I know nothing of golf. You would think it would have seeped into my bones through osmosis; Roger Kidder, my first husband was a golfer. He grew up on a family owned summer resort in New Hampshire with his own golf course, tennis courts and lake front cottages. His real game was tennis, preferably on clay courts some youngster had spent their summer rolling and maintaining, (as he had toiled) but golf was part of his vocabulary.
Don’t get me wrong, I have tremendous respect for golf courses. Without them (and cemeteries) much of the lovely land out there would be given over to McMansions or cluster housing. I don’t have an opinion of golfers themselves as I could never get past the lingo and the ability to spend hours chasing small round balls with a club.
One of my latest projects with the Chamber of Commerce was the annual Golf Tournament. I sold sponsorships and worked on the committee to plan the event. Once all 16 teams of foursomes were registered and departed for the links, we volunteers gathered for coffee. As the only non-golfers, Laura and I were assigned a cart, a clipboard and a camera. We needed team shots as well as the ubiquitous candids for the Chamber website. Neither of us had ever driven a golf cart but I reasoned Laura owns an insurance agency so in the event of a mishap she should be the designated driver. It was bucketing rain as we lurched out of the parking lot.
Zipping up and down the trails, chasing down teams of players we couldn’t help being awed by the scenery. “This is kind of fun!” Laura commented. Despite our recent drought, there was a lot of luscious green on this rainy morning.
“I doubt Sports Illustrated will be asking us to cover the Master’s Tournament any time soon, but you are right, this isn’t a bad way to spend the day.” I replied.
There were all sorts of critters out and about. We spotted this coyote loping across the open course (is that called a fairway? I am clueless). I suspect he was dining on the wild turkeys strutting along the edges of the woods.
The players were a fun group, all ages and levels of skill.
I missed my chance to the a shot of the quintessential golfer of the day. As we were watching the carts full of tournament players head to the last holes, a very elderly gentleman came crab-walking toward the first hole. He was pushing a handcart loaded with his clubs and muttering about the “idiots whizzing by with no regard for the game!” I questioned his choice of walking the course with all its hills and he simply guffawed. “This is the only way to really see where your ball lies and all the nature along the way. Original equipment!” he noted pointing to his knobby knees. I had to agree, he probably sees more of the beauty of the land and gets more exercise. And isn’t that the point?