Teed Off Ch. 01

Well, it worked out really well. It had a washer and dryer, but I bought new furniture and had it delivered. Ken said I was wasting money to have someone deliver it, but while I was in decent shape, I hate moving furniture, so the extra few bucks I spent on the movers was well worth it. Besides, it was all from one trip to Costco, so no problem there.

I would see Ken several times a week, and we would chat about things going on around his farm. Every time we sat outside, his cats would come and rub up against me. The truly were enormous, so I asked him about it. "Ken, are you sure those are cats. They're the biggest damn cats I've ever seen."

He chuckled at that, "Oh that's true. I got them after my wife died to keep me company. They are the best freaking cats you could imagine. More like dogs really. They are called Maine Coons. They're expensive, but they get real big and are known to live 15 to 20 years. I figure they'll bury me, so I thought they could keep me company." I liked Ken even more after I discovered what he named them, Tom and Sylvester.

Also, I offered to help him repair his barn, and he said he would think about it. I had been in Knoxville for about six weeks when my daughter Meredith, or Mer, called.

"Dad, are you doing ok? Mom seems to think you've gone off the deep end. I know why you are there, but I just wanted to make sure everything was ok with you."

"Hey sweetie. Yes, I'm fine. Better than fine, actually. Work is really good, and I've met some good people here. I'll have more friends here in a few weeks than I did in over 20 years in Chicago. Don't worry."

"Oh, I wasn't really worried. To listen to her, you would think something was really wrong. She has no clue what's coming, does she dad?"

"Mer, she does, and I think that is what is frightening and/or angering her. She's known it for well over a decade, but refused to do anything to prevent it. I'm sorry for you and your sister, but you know it has to be this way."

"Dad?"

"What's up?"

"Thank you. We know why you stuck around, and we wish things could be different too. Actually, were are both really happy for you."

"I'm glad. I think this will be a good spot for me. How are the two of you?"

"Oh were fine. School is fine so no worries there."

"Good. Let me know if either of you need anything."

"Well, there is just one thing."

"Uh, oh" he said chuckling, "what's that?"

"For you to call or skype us more often. Don't forget us."

"Never baby. You've been my entire reason for living for the past 20 years. You don't forget that. I promise I'll call more often. Oh, and the two of you should think about coming down here for a few days when you get a break. I'd like you to see where I'm staying and I know your aunt Regina would love to see you, too."

"We'll work on that. Thanks dad. Love you."

"Love you too."

_____________

Life went on smoothly for a while. I was really enjoying my work. I think mainly because Sam and the owner appreciated what I did for them. I enjoyed spending time with Ken. Sam came out one weekend and he helped me and Ken repair and clean up the barn. We were so pleased with ourselves, that when we finished, Sam's wife and kids came, along with his sister, her husband and their newborn baby. We then proceeded to have a nice Sunday evening barbeque. We sat there and drank beer and just enjoyed chatting. Occasionally, we would go out and throw the Aerobie with Sam's kids in that huge front yard/pasture of his.

Over the years, Ken had gravel brought in around the edge of his property from a nearby quarry so that when it rained, the machinery that was used to cut the turf and plugs wouldn't bog into the dirt getting in and out. That was over a mile around the edge of the pasture that was once farmed for its grass. Over time it had been really compacted into a pseudo-road. Presto! Instant running course. So Ken would often see me early in the mornings, just as it was beginning to get light, running laps around that pasture. He thought it was funny. I thought it was practical.

He did keep his Zoysia front yard mowed nice and trim, which meant it was immaculate golf course-like, fairway grass. I asked him if I could hit golf balls on it and he said to help myself. It's funny. I found myself not beating the hell out of the balls as much as I used to; only occasionally after Janet had tried to contact me.

I wasn't constantly angry anymore. So now I could just concentrate on having a smooth stroke. I was really, really good in high-school and college. I was a low single digit handicap. I was always very accurate, but never terribly long, which made a difference in really scoring. While I was hitting 3 and 4 irons into greens, some of my competitors were hitting 8 and 9 irons. If I had just been 30 or 40 yards longer off the tee, I might could have been even better. Maybe I could have even competed, but I knew it would just be a waste of time. So I went into engineering and the rest is history. I still enjoyed the game, and my swing from when I was good in college was back.

