It was a dusty, red leather bag filled with old sports equipment as far as I was concerned. My granddad, Bobby Simpson, named after the great Bobby Jones, scooted the golf bag towards me as we stood in his crowded shed in the back yard. Little did I know, but that moment in my young life would set me on a path to loving the game of golf.
If you are not a golfer, you might be asking yourself, “Why does anyone want to chase a little white ball all over nature or why would anyone attempt to hit that same little white ball hundreds of yards trying to sink it into an elusive hole that is planted somewhere on something called a “green”?”
Golf grabs me when I get that indescribable feel of a well struck shot, the perfect whack resonating in my ear, or the silence of a fairway at dusk as I play the 18th hole. A deer feeding on the edge of a fairway that pauses my game or regal herons fishing in the lake adjacent to the green. No matter how well or how poorly I play or how picturesque or dry a golf course is, I always love the game.
When I was nine, my granddad passed away, cutting short a our new shared love of the game. But before he died he got me started with the basics of a swing, how to keep score, and most importantly, how to have fun.
I have had the pleasure of teaching golf to both of my daughters and to my wife. During the summer on Monday and Tuesday evenings, it is not uncommon for us to practice our putting in the living room and then head to the backyard to practice our swings. At least once a month we try to play nine holes together as a family. This is quite a feat considering that both of my daughters are under ten! Watching them learn to love the game with me deepens my enjoyment of it all.
A trip out of town is always enhanced by a golf outing. My latest trip allowed me to play the Quicksand course in San Angelo, Texas. I have only played it a handful of times, but it is full of deep, fond memories. I knew when I went to this course this weekend I was going to be thinking not only of my own granddad, but also my wife’s granddad. While he didn’t play well, he loved the game, and he loved me. On one of our visits he suggested that he go with me to the course. My eyes lit up and we grabbed our caps. He rode all 18 holes with me. Little did I know that that time with him would be my last. He died unexpectedly a few months later. He was a great man and I miss him dearly. Yes, golf does hold special memories for me.
Photo 1: One of my favorite holes at Quicksand is tiered and reminds me of a wedding cake. The hole is not very long, but there is no way out if you happen to miss the green on your approach. I must confess that I have played my ball from the sand almost every time I have played this course.
Photo 2: No wonder they call the course “Quicksand.” All that sand helps save water for sure.
