Can you see where I sneezed in my cut? The first greens mowers, Native Americans, believed you could see a person's entire life-past, present and future-in the lines of the cut.
Nothing says muni golf quite like a bird poop encrusted ball washer
Vincent was making his morning rounds when he saw that some birds had soiled the ball washer at #11 middle. No, no, no. Not at this Club. Not on his watch. After all, members paid substantial dues to avert untidy situations such as these. He quickly wiped and sanitized the soiled ball washer. All was well again. Vincent sighed and smiled in the warmth of the early morning sun.
Buy The Video: Tips & Tricks Of Greenskeeping Pros
Consistency, consistency, consistency: Set the proper height every time.
Nothing can mar the joy of sharing a friendly round among friends than a tee marker at an improper height. To assure your members' unbridled delight, use the toe of your work boot as a guide for a precise, consistent height through all 18.
What's So Funny?
Vincent didn't get it. He thought, "What's so funny about irrigation pipe?"
Vincent Took In The Healing Vapors Of The Mulch
Breathing in...breathing out...
Blinded By The Light
Vincent read the directive on the picker cart with a bemused interest. What was the rationale behind it? He could only imagine. Vincent thought of Dante in Paradiso, Canto XXII, temporarily blinded by the brilliant light of St. John. Perhaps The Club's board of governors thought they would be remiss if they did not warn employees about directly gazing too long into the radiance of its members on the practice tee.
The Wheels On The Bus Go Round And Round
Vincent was hosing down his mower on the BioRack, a wash water treatment system that allows greenskeepers to wash,
rinse and remediate water all in one system. The Club mechanic, Q, noticed that a recirculating hose was uncoupled and was draining the treated water which would have to be retreated and replenished. He reminded Vincent to always check the hose connection to which Vincent replied, " Ed was washing his mower before I got here and turned it over to me. It wasn't hooked up when he was using it either." Vin had effectively thrown his coworker, Ed, under the bus. Q started to sing a familiar refrain from the popular children's song:
"The wheels on the bus go round and round
Round and round, round and round
The wheels on the bus go round and round
All through the town."
(Roll hands over each other)
Home On The Range
Like the Chinook Salmon migrating up the Yukon River over 3,000 kilometers (1,900 mi) from the river's mouth in the Bering Sea to spawning grounds at Whitehorse. Yukon, Vincent returned to where it all started for him at The Club over 14 years ago–The Range.
It felt good to be back. Much had transpired in those intervening years. Vincent was not the same man. How could he be? Vincent set up The Range with a speed, precision and alacrity of a master, if there had been Driving Range Masters.
The Club Has A $20,000 Thirst
Vincent was told that members of The Club quaffed an average of $20,000 worth of water a season. Vincent just went with the flow and filled the five coolers on the course with 20 cases of water and plenty of ice. After all, opening day at The Club was tomorrow. J. Q.,, The Club mechanic, and Vincent composed a blessing to commemorate the filling of the coolers:
May your water always be chilled,
and your coolers runneth over.
Balls To The Wall
Vincent spent most of the day washing and culling the practice range Titleists in preparation for the course opening on Saturday. Each basket held roughly two gross. Prudent range practices, which included fastidious foraging in the range woods that recovered about a dozen gross of balls, ensured that The Club would not have to open new stock for quite some time.
Loam On The Range
Vincent spent most of the day shoveling loam and seeding.He felt the warm sun as he shoveled and became aware of the changing season. He thought of the Byrds' song. The vistas grew greener, the windbreakers came off by mid-morning and a spring softness enveloped the course. The air was sweet, smiles abounded and the shoveling awoke Vincent's muscles from their off-season slumber. Everything felt just right.
Turn! Turn! Turn! (to Everything There Is a Season)
Words adapted from The Bible, Book of Ecclesiastes
Music-Pete Seeger
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heavent
A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing
To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time for love, a time for hate
A time for peace, I swear it's not too late
Because I Love That Dirty Water
It's An Inside Job: Thunder and lightning outside, cleaning inside (at least until the storm blew over).
Dirty Water
by The Standells
I'm gonna tell you a story
I'm gonna tell you about my town
I'm gonna tell you a big bad story, baby
Aww, it's all about my town
Yeah, down by the river
Down by the banks of the river Charles (aw, that's what's happenin' baby)
That's where you'll find me
Along with lovers, fuggers, and thieves (aw, but they're cool people)
Well I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston, you're my home (oh, you're the Number One place)
Frustrated women (I mean they're frustrated)
Have to be in by twelve o'clock (oh, that's a shame)
But I'm wishin' and a-hopin, oh
That just once those doors weren't locked (I like to save time for
my baby to walk around)
Well I love that dirty water
Oh, Boston, you're my home (oh, yeah)
Because I love that dirty water
Oh, oh, Boston, you're my home (oh, yeah)
Well, I love that dirty water (I love it, baby)
I love that dirty water (I love Baw-stun)
I love that dirty water (Have you heard about the Strangler?)
I love that dirty water (I'm the man, I'm the man)
I love that dirty water (Owww!)
