No one remembered all the rules. Sure, they remembered the broad strokes: swing at the ball, get it in the hole. But the finer points of it were lost to time. So eventually were the justifications for game's grip on the real estate. And so it went. Where once were little tire treads and manicured swaths of grass now stood a sea of sunflowers and asters. Kids were playing by the pond until sundown, trading theories as to what all those weird eggs were.