"My View from the 9th Hole" - From Ethel Bausman: A Life Well Lived

The window was ordinary.  It was nothing unique.  The kitchen sink was porcelain: basic and white.  The panes on the window gave it a checkered-like look.  The frame was scarred - smudged with fingerprints and more - from years of sliding up and down – controlling the temperature in that room.
 
For hours each day – all through the 1960s, I stood at that window – a gateway to my own little world.  It was my watchtower, and entertainment center all rolled into one.  For ten years, I stood there - often alone.  I watched while I washed.  I observed from afar – and took care of my brood as a mom. 
 
While the window surely was common, the view certainly was not.  The main entrance to the golf club went right past my window.  For fun, I watched for people, driving in and driving out. I would madly try to wave at anyone I knew.  But it was just beyond the road that became my most favorite view.  There, a flag fluttered proudly.  A white number was contrasted against red.  Boldly, it made an announcement.  “You are at the 9th hole is really what it said." 
 
The grass was manicured to perfection.  The green was a sight to behold.  While it was pristine and pretty, it was the people that fascinated me most.  Intermingled within pockets of strangers, my four children freely roamed.  The golf course was their own special playground.  And with their dad as the resident golf pro, it was also their home.
 
Three sisters, ages 11, 7, and 6 - at times playing together, and at others playing apart - always alert to golf balls flying.  Ducking - on instinct - when someone yelled, “fore."  Sand traps were giant sandboxes.  Water hazards were charming little lakes. Hills in winter were great for sledding.  Collecting balls, lost and forgotten was a common pastime. Much like picking dandelions might be for someone else.
 
Often, lost in the tangle of golfers that hovered near the ninth hole, I could spy my daughters’ three-year-old brother.  Attaching himself to a group of golfers – oddly interacting with them more like a peer.  I was spellbound, as he moved with purpose – strategically playing his way through the hole. 
 
There’s no other way to put it, the game of golf profoundly touched my soul.  And, I had a front row seat with a view – through that window - at the ninth hole.  


Note:  "My View from the 9th Hole" is the fourth written portrait from the book Ethel Bausman: A Life Well Lived.

Photo Credit: Image by Angus Fraser from Pixabay
​