The Day Of A Golf Course

It had finally arrived. Moving day. I was finally leaving my home in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania after five short years and a sort of gloom lingered in the air. Although many teenagers would be excited to reunite with their family, friends, and childhood home, I, however, was frightened of the future. I woke up that morning and just laid there and listened to the sound of the rain pittering against the roof and windows, pattering against the surrounding forest in which I shared many memories. After what felt like centuries of just listening and reflecting, I got up and looked out the window. I looked at my neighbor's house across the field of grass which separated our houses and at the kids who had become like my siblings. I looked at the ice

I feel a light tap on my shoulder as my brother, Andrew, pulls me out of my gaze. I look around, noticing the cars not in motion anymore. "We're here," Dad says, turning the car off. Shoving my phone into my pocket with the headphones wrapped sloppily around it, I focus on the house in front of us. I have only seen pictures of it on the housing website dad purchased it from. It doesn't look much different; it's still small with two stories and ugly green shutters to match the tan siding. The only thing I like about it is the small bushes lining the front. Mom used to spend hours shaping the ones at

I made my way to my aunt’s house. Her home smelled of fresh cut pine, and she offered me a cup of coffee with a cinnamon stick in it. I accepted, and we went to the kitchen table and discussed our week. As she talked, I looked out her kitchen table. A small oak grew in the front yard. Snow capped the birdfeeder beside her bird bath.

I brought my plate outside, the patterned china seemingly wet in the sun. I took a bite of my sandwich. The cool veggies managed to dull the heat. The cucumbers crunched in the bread as i took another bite, my mind wondering as I set. I could recall all of the gathering held in this yard, both joyful and somber. Gatherings of celebration and mourning. Each year we would sit In the yard, mixed chatter filling the small clearing. Everyone flocked to the small, one story home. Grandmothers, cousins, uncles, aunts, all alike. Each gathering, the numbers seemed to grow. We would all sit, listening, gathering, and sharing stories of one another. Though it is always nice be reunited family and friends, the empty yard is an entirely separate place. As I finished my sandwich, I looked around, almost an hour had passed. I begun to clean up the spot I was occupying, stacking my dishes and

Even when the sky cried, the town was perfect. The weekly manicured grass welcomed the unexpected warm summer rain. Rainbows of chalk drawings washed away in dark pools, and even with whole world seemingly turning dark, the perfect white trim on the houses shown, and the old gas street lights illuminated the pristine street. In the beige house, behind the white picket fence and the red door gathered a group of APT moms in the kitchen, hosting weekly book club. My sad reflection in the window stared back at me, visible to no one. I laughed quietly to myself when I saw the very familiar group. Making small talk at the head of the table was Mrs. Jackson, I had gone to school with her son forever. Funny, I didn’t see her at the funeral. Chipping away at her manicure was Mrs. Webster, our conservative Girl Scout leader whose daughter Lillian never liked me much. It was a quite diverse group, some sporting intricate hairdos thick with hairspray and pins, sipping their soy lattes perfectly poised, conversing only slightly

Good afternoon teacher and peers. Throughout this term of study, like other students, I have been participating in golf at the Gympie Pines Golf course. Through knowledge of biomechanical principles, I have been able to evaluate my play; using the principles to analyse how to best perform each type of shot. The principles also helped to understand why a poor shot was made and how I could rectify it if I were to perform it again. The hole I chose to play on was whole 2. This hole is a par 4, 350 metres in length and is lined by tress with heavy rough.

It was a sunny, crisp fall day in Sandpoint, Idaho. My friend Jacqueline and I followed our typical Wednesday routine. It was around 2:30 in the afternoon and that day, like every week, her mom had picked both of us up in her Volvo from our private school in a residential neighborhood. We had always driven about three long roads, meeting two traffic lights and one stop sign, before we had gotten to their house. Jacqueline and her mom lived in a two-story home in a quiet cul de sac on the south side of our hometown. The front of their home had a driveway to the left side or the house, a fenced in front yard, and a backyard that happened to morph into the largest, most lush park in town. The park had about 5 soccer fields, a biking track, a playground, community gardens, and a bike path surrounding the entity of the area.

The bright yellow trim around their house chipped away from its base revealing a dull gray that reminded me of storm clouds. The fifty foot gravel driveway to their front porch was infested with tiny weeds. We called these little guys “lemonheads” because of their skinny green stems and thick yellow heads. Their house had a distinctive aroma. One you could never forget but also never explain. It almost smelled of a kindergarten classrooms, like crayons and wood. Some days, when the sun was high and all the doors and windows were open, it smelt of daisies and crisp pine trees. Their house usually was where I started my day. We would assemble in either Kevin’s room or the plastic painted castle on the side of their house and discuss our ideas for the evening. The youngest brother, Robby, always seemed to want to make mud pies or cut each others hair. Kevin and I, on the other hand, loved exploring the backyards of the cul-de-sac. With my whole family owning 5 out of the 7 houses on the court, we had a lot of vast open desert and mountain to venture through and make our own. All the back yards had two things in common. They didn’t have a fence line and they were nothing but broken down cars, sticker bushes, and mountains for miles. The mountains are where I learned