It was middle of summer when he drug me with him to the tree line on one side of the pasture. He needed to cut down a tree for firewood. This was no small tree. He had a lot of old growth trees on his property and this one was an old tulip poplar. It must have been 125 feet tall. We spent all day cutting that tree. The next day he called someone in to help cut it into chunks small enough for him to store in the barn. Well, he didn't have anything else to put in there. He would then split the wood for the winter. He didn't really need the wood. He had a fireplace and a wood stove, but those were mainly to supplement the heat-pump he had and to burn in his fire pit for fun.

The following weekend, I was going to help him split a little wood to get ahead of the winter. He put me to shame. I'm not the biggest guy. I'm five foot ten, and weigh maybe 170 pounds; relatively fit. Tell me, how did this little guy, about five foot eight and 145 pounds beat the crap out of me when it comes to splitting wood? Every once in a while, he would watch me swing the heavy axe, appraising my swing and my progress. He had his own axe, slightly smaller than mine, but he was just killing it. (I later learned that his was a splitting axe). Every time he swung the axe the log always split. Always! There were times my axe would just bounce off of it, then he would use his axe and plow right through the same piece of wood. He would say, "Here. Watch."

After about an hour of letting me get frustrated he said, take a break and I'll get us some beers. When he returned, he had a small metal bucket full of ice and four longnecks. I thanked him for the drink and took a seat on my unsplit log. His cats came and joined us. They had been watching us, but not getting too close to the logs.

He grinned and said, "You know. You are a bigger guy, swinging a bigger axe, how come you aren't busting them open every time you swing?"

I knew that he had an answer prepared so I said, "Well apparently it is because I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I think I'm pretty clear on that right now. I'm hoping you are going to share some of your wisdom with me so I can at least keep up."

He drained his beer and said, "oh, that's good. Go and fetch your 3 wood and a few balls for me. I want to show you something." I was puzzled as to why wood splitting had anything to do with hitting golf balls, but I obliged him.

I handed him the club, balls and tee and he set one up to hit.

"I've been watching you hit the balls in the pasture for a while now, and you are really accurate, but you really don't seem to hit the ball with the authority that your swing should generate. I'm not an expert on golf, but I'm freaking Yoda when it comes to splitting wood and believe it or not, the two are related. When you swing that axe, just like when you swing your club, right now you act as if you are trying to swing through it. Your primary focus seems to be speed. Now I've heard that before, back when I played golf 30 years ago, and it never made that much sense to me. Oh sure speed is important, and I know force equals mass times acceleration, but that is only part of it.

"Energy transfer is really what you are trying to accomplish here. You want as much energy as possible to be transferred from that club head to that ball. So while you are moving your arms and body to generate as much club speed as you can, you are not making as solid contact with the ball as you could. Part of that energy isn't being transferred to the ball. Let's focus on only one thing and that is those few milliseconds when the clubface is on the ball transferring that energy to the ball.

"I know I'm not going to be accurate, but watch this."

He then proceeded to absolutely crush that golf ball. Killed it. It sounded very differently than when I hit the ball. He didn't seem to swing any faster than me, but when he turned his body and arms down towards that ball it was like he was driving everything he had down towards the ground, down into the ball, then his follow-through was just an extension of that. True he wasn't that accurate, but damn. He didn't even take a full swing and was killing the ball. I just stared at him in awe.

Then he picked up my axe, which I later learned was a maul, or hamaxe, and proceeded to destroy the piece of wood I was working on. It never had a chance. I was appraising his forearms for a few minutes, and while larger than the average man, he didn't have Popeye arms, but he was in very good shape for someone in their mid-60's.

"I want you to let the momentum of the maul do the work. All you have to do is ensure that your swing is timed so that the peak of momentum from the head of the axe is delivered at the exact moment when it hits the wood."

