Golf Fore the Good

Finally, there is light at the end of the tunnel. Really. I know this because the days of having my breakfast coffee in the pitch black are behind me for the season. The sun is actually peeking over the horizon even before the dog wakes up, and it stays light enough in the afternoon to take a half way decent walk in the afternoon. Yesterday, I pulled on my mud boots and headed to the golf course, to the absolute delight of the dog.

Remnants of snow lie hidden in low and shaded swales, but mostly the course is free of ice and frost. March can be long and bitter on Cape Cod - as the winds of February are now reminding us - but at least the end is near. The only good thing about winter for a golfer in New England is that spring, eventually, does arrive.

The daffodils in the beds by the clubhouse have poked nearly four inches out of the ground. The buds on the massive rhododendrons leading up to the first tee are as big as my thumb. Beneath the pines that edge the fairways the ground is swept clean, where only a few months ago we played the “leaf rule” just inches into the rough. Walking the course, I could feel a springiness to the grass beneath my feet. Bubbling up and out of the ground, the frost has softened the earth, like a fountain of youth. The course no longer feels like frozen tundra.

Of course, come spring we’ll curse the dampness, the puddles, the plugged balls. We’ll need an extra club or two to reach the green. We’ll sport a few extra layers of clothing to ward off the cold, which will hamper our swings. We’ll put up with the wind chill, the uneven growth of the greens as they struggle to life, the washouts in bunkers from winter neglect. We’ll play golf and we’ll love it.

We’re definitely sliding towards spring. Finally.