That is the sound I get from beyond the fence in my back yard. Once in a great while it is followed by a muffled, rustling thud as something small and hard bullets through the branches of my tree and lands in the leaves.
The sound might be familiar to some of you.
Once, many, many moons ago, this was a quiet, rustic area, with few houses and wonderful, rich, thick, peaceful wild woods. Then, alas, people discovered the peace and rusticness and tore it all down to build houses here to enjoy the rustic atmosphere.
Well, what used to be a rustic atmosphere.
Now it is all houses and manicured lawns. Along with them came the dreaded but inevitable pest/plague/bane/disease known as the backyard golfer.
He puts up a net and spends hours whacking balls into it. The normally pleasant hours of the morning or evening are shattered by ‘klack-pause-klack.’
I don’t golf. I had never realized just how annoying the sound of whacking a small, white sphere is. Nor did I realize that someone standing 20 feet away from a net raised up 15 feet could manage to miss the thing now and then and send those spheres hurtling through the dense branches of my trees to hit the lawn.
Being a nice fellow and having no use for the little knobby spheres imbedded in my lawn now and then, I try to return them to the elderly neighbor behind the fence and behind the net.
He firmly denies that they are his. He doesn’t miss the net. No one else within the vicinity practices their golf strokes/launching balls/mortor firing little white spheres. He doesn’t take them.
Now when I find them, I wait until he’s inside and lob them over the fence. He seems to accept them that way.
I dislike golfing neighbors. Especially ones who are aged, nut brown, skinny and seem to have a club growing out of one hand. I also think people who buy those majorly over priced homes on golf courses, where they get to replace windows frequently, are nutz!
Thank you. I just had to get that off of my chest and did not consider it PIT material.
