Green with Envy

The endless beige horizons from the last 12 months contrasted dramatically against all the green gliding under the plane. The contrast of colors surprised me. The family had just left Qatar less than 24 hours ago. Now an over saturation of color attacked the senses. Nadine and I more than welcomed it, it had been missed. The green trees and grass provided relief to our United States return. A return that wasn’t guaranteed just weeks before. The foliage provided familiarity and repose.

This was a greatly different reaction from my first exposure to an explosion of green as a youth. When I first visited Minnesota as a flat-topped kid in elementary school, the call of the West Texas desert was familiar. Now, the green conversely beckoned me soul.

Different Shades of Sand

Maybe it’s natural that living in a desert one is naturally attracted to green and the life it represents. With that in mind, golf formally introduced itself to me. We had several dates this summer.

You would think that since I married an absolutely fantastic woman from a golfing family I would have taken up golf to some extent to endear myself.

I never did.

Nadine’s dad played well enough to try out for the Senior PGA and both her brothers went to golf school and worked consistently in the industry.

For some reason that can’t be explained, golf caught my attention. Possibly the wide open cool spaces. Maybe it was the green. Could be that I’m a bit older and my mind subtly nudges me towards a game that doesn’t wear and teardown the body as much. Whatever the reason, I golfed.

Exploring the Wide Open Fairways of Ashland Country Club

In Nebraska, my good buddy Fauss invited me to golf several rounds at the very exclusive Ashland Country Club (the town took a bit of liberty in naming the course). To get the biggest bang for the buck, not only did my shots hit the fairways, but just as frequently the sand traps, parallel fairways, and sections of overgrown grass. A six-pack of Blue Moon not only made it more fun, but miraculously my golf game improved.

And just like that flirtatious crush from high school, golf equally frustrated and left me hopeful just to baffle me again. By like any experienced flirt, she left me with hope. My shots flew where I aimed on the 18th hole. “Maybe I will golf again next week.” She had me where she wanted me.

In Texas, my brother Tim and I hit the golf course a couple of times too. One being the same Par 3 golf course in San Antonio where I spent part of my Bachelor’s party.

This game is becoming serious enough that I bought a set of clubs . . . for $60.