Escaping Winter: Hiding in Plain Sight
We had a ball…
It was one of the coldest days of the year, with wind chills nearing zero. So what did our family undertake as a mid-January pick-up in Michigan?
We played golf.
Now we are not a big golf family: My husband hasn’t played regularly in years. Our daughters can proudly state they have played golf — the miniature variety. I used to play once a year as a Father’s Day gift to my dad, where I would fiercely attempt to hit the ball, only to watch it roll forward about three feet — a pattern that would continue for 18 holes. My dad suggested each year that golf lessons might be helpful. He is playing all sorts of great golf in his version of Heaven somewhere and I never signed up for lessons.
Nonetheless, my husband saw an opportunity for family fun, and he wanted to deliver it. Hindsight is 2020 (as was the timing of this Christmas gift) and one wonders why he waited until the middle of winter to schedule our outing.
Before we get tagged as great winter adventurers, some members of our golf party were under the mistaken impression that this was indoor golf. We imagined a golf complex under a huge dome, with individual heated bays for participants.
That wasn’t quite the case. The towering structure offered open-air suites facing the great outdoors, netted of course. As we walked up to the complex in the bitter wind, I instantly recognized the errors of my ways. Fortunately, I had gloves, but I had not bundled up for winter play. No long johns, no thick alpaca socks. No hat!
It was with some skepticism that we entered our little open-air space, with a comfortable couch warmed by heaters. Buoyed by adult beverages and borrowed hats, we huddled together and took turns whacking balls into the fading light.
We had a ball — 40 each to be exact.
Newbies to this approach to golf, we quickly became competitive as the system tracked our ability to target balls into huge circular targets, each lit with a different color. When our hour was up, we all cheerfully signed up for another hour. I even won a round, much to my surprise.
We settled into a rhythm, where a player would get up to take a turn, and we’d steal his coat and wrap it around our legs. When it was my turn, I kept on my coat, but removed my gloves for the short few minutes it took to send five balls out into the hinterlands — uh winterlands. Then back to the couch to re-glove and stick my hands under my butt for a few minutes while observing the next member of the tribe take up a club.
As we headed home, we realized that we had spent two hours playing golf in the middle of winter. Yes, it was a protected space, no doubt, but it was great fun watching our golf balls bounce on the frozen tundra, gaining far more ground that they would have on a warm summer evening. And it sure beat sitting at home watching MASH reruns and contemplating homemade soup for dinner.
Well, that’s fun too.
To new winter adventures.
