Archive for March, 2010

(this was published in the Sierra Nevada GCSA Chapter Newsletter this February. In light of some of the current discussions on the TurfNET Forum, I thought it might be good to port over here. Many thanks to Jim Alwine, the Sierra Nevada’s superior newsletter editor for asking me to write something for the chapter—DW)

Go ahead. Wash up. Just make sure you use that 80 grit sandpaper to get all the dirt off. That’s how a lot of us feel, when we talk about finances as it comes to the business of growing grass—like we’ve been scrubbed by sandpaper to be left with no dirt, or skin.

In my family, growing up, we didn’t talk about money much. My parents were kids of the Great Depression and to them, money wasn’t a subject that they wanted to engage in because they had been steeped and tea stained in an era of constant conversation about saving. They were frugal, not in debt and never did anything beyond their means. It was, actually, a pretty simple formula. So now that I find myself in the clutches of the Great Recession (not my term, I read it on Yahoo News), I don’t like it. And as I travel and visit with Turfheads, they don’t like it either. But, not liking something or being uncomfortable about something is no reason not to talk about it. I wish my parents would have understood this…but that’s the Personal Therapy article and I doubt I’ll write it for Turfheads alone.

Here’s the deal. If all of us are going through something, then it can’t be a bad thing to join hands and sing Kumbya about it. Right? Seriously, there isn’t anyone that I come in contact right now that isn’t saying something, in some way about the economy and the current economic crisis. It’s everywhere. It can’t be avoided. And for those of us in the recreation oriented business of Golf, there has been a dramatic impact. Let’s not get into Golf’s mistakes—Supply and Demand. The National Golf Foundation’s Storytelling. Revenue Projections Made up by Promotional Monkeys.  That stuff is just the used playdough of the blame game. Let’s spend a minute talking about the moment.

If I look at the reality of agriculture and horticulture—outspending hasn’t always meant better. My favorite organic strawberries are grown for very little. The best wines, come from poverty grapes.  My favorite golf courses in the USA and the World, spend less per acre than their numbered competition.

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I’m gonna keep this short. Don’t. That’s right. Don’t. Keep this word and all of its negative connotations in your head. When you are all excited, sitting at the central controller, ready to hit whatever form of on switch you have, remember my word—Don’t.

One of the biggest mistakes I see springtime turfgrass managers make is watering too much, too early. Here we are, spring springing all around us and it just seems like the thing to do, water a little bit. Just a little because it just feels better. I don’t know if it is a rite of passage, a trial of some sort or some kind of application of Tin Foil Mentality that says you’ll never get a dry spot if you water early. If I thought it was just some kind of occasional thing, I wouldn’t write about it, but it is almost universal. In fact, just to make it seem right, I did it too. I remember. That one windy spring day in Denver, where things started to turn a bit and after harassing my pump station, irrigation tech, computer setup and all the rest, we watered. Looking back, I can’t figure out why. As it turns out, a couple of isolation valves were closed and a couple holes didn’t get water for a few more days and guess what? That’s right. They didn’t die.

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One hit on the inhaler. Nothing. Second hit. Nothing. I can’t catch my breath, can’t stop coughing. I feel my knees getting weak. Mouth open. Hit number three. Nothing. This is it. I’m gonna freaking be the only human monkey capable of being stupid enough to die at the medical clinic. Thinking. I really don’t want to do this in public.

I duck into the mens restroom. Stall is open. Grab a big hunk of wall. Hit number four on the Albuterol. And I finally sort of get a breath. One more. Then another. I stumble/shuffle out of the building, looking, I’m sure, like a large unshowered coughing spitting Sasquach. In my car and all I can think to do is drive the 10 min. home and never ever visit a medical facility again. It didn’t seem so bad, going in for a chest Xray and 15 min. later, it seemed like I wasn’t going to make it home. Ever. Read the rest of this entry »

Last week, Sierra Pacific had our Spring Symposium. Just over 100 people showed up for a couple days of education and perhaps a little golf. The weather controlled the golf down to about 4-5 holes. The education was the real show.

I can hear it now, the collective mass groan of the TurfHeads as they brace themselves for more of my Californiacated Spench of Touch and Feel.

In planning this event, my friend, colleague, mentor and crime partner Dean Kinney and I made sure that we didn’t fill the schedule with so much that it would be too much. Why? Simple. Love. That’s right, Love. I can hear it now, the collective mass groan of the TurfHeads as they brace themselves for more of my Californiacated Spench of Touch and Feel. Read the rest of this entry »