I was giddy to get home i was walking down my my street “ Walkers rd.” I scoffed and roll my eyes. I walk down this road everyday and appreciate the scorching irony every time. I opened the deep oak doors with force. My 13 year old body still has trouble. I shoved the door with the elbow my grey backpack wasn't depending on. Finally when my body managed to push the door, something wasn't right. By that i mean my house wasn't mine… the orchard my mother obsesses over wasn't the center of the foyer , the bright white walls with the complementary purple rug wasn't there. It was dark with a rustic light switch. I hit the light switch and the creepy hospital lights that turn on one by one showed blinding light that settled to a musty yellow

The door slammed on my way out of the old apartment building. No, I didn’t slam the door; it was a windy morning in the city of Chicago. As I was walking outside, I whispered to myself “This is it.” The wind was pushing against me, almost causing me to tumble over. Along with the wind, the smell of rain filled my nostrils and my clothing started to soak from just a five-yard walk from the apartment building to my dad’s truck. As soon as I got inside my dad’s truck, I was shivering from the ice-cold rain and piercing wind that was outside and I loudly sighed with relief. The slam of the door may seem like a negative thing, but it was actually the beginning of a better life for me. It was the sound of me breaking free from an affectionless prison

I didn’t always live on Meadow Ridge Road. But I have always remembered living on it. From the time I was born to the time I was a year old, my parents and three brothers lived on a road in the city. I don’t know the house I had spent my first year in, but I know the one I’m in now. Back then, it was just an old white house, with a siding that was no longer produced. The front porch was small, barely enough room to stand on and only there so people could stand above the snow during winter. The kitchen floors were wooden, with my father making my brother Lucas and I clean the floors with a toothbrush as punishment. The living room floors always had some form of urine from our dog. But that was before I grew up, and changes were made.

This research paper consist of many awesome facts and history of these famous golf course. There is different facts about every course and how the course came about. The courses that will be mentioned in this paper are Augusta National, Royal County Down, and Pine Valley. Some of the golf courses around the world are magnificent and incredible to be able to play on these courses. Three courses that will be stated are personally three of my favorite golf courses and they were named top three by golf digest. In this paper there are many facts on not just the course but on how they were built and who created these awesome courses. Many different facts about golf and how you should approach these course are in this research paper. Different opinions

it was a day like any other with no compelling attributes, except for the gentle breeze that was blowing through the city of Chicago as Anna Ortiz made her way towards the Chicago River. it was a particular gorgeous Wednesday evening in early October, just cool enough to know fall had arrived. The bright green leaves had started to fade as if by magic into Splendid red, yellow and orange shades thus creating a backdrop of tranquility and serenity in the downtown area. Anna walked subdued by the beauty of the city as everyone seemed to rush passed her. She on the other hand slowed her stride trying to enjoy the wonderful evening in the city she loved. it had been a long day at work, and being outdoors was a welcome distraction from the busyness

Seven fifteen Tuesday the twenty ninth of November I bundled up in my black peacoat and headed up the road from Peabody hall to Ellison Campus center. It was a surprisingly warm evening for late November, sprinkling with a soft breeze. I was on my way to a Salem State Writer’s Series Event. Up Drinkwater Way the lights of the campus glowing in the rain it was a soft peaceful evening, a good atmosphere for a poetry reading. I headed into the campus center, it was busy considering how few people I had seen on my walk over. People were meeting up chatting amicable about the events they were arriving to witness. I headed through the lobby to the stairs and descended down into the basement. Normally the basement of Ellison reminds me a bit to much of an empty hospital hallway in a horror movie. All long windowless corridors and locked doors. But tonight, as it often is on event night, the hallways at the end of stairs was bustling with people. The metro room, the location of the nights events, was already nearly full. Faculty, alumni, students, and guest crowded together on hotel ballroom chairs. People were chatting and laughing and the atmosphere was light like fizzy water, despite the weather outside. With the usual nervous trepidation I feel as a young person going anywhere I’ve never been before alone, I sat in a chair on the end of a row closer to the back, leaving a polite distance of one chair between myself and the girl next to me. Then, as time was creeping just a few

My day started like every other day. Laying in bed and unwinding until you have the energy to actually get out of bed and be productive. Except, it really wasn’t. It was August of 2014, beginning of the school year. I had lived on a street called Larsen Lane nearly all of my life, and had gone to the same school all my life, too. We should’ve been getting ready for school, but our parents decided we should take the day off. This kind of unwinding was different because my brother and I had slept on just mattresses; our bed frames had already been packed. Our room was just plain. The blue walls had stayed here ever since we had got them painted years ago, but that was it. The stickers we collected on our sliding glass doors to our closet were all taken off. I laid there, bland and lifeless, on the verge of tears even, thinking about the choice that could set me up for middle school. Our mom settled herself in bed with us, comforting us so we would couldn’t get too overwhelmed by the emotions of leaving behind our old life.