I love that dirty water (Come on, come on)
I Received Eight Hours Of Rakey Healing Today
Rake the huge beds in front the clubhouse to clean up. Rake the new mulch in. Rake sticks and twigs in the rough to the right of #4 fairway and green. Rake more new mulch. Rake pine cones. Rake to pick up all the piles. Rake for each moment. Rake to invigorate the turf. Rake first thing in the morning. Rake Last thing in the afternoon.. Rake under the warmth of the sun. Rake to have fun. Rake as a meditation. Rake slow. Rake fast. Rake gently. Rake with flair. Rake mindfully. Rake awake. Rake with zeal. Rake to heal. Vincent was thankful
The Siren Song Of Sunken Treasure
This Sump Swallows Chumps: The mud trough is fifteen feet deep, 150 feet long and 30 feet wide and will take one to two years to settle. Best to stay off it.
The tons of silt, muck and mud excavated from The Club ponds contained a mother lode of premium golf balls–30 years' worth of errant shots from well-heeled members that found their way to the deep, calm stillness of the pond water and mud. Thousands of remarkably preserved and eminently playable tiny white orbs, many of them Pro V Ones, Vincent noted, encrusted the slick dark brown surface of the settling slurry.
However, the presented tableau, as seductively beckoning as it was, belied its inherent lethalness. It was a siren song of fatal attraction. For any forager who ventured on its surface, looking to save a couple of bucks and get some quality golf balls, would sink inexorably over their heads and suffer an agonizing expiration by asphyxiation as the mud filled every last centimeter of their breathing passages. The La Brea tar pits it was not, but Vincent could think of numerous more comfortable ways to pass.
Vincent looked at the pit and the Kingston Trio rendition of the hapless Charlie trapped underground on the MTA came to mind:
"Did he ever return,
No he never returned
And his fate is still unlearn'd
He may be stuck forever
'neath the muck of The Club
He's the member who never returned."
Pond Organics
Reeds and leaves and rhizomes, oh my!
The dredged pond filled back up and some of the floating debris at the choke needed to be skimmed from the surface with a wide aluminum bunker rake, pitchforked and heaved into the bed of the Toro. There was quite a bit to be cleaned up. Vincent was up to the task . Of all the organic flotsam, the water lilly rhizomes particularly fascinated Vincent.
The Illumination Of The Mulch
The steam released and rose as Vincent dug his shovel in to the fragrant, fecund pile in the crispness of that April morning. The rising sun and clear blue sky promised a warmer sunny day ahead. Vincent kept digging in, the hard plastic of his shovel scraped the pavement underneath the mulch pile as he lifted with his legs and rotated to release the bounty of his pass into the Toro's bed. This rhythmic choreography of precise movements brought Vincent into the moment again and again.
Cash Only, No Rain Checks.
The sign on one of the pumps that the dredgers used on The Club ponds reminded Vincent of a concept known as anicca in Buddhism, according to which, impermanence is an undeniable and inescapable fact of human existence from which nothing that belongs to this earth is ever free.
There Are No Problems In Life, Only Birdie Opportunities
On his first day back on the job at The Club on April 2, Vincent faced some keen challenges presented by the pond dredging, He knew he would have to close the face, play the ball back and punch a 3/4 5-iron right through to the green for a birdie opportunity.
The Yellow Tee Manifesto
Vincent
thought about 1968 women's liberation protest of the Miss America
Beauty pageant held in Atlantic City, NJ as he set the "ladies'" tee
markers on #11.
During that highly publicized protest, objects of female oppression -- high heeled shoes, girdles, bras, curlers, tweezers -- were tossed into a Freedom Trash Can. Vincent
thought it it would have been a good idea if they had included yellow
ladies' tee markers as well. Vincent made up his mind and declared
passionately to no one in particular, as he stood alone on the #11
ladies' tee:
"I WILL LIBERATE THESE YELLOW LADIES TEE MARKERS, SYMBOLS OF FEMALE OPPRESSION, FROM THEIR FORWARD PLACEMENT CLOSEST TO THE HOLE AND MOVE THEM BEHIND THE BLACK TEES, FURTHEST FROM THE HOLE."
It was a nice thought. Vincent figured that members, including women, would squawk for sure so he just left it alone, went with the status quo and set the yellow tee markers on the forward tee.
However, the man couldn't oppress Vincent's mind. Vincent imagined a golf course in which there were no holes on the green because just getting on the green was good enough. Other greens would give players a choice of 10 holes or different diameters to shoot for. Yet still others would have hundreds of holes cut into them with the object being to stay out of the hole. Some greens would be just big holes. Other greens would be woods. Some water holes would literally be water holes.Vincent even pictured golf with no scoring or competition. And everyone would be speaking Esperanto, the constructed international auxiliary language.
Oh, what a beautiful world it would be.
A Reminder of The Inferno, Canto I, 1,2,3
Midway on our life's journey, I found myself
In dark woods, the right road lost. To tell
About those woods is hard, so tangled and rough
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura,
che la diritta via era smarrita
Vincent stopped the Toro 3100 tee and approach mower in front of the tree to put the buckets back on when he looked up and thought, "that was then and this is now." The tree and its sucker growth reminded him of one of his favorite poems.