Living next door to a golf course is a mixed blessing. It’s lovely to be able to have all that green space nearby, rolling fairways and well kept trees in soft greens with deep brown trunks. Now, of course, after 23 inches of rain in the last 2 months, everything is very intensely green and the water feature sometimes overruns the course and turns into a mini-lake. But mostly it’s lovely. My complex runs right up to the little service road into the golf course and I can see into the clubhouse from our backdoor. At night the bright blue glow of the Pepsi machine serves as a nightlight.
Of course, it’s not always quiet. The golfers have this crazy desire to actually play, not just look at the pretty green of the course. I can’t see the course from inside my apartment but I can hear some distinctive sounds and picture what they’re doing – the clicking of golf spikes along the driveway as they walk from their cars, the putt-putt-putt sound of the golfcarts being lined up in a little row of go-carts, ready to be picked up by players who’d rather drive than walk. The “thwack” of the club against the ball, and occasionally “Fore!” yelled in the background. The chatter of golfers as they mill around the clubhouse, waiting to tee off or comparing scores when they get back.
Today though there was an unusual sound. At 7:10 a.m., while in the kitchen making breakfast, I heard the distinctive sound of a bagpiper playing “Scotland the Brave” – loudly, followed by other bagpipe classics. I like the sound of a bagpipe as much as the next person, okay, probably more, but not at 7 in the morning! It seems there was a charity golf tournament next door and the piper was there to entertain and inspire while they gathered. I didn’t stick around for an encore.