Chloe carries the pinecone back. “And your roll had a smooth path. Mine had a root bump.”

Wyatt studies the ground between the twig and the stump. The dirt slopes a little, and the root sticks up like a low wooden fence. “Maybe this line is not the best line.”

“Could we try over there?” Chloe points to a flatter patch beside the stump. It has a few pine needles, but no roots crossing it.

Wyatt nods. “Let’s test it before we decide.”

They move the twig to the smoother spot. Chloe rolls first this time. The pinecone travels straight, then circles once and stops a handspan from the stump.

“That was a very polite roll,” Wyatt says. “It almost knocked.”

“My turn was a test,” Chloe tells him. “Now we need a rule for choosing the starting spot.”

Wyatt thinks. “We can take turns choosing where to roll from. The chooser has to pick a place that both of us can use.”

“And we both roll from the same line,” Chloe adds.

“Good. Closest to the stump wins the round,” says Wyatt. “If we tie, we tie.”

Chloe smiles. “No bounce-wins?”

“Only if the pinecone asks politely.”

They mark the new line with the twig. Wyatt chooses it for the first round, and Chloe chooses it for the next. Each time, they both roll from the same place. Sometimes the pinecone travels neatly toward the stump. Sometimes it turns in a small circle as if it has forgotten where it is going.

In one round, Wyatt’s roll stops close to the stump. Chloe’s rolls right past it and bumps into a patch of moss.

“Your pinecone is trying to escape,” Wyatt says.

“It is practicing for a pinecone race,” Chloe replies.

They compare the rolls and declare Wyatt the winner of that round. Then Chloe wins the next, when Wyatt’s pinecone curves away and settles near his shoe.

For the last round, they take turns choosing a starting place. Chloe picks a spot close to the stump. Wyatt picks the same spot because, he says, “It has a good reputation.” They roll one after the other. The pinecone stops between them, almost exactly the same distance from the stump.

“Tie,” says Chloe.

Wyatt gives a grand bow. “A very honorable tie.”

For a moment, Wyatt and Chloe study the pinecone resting between them.

“It may be the best roll yet,” Wyatt says. “It managed to please both players.”

“Maybe it should get a tiny medal,” Chloe says.

Wyatt looks around the clearing. “We could make one from a leaf.”

Chloe shakes her head. “I think we should leave it here. Pinecones fall from pine trees, and this one belongs on the forest floor.”

Wyatt turns the pinecone in his hands once more. “You’re right. It can wait here for the next game. Or for a squirrel to find.”

They walk to the base of a pine tree and set the pinecone gently among the needles. It rests beside a few other cones, as if it has joined a quiet little gathering.

“Thanks for being a game pinecone,” Wyatt tells it.

“And for not asking for a medal,” Chloe adds.

They return to the stump. The twig still marks their new line. Wyatt picks it up and lays it beside the stump, where it won’t trip anyone. Then he and Chloe brush the dirt from their knees.

“Which roll was the silliest?” Wyatt asks as they start along the path home.

“Your first one,” Chloe says. “You called it a side-win before I even had a turn.”

“That was a very important rule.”

“It was a very unfair rule.”

Wyatt considers this. “Then maybe my pinecone race roll was the silliest.”

“No,” says Chloe. “The one where it went in a circle and came back almost to your shoe.”

“That one was trying to visit me.”

They keep talking as the woods grow quieter around them. They remember the crooked roll, the root that sent the pinecone wandering, and their nearly perfect tie. Each time one of them names a silliest roll, the other thinks of an even sillier one.

At the edge of the clearing, Wyatt glances back at the broad stump. “We’ll have to play again sometime.”

“With fair rules,” Chloe says.

“And a good line,” Wyatt adds.

They head home together, still debating which roll was the silliest, while the pinecone rests among the forest needles.