Growing Up in Augusta
© Photography by J. Campbell
I grew up in Augusta. That's right: Augusta, