When Owen and I reconnected almost 23 years ago, one of the very first things I learned was that in the 21 years since we last talked, he had become obsessed with golf.
I was familiar with men with hobbies, because when he wasn’t doing chores for Peggy Jane, washing a car by hand or dreaming up blitz packages in his head, Fritz the Dad was on the water fishing.
There are bugs fishing. And water. The two things at the top of my don’t do list.
I learned quickly that I loved to be with Owen when he golfed, and that often there was a home tour involved.
When he saved up money to join the Wyoming Senior Men’s Golf Association, I found out that there was an annual tournament in a different location each year.
The problem was that I was still working and the tournaments were held Monday and Tuesday, so for lots of years, he went by himself.
The last two years, we went to Worland, where the golf course is gorgeous and the hotel had these adorable little individual reading lamps above the bed.
The site for the next year’s tournament is announced at the Monday banquet, so for a year I had been eagerly looking forward to our trip to Afton.
It is very, very hard for me to relax and let someone else do the trip planning, because I love to trip plan.
Owen’s main focus is always the golf, while my focus is on the quality of the hotel room and the food.
After making six or seven trips to Laramie every fall for lots and lots of years, it was great to go somewhere new.
The first memory came when the bus driver rolled up to the Waltman rest area and out of habit, started walking up to the building, despite the obvious orange cones blocking the entrance.
I rolled down the window and yelled, “over there,” pointing to the brown and yellow port-a-potties.
Next we stopped in Shoshoni, where a woman had chosen the only handicapped stall in the ladies room to change her clothes. She looked lovely when she emerged, but she took a…very…long…time.
We’ve all done it at some point, not wanting to travel Wyoming’s miles in banquet or wedding or special date clothes. But this was a reminder not to do that.
She was very apologetic when she emerged and saw me ready to fall over, even with my walker.
Pie was the highlight of our late lunch in Dubois, which on a late summer Saturday was as busy as a little place can be.
And then the beauty began in earnest, even with low clouds and thick fire smoke.
Immediately out of Dubois, the bear caution signs began and I was so excited. We never did see one, but I marveled at the beauty we did see.
I kept saying over and over how I couldn’t believe this was so close to home. And how lucky we are that we didn’t have to use a week or two of vacation and spend our life savings to make the trip.
We spent approximately 10 minutes in Jackson, all in the car, with me admiring the gorgeous flowers everywhere and a tiny glimpse of the antler archway.
From there, the trip was all new to me as we approached Star Valley and all of its little towns.
I had heard of Star Valley Ranch for decades, because it seemed to be the preferred golf haven for retired teachers and coaches from Casper.
Dumbly, I did not realize that Sunday was not a day to eat out or even buy groceries in Afton. Domino’s Pizza delivered to the room sufficed, and reminded us of the times Papa John’s has saved our lives in Laramie in the wee hours post celebrating.
The hotel was not ideal. There was no NBC channel, so the only Olympic coverage was on USA, where we had our fill of equestrian and team handball. And we had a shin-level ghost dresser drawer, which refused to stay shut.
The night we arrived, the Salt Lake TV sports guy led the broadcast with a feature on BYU’s Jimmer Fredette being on the USA 3x3 basketball team. All those memories and all those chants immediately came back.
Owen had hoped to play a practice round of golf on the unfamiliar tournament course, not realizing that a tee time needed to be made in advance.
So he played a nine-hole course and I went along. It was very chilly late morning, and I started out with a fleece jacket and two car blankets wrapped tightly around me. I wished I had gloves, but it warmed up nicely when the sun came out.
Owen’s game is as good as I remembered. He hits the ball John Daly long, and my primary job was keeping score and being a cheerleader.
He played alone and it didn’t take long to play nine holes. Being with him on the course was actually the highlight of my trip.
Right before he teed off for his first tournament round, he texted to say his playing partner for the day was my high school classmate, a retired teacher and coach who has a house at Star Valley Ranch.
That evening, as we were arriving at the banquet, we found Hiland’s own Del Wight, the second best defensive coordinator Wyoming has ever had. He, too, has a house at Star Valley Ranch.
Owen just shakes his head that I know someone everywhere we go, and I tell him that is the true beauty of Wyoming.
On our way home, a cow elk walked in front of the truck ahead of us. She was large.
And rounding a curve just past Moose Junction, we were in several hundred yards of stopped traffic because there were bison — lots of them — crossing and lounging very close to the road. I rolled down the window, took a bad photo of a particularly gigantic one very close, and yelled, “Go Bills.”
Owen has told me more than once we can go anywhere if there’s golf. How lucky I am.
Sally Ann Shurmur can be reached at: SallyAnnShurmur@gmail.com
