Me: “Are you up for golf Monday morning?”
David: “What time were you thinking? I have some details I have to clear up early.”
Me: “I was thinking 7:04 am.”
David: “Wow! That’s early.”
Me: “I wanted to play before the rain starts.
David: “It would be a shame to carry your clubs 7000 miles and only play once. I’m in.”
The mention of 7000 miles reminded me I have to drive home also. We played Neshobe Golf Club at 7:20, a small compromise. John and I played Neshobe years ago, when it was a 9 hole course. It is 10 minutes from camp and we could almost always reserve a tee time. Now it’s 18 holes, the new 9 being just gorgeous. (See photos) The 7:04 tee off was taken by a threesome, who asked us to play through on the 6th hole. We suffered with some light showers on the front nine, but that was ok, it was like having a water mister cooling everything off. The sun broke through on the turn but showers returned on 15 and 16. The rain forced a couple of wimpy foursomes go shelter in a small structure with no walls as we continued to play the par three 17th. In heavy rain we were both lucky (or skilled!), hit our tee shots on the green, and two putted for pars thereby not embarrassing ourselves in front of the gallery.
Let’s just say the 18th was a challenge. During the worst of the deluge we teed off from the side of a mountain towards a Great Lake sized pond on the right and a bunker resembling the Sahara surrounding the green. Luckily we hit short drives and my fairway hybrid turned into a layup, missing the sand while strategically positioning myself to triple bogey. I would like to blame the rain for that score. I really would like to.
3 hours of catching up. Priceless. Golf scores, don’t ask.
The rain continued all afternoon. Lunch on the porch with John then back to the overflow cabin to catch up blogging and napping, both very important travel and vacation activities.
We had planned to go to Church Street in Burlington. Years ago Church Street was converted to a pedestrian mall and is great place to shop, dine and people watch. The rain forced us to postpone this activity a day. Check back.
In lieu of the hour drive to Burlington we decided to go to Paddlers Pub at the marina on the other side of the lake. We used to go there by boat as kids when it was called Waterhouses. Waterhouses dates back to 1876, well before my time.
”Dad? Is dirt before 1876? If so….”
”Sush, Rose. I am writing my journal.”
Waterhouses was the only place where as kids we could take our boats and buy ice cream or soda and was therefore a frequent haunt for those of us who were so callously sent to live at the lake from the end of school to Labor Day. Oh how we suffered!
”Dad? You said those were the best years of your life.”
”No, I said they were the best years of my life before I met Mom, Rose. Please remember that small but important detail. I just wish I realized it back then.”