So I picked up the maul and tried. It took me several times to get the swing and the arc just right, but after a while, I was pretty effective. I wasn't as good as he was, but I understood. We spent another hour splitting wood and then grilled some steaks and drank some more beer. It was a good night.

I knew I was in trouble the next morning. I went for a run and my entire upper body hurt, and that was just the next morning. I knew the following morning at work, I would be sucking down the Tylenol.

Sam came into my office the next morning laughing. "I heard he made a man out of you this weekend."

"Put me to shame is more like it. What is he 30? I've never seen someone his age split logs like that."

"I'm glad it wasn't me there with you. He gets me to come over once or twice a year to help him split and stack. Embarrasses the hell out of me, too. Don't feel bad. He's been splitting wood his whole life. They didn't give him a rattle when he was little, they gave him a hatchet."

"I believe it."

________________

For the next couple of weekends, I helped him bust up his wood for the upcoming winter. I wasn't as sore on the last weekend. During that week, I threw down a few balls to hit after work and thought back to what he told me about hitting the golf balls and energy transfer.

I started with my 6-iron, my favorite club. Instead of taking full swings at the ball, I started working my way up. Easy quarter swings, then half swing, then 3/4 swings. The whole time, I was really focused on making as solid contact with the ball as I could right at the bottom of my swing, where I would strike the ball. Every swing, I imagined my wrist delivering a pounding to that block of wood. I tried to maintain control of the club head the entire time, focusing primarily on delivering that energy to the ball, not worrying about the gracefulness of my follow through.

I found that I was actually hitting my 6-iron about 5 to 8 yards further than I used to. Hmmmm. From there I slowly worked up to slightly longer swings, until I was really giving it a good long swing, probably 90-95% effort, while focusing on the point of impact. Now I was seeing easily 10 yards of improvement vs. what I used to. Well, now. This was encouraging. I wasn't as accurate as I was in college, but I hadn't really thought much about that in 20 years.

So the following weekend, I decided to do a little more splitting, focusing on my technique. Really trying to work into a smooth motion that I could eventually repeat without thinking. I wanted all my concentration to be focused on that impossibly short time right before the maul hit the wood. Working several hours that weekend, I got a little better. After several weekends of this I began to notice a few things.

First - I wasn't sore for nearly as long. Tired, yes. But not sore.

Second - I was getting much stronger. I could see it in my shoulders and forearms.

Third - my sense of focus for that moment right before impact had improved tremendously.

Lastly - All of this transferred successfully to my golf swing. True the mechanics of the swing are slightly different, but the idea was similar.

I went to the driving range to see how I was hitting all of my clubs, and the ball would rocket off the face of the club. My accuracy was decent for not having played a real round in so long. I decided I needed to go play a practice round. I told Sam what I had been up to, and that I wanted to take a half day during the middle of the week. I told him I would come back in after I played to make up the lost time.

On Wednesday, I took an early lunch and headed to River Islands Golf Club near Kodak, TN, about 25 min east of Knoxville. It was one of my favorite places to play in college. There weren't any customers in the Pro Shop when I arrived, and I looked at the tee time sheet and didn't see another group for about 30 minutes. "Are there many on the course?" I asked the guy working the counter.

"Not yet. We'll have a bunch this afternoon, but it's pretty empty right now."

"Can I go out by myself or do I have to wait for someone to join me."

"Nope. You can go."

So he gave me a cart key and I was off. I hit a small bucket of balls to warm up before I started. I was a little nervous because I wanted to not completely suck. I hadn't played a real round of golf since the year after my daughters were born. My brother-in-law came with my sister to visit us, and I took him out to play a round. That was 19 years ago. So now I was wondering, if I'm a little longer, will my game be any better.

My warm up at the range was encouraging. Now it was time to tee off. I played really well. I couldn't putt worth a damn, but I hadn't putted anywhere but on a putt-putt course for the last 19 years, so I wasn't too worried about that. I shot an 89 from the men's tees, which are 6600 yards. Not too bad. If I could have putted I probably would have shot an 83 or 84. Well, at least I didn't embarrass myself. I was turning in the keys and I had my 6 iron with me because I was looking at where I hit a glancing blow off a rock on one of my shots. It had a tiny nick on the bottom. There was a different person behind the counter this time, the club pro.

