I don't remember my first steps on the course, but I'm absolutely sure I didn't understand the gravity of taking them.
Growing up, I spent my summers at the golf course. My parents would drop me off before work and the starter would look after me and the other kids. Our local course had a huge junior membership so you always had someone to play with if your friends couldn't come that day. I'd often get paired up with kids from different grades, schools, and towns.
We'd come out of the woods with pockets full of every ball but the one we just hit in there. The best of those were bet on the practice green. Nike Mojos meant more than Pro Vs to us back then.
A bunch of us would sit down for a long lunch and then play another 18 or sometimes 27. Rides home were spent recounting the shots, the day's woods finds, and what I'd had for lunch (usually chicken tenders and fries). The scores didn't matter much, at least not until I got older.
At 16 I got a job there in the cart barn. I started on the driving range, as was the rite of passage. Sundays were the hardest. The range had to be completely clean for mowing the next morning. It was a classic New England range, carved into a hill with rocks and potholes everywhere. When it rained, the picker would get stuck easily so we had to get the shag bags out. Three or four of us would be out there with one in each hand for hours. When ball reserves were running low, which they always seemed to be, we'd be in the woods too. Poison ivy was VERY common.
Working in that cart barn is still the best job I've ever had. Sure, some of the members weren't the nicest and didn't tip well or say thanks, and yeah, there were a lot of very early mornings getting carts set up for outings and tournaments. But there were many beautiful sunsets waiting for the last cart to come in, late evening matches when we could sneak out to play a few, and countless hours spent with stiches in our side from laughing too hard. I also got to help run camps and watch kids go through the same journey I had not too many years before.
That's where I learned about the hard work that goes into keeping a course running. And I finally learned how to get the picker up that steep hill after a week straight of rain.
My playing career wasn't anything crazy. I started playing competitively in my teens. I was a decent player, nothing special, but I wanted to be great and I spent most of my time pursuing that goal. I played well my junior year and finished T2 in the high school state tournament, losing in a playoff. That year was good enough to get me some interest from D3 coaches. I decided to go give it a shot. The day of my graduation party, I made an albatross. It felt like a good omen.
A year later I'd nearly quit golf altogether but that's a story for another time.
I went from spending 5+ hours at the course every day to playing less than 10 rounds a year for 5 or 6 years. I fell out of love with the game. I wanted nothing to do with it. In retrospect, I think I cared so much about how I performed that I forgot about why I had gone to the course in the first place. I forgot about my first steps and those long days where nothing else mattered. I forgot about the work that goes into anything great. I forgot about the friendships.
When I moved to Phoenix, a local muni there helped change my mind. The city has a handful, and the one closest to me is a spot a lot of you reading this might call a dog track. But to me, it's perfect. It wasn't always that way. That feeling has been built over hundreds of early morning and after-work practice sessions and through countless rounds with friends, family, and complete strangers.
Maybe it's just perspective that you gain with time and distance, but I've finally realized the gravity of those first steps. I wouldn't be who I am without golf. It's been a mirror where I see my shortcomings and strengths. It's been my greatest teacher and a witness to some of my best memories.
That feeling is the reason Hallowed Ground Golf exists. Jed and I wanted to build something for the people who've had their own version of those first steps. Whoever showed you the game, whatever muni or club or empty field it happened on. Whether you were 8 years old or 45. Not for the highlight-reel moments. For the shag bags in the rain, the friendships made between shots, the falling out of love and finding your way back. That's hallowed ground too.
For the devoted,
Keeghan | Co-Founder, Hallowed Ground Golf