Bad Golfer

 Well, not exactly. First of all Mr. Kipling is dead these 85 years, so it would be a dull game. Though the way I play, he might be a good partner for me.  Nevertheless, my wife and I had the good fortune to attend an open house and garden tour of a house that Kipling lived in right here in Brattleboro. Called "Naulakha," after the book he co-wrote with his father-in-law (now there's a good son-in-law), it's a marvelous mansion that sits atop a hill in Dummerston. Owned by The Landmark Trust USA, the house is rented to well-to-do vacationers who can thrill to live for a weekend in the house where Kipling wrote "Captains Courageous," The Jungle Book (parts 1 and 2) and many of the "Just So" stories, which he read aloud to his little daughter on the very deck where we sipped an ice-cold lemonade.  This being a bad-golf blog, it would be remiss of me not to inform you, gentle reader, that there's a golf angle in my accounting of our visit to Naula...

 It was on the fairway of the ninth hole at the Bellows Falls Country Club, after another average round of bad-golf.  I'd hit a pretty decent shot off the tee, which got me just shy of the trees you see on the right side of the fairway. Picked up my 6-iron, my favorite iron these days for fairway work. Addressed the ball, took a breath, emptied my mind (never a difficult job) and thought only about hitting through the ball. Took what felt like a normal backswing, low and slow, and let fly. Simply, modestly and truthfully put, it was the single greatest golf shot in the history of the game. Perfectly shaped, long, straight as an arrow, absolutely gorgeous. Landed just shy of the green, just where I'd hoped to place it. It was not only the best shot of my round, it was probably the best shot of my entire golf journey. Man, it felt wonderful. Sounded great off the club, got a good followthrough, and the ball just arced and arced and flew and bounced perfectly. It was perfection....