Rhode Islanders are present and helpful people, the kind who can get your car started with a hammer. They feel at home in a marsh or estuary. Often you can find them in the canopy.
Parts of Rhode Island become a jungle in high summer. Bushes, trees, plants and vines tangle with their neighbors, creating a thicket that often carries overhead. Sometimes the canopy can cover parts of a disc golf course, such as the one I recently played at Ninigret Park.
The canopy eats discs – you simply can’t go through. Unless you find a hole. I marveled at the ingenuity of one Rhode Islander who found holes and tomahawked up, through and over the canopy, landing the disc through another canopy hole closer to the actual hole. He’s a lefty whose Hawk seemed to break three or four times. But he knew where it was going. You’d see the release, see the disc disappear through the hole then land down-fairway through another hole. This kind of serious metaphysical shit – worm holing through the canopy – can be expected of Rhode Islanders.
No comments:
Post a Comment