Deer Valley Golf Course, just past Barneveld on Highway 151 in southern Wisconsin, is a beautiful, daunting, textured course, a great pleasure to play if your game is under control; a great source of misery if not. It resides in the highlands and deep vales of that particular part of the world, a parcel of land that must have been terribly hard to farm, when once it was farmed. Colin and I played it again today.
Teeing off on the first hole, one dives down into a sharp crease of a valley, and then descends up a wide ski slope of a hill to--somewhere up there--a green. We duly teed off, with Colin's long drive getting pulled into the rough between the outward bound first fairway and the inward bound, parallel ninth fairway. I hit my second shot, from much further back from where Colin's drive landed, and drove the golfcart up to where he was comparing golfballs with the couple who were headed downward on the ninth fairway.
The woman peered at me, then said,
"Hello! Do you have a blog?"
"Yes, I guess I do."
"Is your name Bruce?" Ohoh.
"Yyyyeah..." Who would this be? Perfect strangers, these two. Yes I am Bruce, yes I have a blog. Why am I being asked this on a hillside on a golfcourse near Barneveld?
"My name is Mary; I spent last week with your wife at the Higher Things conference! I recognized you from your blog photo!"
Too weird. Later, alone, I asked Colin if I was that recognizable across a span of golfcourse rough.
"Yeah. The goatee, the robust grey hair...You're pretty recognizable."