What you see here is a raft. If it had a pointed end, it would be a boat. However, it has square ends. Hence the raft-ness.
It's sailing in a puddle in the driveway. The g-kids were here Friday night, when we had about an hour of rain-free fun, and Saturday till about noon, when we had maybe another hour without rain.
The car-crazy three-year-old insisted on "driving" his raft along the surface of the water. Then it "drove" along the bottom of the puddle. Occasionally, the raft "flew" between puddles, but it didn't get much chance to just float and sail in the wind.
The six-year-old really really wanted his raft to sail up the puddle, against the wind. Although the raft refused to disobey the laws of nature, he salvaged his fun by yelling "Land, ho!" every time the raft nudged the edge of the puddle." The three-year-old joined in, with a twist: "Yahoo, land!"
Then the two wheelbarrows became "cruise ships" in the hands of the six-year-old and his nine-year-old brother. (Apparently they had seen a cruise ship in the harbo(u)r in town.) Cruise ships can carry rafts from puddle to puddle. They can also be filled with water that is poured on hapless rafts to make the rafts sink, to the accompanying screams from the rafts' imaginary passengers who die a horrible and watery death.
Fun times.
I've played here in the summer for decades. As the youngest in my family, I grew up with siblings who played here in a few particular ways: mining skipping stones, "digging" for clay under the sand in the bay and making pots, taking watercraft across our bay and around the point. Visiting cousins added their own spin at times, but mostly it was the five of us. Over time, it became the four, or three, or two of us. Most recently, it's been just me, though I tend to play less and work more unless we are two. And "play" is likely to be either "sitting on the beach with a beverage" or "going out in the boat."
But between my childhood and beverage years, I had a couple of chances to watch my brothers' kids find slightly different ways of playing here. They gave different names to landmarks: one family was fond of forts, so everything was Fort _____. They brought different gear (knee-high rubber boots--genius!!) to enjoy the place with. They made different items with clay: fewer containers, more icons.
And now I watch the g-kids. When they play, especially the three of them, I learn about my own childhood. They have the usual sibling skirmishes over life-and-death matters such as whose piece of brownie is bigger (which I understand) and whose placemat is better (?????).
However, sometimes their play is like jazz, especially between the two older ones: one starts something, another riffs on it. "Hey," they say to each other, "Make the ____ do _____." The youngest, joining in, understands only partly and thus adds a new dimension. I've been there, buddy, and no, you're not wrong. Just creative.
Mostly, they reassure me of the constancy of the eternal truths. Kids are drawn to puddles. Rubber boots are a genius invention, as is the clothes dryer. In the right mind, a wheelbarrow can become a cruise ship.
And when you're on a raft and run aground, "Yahoo, land!" is a mighty fine attitude to take.
