Well, I feel the end of the season is officially upon me. As a resident of the state of Minnesota, the offseason should realistically be about eight months out of the year, but usually around November is when we begin to shut it down. As such, regular rounds have been gone for awhile now. There remains, however, the hope of a neverending season. From time to time, we come across the gift of a warm, beautiful day that corresponds to freedom of the schedule. As someone who has two jobs and is pursuing a masters degree full-time, this is not a common event.
The perfect storm that is "bonus discing" is a welcome and celebrated thing. I am giddy just thinking about them! But as the season drags on, the potential wains for such a day. This became evident this afternoon, when after getting the freedom of schedule, the King and I realized the climactic fatalism of our geographic reality. The only defiant gesture left to thumb in the face of our predicament is our annual winter round. I say annual not because we plan on the one outing, but because we forget the "joys" of a winter round. It takes only one round to remember, scraping off the memories from the frostbitten recesses of our cortexes (is that how you pluralize that word?).
This year, the end of the season carries extra significance. As a gent with a lady, certain life decisions are not quite as monochromatic as they once were. As such, new environs are in my future, and I will be relocated before the new season is birthed from the womb of spring (gotta love the imagery, right?). This, of course, carries with it the pleasure of experiencing new courses, new people I will drag into the sport, and new experiences. I will, however, be disappointed at the lose inherent in the move. I will no longer be able to frequent Bethel and Acorn, the courses I cut my teeth upon; I will have little opportunity to head to Blue Ribbon Pines, my new favorite place to play; nor will I have as great a chance to make the trek to Highbridge, a long-held goal.
I am now officially closing the book on being a Minnesota disc golfer. I am now a vagabond, a discer without a home. Pray for me.