Nothing Finer than Living in North Caroliner

Nothing Finer than Living in North Caroliner
Blue Ridge Smoky Mountains

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Day 87 - Golfing for the Birds

Tournament Badge [dif than day pass]
As I sat in the front row at the sixteenth hole tee in my green folding chair with the Masters Logo on the back that was lent to me for the occasion, I waited for the first round of golfers to come through.  I had survived the front door pat down of no cell phones, no radios, no ipods, no pedometers, no thumb drives, basically NO ELECTRONICS period. I probably was the only one using the binoculars to look at the two blue jays and the red tailed hawk.  Everyone else was looking for golfers. The birds at Augusta National sing beautifully.  We saw Cedar Waxwings, Sapsuckers, chipping sparrows to name a few.  I wonder how the "chipping" sparrow got it's name?  Did a golfer name it?  Or how did they choose the names they did for being really good and hitting under par?   A birdie is one under par and an eagle two under par.  Does it mean that you are so good you have an "eagle's eye?" Or is it when you hit the ball so good, even the birds can see it on the green?  Or is it while golfing, the golfers hear the cardinals singing, "Birdie, birdie, birdie?"

Golf Player Bear
Tradition is a BIGGGGG deal at the Augusta.  The members of Augusta National wear their green jackets at the tournament and you can distinguish the "whos who" from the "rif rafs."  That's why the coveted green jacket is traditionally given to the winner of the tournament on Sunday.  Ironically even if you've won the Masters, you can't just "drop in" and play whenever you want.  You have to be invited to play by one of the members.  I learned the hard way that if you want to be a member of a club, you can't talk about the members of the club.  They figure if you talk "about" them, you must not want to "be" one of them.  This has been a very hard lesson for me to learn.  Sometimes the right thing for me to do is  realize I must subconsciously not want to be a member of the club to begin with or I wouldn't be talking about one.

Tradition has it that you have to be asked to be a member.  No women, so I'll never be a part of that club although the beauty that surrounds the clubhouse is intoxicating.  We were so honored to be able to see Magnolia Lane, the entrance to the Club House, and Amen Corner (eleventh, twelfth and thirteenth holes.)  And it truly is a preview of Heaven.  They allowed us to get our photo taken in front of the house and gave us two master codes to go online and download the jpegs for free.

Pimento Cheese Sandwich and Commemorative Cup
It was the 75th anniversary.  Seventy-five years of tradition.  Tradition of pimento cheese sandwiches.  I never even had a pimento cheese sandwich in the forty-seven years of my life. They were not only good they were cheap!  For the same price one would pay for ONE beer at a NFL game, we got two sandwiches, two moon pies and two drinks.  Each sandwich is $1.50 and a drink with ice and a commemorative cup was the same price. Everything is thought about.  Even the trash.  The sandwiches are wrapped in green recyclable wrappers and the sand is died green.  This is so that cameras only see a sea of green everywhere.  Funny thing is, people act at the Masters the way they SHOULD act the other three hundred and sixty-four days of the year.  They do the right thing and put their trash in the trash cans.  They recycle their water bottles or keep them as they have a photo of the golf course inside the bottle so you can see it when looking through the bottle. Some people threw away the commemorative cups.  Steve said this wasn't "trash" and reached in a couple of times to rescue the cups.  This "different level of trash" was how he distinguished his actions from my retrieving coke rewards in the same manner.

They don't call it "The Masters" for nothing.  Southern Hospitality at its best.  You all come back now, ya hear?  Problem is we can't.  Its a rare treat and I sure did enjoy it.  When I was sitting on the sixteenth hole waiting for the first round of golfers to come by, I sat back and felt the breeze blow across my face.  It was muggy and hot in the scorching sun and the wind provided much relief.  With my eyes closed I felt like I was on a front porch, rocking in an old wooden chair, drinking an ice-cold lemonade while listening to the breeze as the birds singing masterfully.  It was divine.  I just wished I was a bird, so that I could come back again and again.  I'll be singing that tune forever. Birdie, Birdie, Birdie.

Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!.... his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes.  ~Charles Dickens

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