He saw my iron and asked if I had a problem. I then told him about the nick. He took a look at my club and said, "Sir, your club is actually in great shape, but may I ask, how old is it?"

I had to think a minute, "Hmmm. I bought them after grad school but before marriage. Uh, maybe 23 or 24 years old."

Sensing a potential sale, he asked, "What did you shoot today? How did you play?"

"Oh, well those are two different things aren't they. I actually felt like I played pretty well. I stayed out of the rough and stayed either on or around the greens on all of my approaches. What killed me was my putting, but I'm not beating myself up over that. I shot an 89 from the men's tees."

"So, it sounds like you don't need new clubs but a new putter."

"Ha, I think the putter just needs a new owner, or at least an owner that sees it more than once every two decades."

He asked, "Wait, you are telling me that you haven't played in two decades, and you shot an 89 while three putting all over the place?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"We've got to get you some new clubs."

I asked him, "Oh really. Would they make much of a difference?"

"You have no idea. Equipment has come a long way in the last 20 years. I tell you what. I'm a little taller than you, but you should still be able to swing my clubs ok. Let me know the next time you are coming out and I'll leave my clubs for you to play with. Then you can tell me if they make a difference."

"Uh, ok. Sure. That sounds good. Thanks."

"If you like them, I can get you some just like them but customized for you. I can be competitive with the big box stores. Let me know when you are coming back."

"Thanks. I appreciate that." I sincerely did.

I felt really good after that, so I picked up a couple of cases of Ken's favorite beer and headed home. When I got there, I knocked on his door.

"Hey Ken. I just wanted to say thanks for the wood splitting and golf tips. I went and played today for the first time in a long time and played really well. Thanks." I then proceeded to take the two cases to his store room.

"Son, you've been helping me split enough wood to make it through the winter. I may either have to keep you from splitting it, or join you on your runs, because I'm not getting in as much work as I used to. I'm going to get fat." Like that would ever happen.

We both had a good laugh at that.

____________________

It was nearing the end of summer, and I had arranged for my girls, Meredith and Rachel to come for a visit. They stayed with my sister and her family rather than with me, but I was with them almost the whole week they were here. They had never been to Knoxville in the summertime, because the few times we made the trip from Chicago, we used it as an escape from the winter. They really liked it.

"Dad, why do people live in Chicago when it gets just as hot there in the summertime as it does here, but their winters are so much more brutal."

"Sweetie, I asked myself that same question for 23 years."

We had everyone, Ken's family and mine, out to the farm the Saturday night before they had to leave. We had a big barbeque and I let the girls drink a little (they were still only 20, so sue me). The big Maine Coons were with us enjoying all the attention. It was very tranquil before they left, and the fireflies were out.

Meredith said, "Dad, can I come live with you here? This is the most peaceful place I've ever seen. I didn't know it could be this quiet."

I was sure she was joking, so I said, "All you have to do is ask sweetie. Ken and I will put a room for you in that barn and you'll be all set." Everyone giggled at that, but she countered.

"I know were all kidding now, and you probably think it's the beer talking, but I would consider it. It's like nothing I've ever experienced."

This time Ken spoke up, "Young lady, don't call your Daddy. He'd take too long. You call me, and I'll make it happen. I've got spare rooms inside, and I need more grandkids anyway. You hear me girl? If you ever decide to make that change, call me. I'd have your room ready that night."

Well, we were all a little stunned by that comment, but Sam threw a joke in to lighten the mood. Ken just stood up and walked back inside, mouthing something as he walked away. We all kind of looked at each other for a minute wondering what happened, and then Sam diverted us again.

It was a really great evening. I packed up my family and sent them back to my sister's.

The next day I helped them board their flight back for Chicago. On the way to the airport, Rachel asked me, "Daddy, Momma asked about you last week. When are you going to tell her that you aren't coming back?"

"Sweetie, I've been putting it off and off, but I think I'm in a good place here. I'm ready to cut the ties with her. I'll make it happen within the next two weeks."