Ah, the allure of lush green fairways and a gently rolling landscape. Even the sand traps and water hazards beckon. Flags fluttering in the warm breeze entice you to holes you’ll never play. Each day, you peer longingly through the locked gate at the golf course; silent, pristine, empty. From the beginning it seemed too good to be true. News of a golf course being developed right around the corner from our house sent my husband Bill, an avid golfer, into wild anticipation. How big a golf course? How much would it cost to play? Would it be a public course or could he buy a membership? He planned his daily golf game, relished the thought of how his golf buddies would envy his unlimited access.
As construction began, not the cacophonous parade of earth moving equipment past our house, nor the chorus of water-conservationists crying “foul,” could dampen Bill’s enthusiasm. Watching the course take shape became an obsession. His clubs polished, Bill was ready for opening day.
And then word got out.
There it was, on the San Pancho Message Board. The golf course was going to be “private,” for use only by its owner, his family and friends. Was it a joke? No, it wasn’t. But it was true.
Still, no parade of carts appeared, no golfers or caddies, just the staff who faithfully maintained the grounds; planting, pruning, mowing.
“If he’s going to have his own golf course, why doesn’t he play?” Bill muttered as we drove past. “Wouldn’t a little putting green in his backyard have been enough?”
Then, he packed up his clubs and went back to the little nine hole course near La Penita.
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