The Garden Game of Silly Landings

“The smallest dry spot wins!” Blake announced, pointing at a patch no bigger than a leaf.

Sadie leaned over to look. “That spot is barely big enough for one shoe.”

“Exactly,” said Blake. “I’ll land on it first, and then I’ll win.”

Their backyard garden was fresh from a light rain. Puddles filled the low places along the garden path. The wet stones looked slick, so Blake and Sadie stayed on the broad, dry patches beside them.

“Let’s make a puddle-hopping game,” Blake said. “Hop from this dry patch to the next one. Whoever lands on the tiniest spot gets a point.”

Sadie grinned. “And what does the winner get?”

“To be the Garden Champion!” Blake said. He stood tall and held an imaginary medal to his chest.

Sadie gave him a pretend bow. “Then let the game begin.”

Blake went first. He bent his knees and made a little hop toward the tiny patch. His sneakers landed with a soft scuff, one toe on the dry spot and one heel hanging over the edge.

“Does that count?” he asked.

Sadie squinted at his shoes. “It counts as almost.”

Blake scooted his heel in. “Now it counts.”

Sadie took her turn. She tried to land on the same patch, but there wasn’t room for both her feet. She set one foot down, wobbled, and quickly stepped back onto the wider dry path.

“Your turn again,” she said. “I need a little space.”

Blake was pleased. Another turn might help him win. But the tiny spot was so small that each hop took careful aim, and the cousins kept waiting for one another to move aside.

A raindrop fell from a leaf and plopped into the puddle beside them. Blake glanced at the wet stone, then at his narrow landing place.

“I can do it,” he said, lining up for another hop.

Sadie looked at the crowded patch and tilted her head. “Maybe we need a game with room for two.”

Blake crouched for his next hop. He aimed carefully, sprang, and landed with one sneaker on the tiny dry spot. His other foot came down on the damp edge.

“Whoa!” Sadie said.

Blake wobbled, arms circling like windmills. He stepped back onto the broad dry patch and steadied himself. He was safe, but his grin had slipped away.

“That was close,” Sadie said. “Wet stones can be slippery. We should keep our feet on the wide, dry places.”

Blake looked at the little patch. “But if we don’t use it, I can’t win.”

“Maybe winning could mean something else,” Sadie said. She pointed to two broad dry places beside the puddles. “What if each of us gets a roomy landing spot? We take turns making a silly hop on the dry path, then freeze in a funny pose. The puddles can be our pretend rivers.”

Blake studied the two patches. They had plenty of room for both feet. “And we get points for the poses?”

“Or we can try to make each other laugh,” Sadie suggested.

Blake’s eyebrows went up. “That sounds harder than landing on a leaf.”

Sadie went first. She made a small hop on her dry patch and froze with her elbows stuck out and her chin tucked down. She looked like a very puzzled chicken.

Blake snorted. “That chicken forgot how to be a chicken!”

“Your turn,” Sadie said.

Blake hopped in place on his wide patch. He stood on tiptoe, stretched both arms high, and made his mouth into a tiny circle. He looked like a surprised garden gnome.

Sadie burst out laughing and bent forward, bracing her hands on her thighs. “The gnome saw a worm!”

Blake laughed too. He tried a new pose, bending one knee and holding his arms like a pair of curly vines. Sadie answered with a sideways lean and a pretend flower face.

They took turns on the dry patches, never stepping into the puddles. Each pose grew sillier: a sleepy frog, a marching carrot, a duck with one very important wing. Blake forgot to count points. Sadie forgot to keep score.

“Who’s winning?” Blake asked at last.

Sadie pointed at their grinning faces. “The game is.”

The cousins kept playing, but their hops grew smaller and their poses grew slower. Blake made one last garden-gnome pose, with his hands on his hips and his chin held high.

Sadie gave him a grand nod. “A fine gnome. Very serious about his vegetables.”

“I’m guarding the peas,” Blake said. Then he wiggled his eyebrows. “No sneaking past me.”

Sadie pretended to tiptoe around him, keeping to the dry path. She paused beside a puddle and made a long, silly duck face. Blake tried to answer with a quack, but it came out as a squeak.

They both giggled. The game had started with a tiny spot and a very important score. Now neither cousin could remember who had earned the most points—or who had made the best duck.

“I think your worm-seeing gnome was pretty good,” Sadie said.

“And your chicken was excellent,” Blake replied. “It looked confused about everything.”

They walked along the broad, dry part of the garden path toward the bench. They went slowly around the puddles. Drops of rain slid from the leaves and tapped the ground. A garden hose lay curled beside the flower bed, and a little red flower nodded as the breeze passed.

At the bench, Blake and Sadie sat side by side. Their shoes rested on the dry ground. For a moment, they didn’t say anything. They watched the garden drip after the rain: plip from a leaf, plop into a puddle, pat against the path.

Blake leaned back. “I didn’t win the tiny-spot game.”

“No,” Sadie said. “But you were a very good surprised gnome.”

“And you were a very good confused chicken.”

Sadie tucked her hands into her lap. Blake smiled at the puddles, which held little pictures of leaves and clouds. The garden grew quiet around them, with only the soft patter of drops and the occasional plop from the path.

They sat together on the bench, still smiling about their silly poses, while the backyard settled into its peaceful evening hush.