This shall be the last that you shall see mud on a golf course. But I would be remiss not to share my last day in muck with you. But before we get to those words I must tell you about my unpreparedness. And of course you’ll understand where I’m coming from. Surely you’ve been somewhere, in broad daylight, running around in just your pajamas or even worse, your underwear. Or how about the time you were someplace formal and chic and you realized you had no socks or shoes on. And then you awoke from the dream, fretting about how unprepared you were but realizing it was just that—-a dream.
Such was the case upon volunteering on this course. I had no raingear or anything waterproof. And there was no way in the world that I packed galoshes. I don’t even own a pair of them. So the only gear that I could find that would withstand the deluge of water that I was about to experience was this camoflauged get up. And did they come in handy.
Now to top off my sartorial splendor with the latest in fashion I also was able to run the skid loader (click on the thumbnails for larger photo) most of the day and that pretty much saved my back. This made for a much quicker day than standing and hosing until all the mud moves from one ten foot square area only to move on to another of that same size. At 11:30 each day we break for lunch. The Medora Foundation provides a buffet luncheon each day at the Chuck Wagon for those working in the town or on the course. Have to stop that too or I’m going to gain weight on this journey. Almost everything is fried and full of carbs but damn, is it good. Below is Kyle, the course superintendent, signaling that it’s time for lunch. And there’s another thing that’s culture shock for us. After the general manager and his wife, every one here that we work for or with are younger than our children. I now know how my subordinates felt when I was made a young manager years ago. It’s an adjustment.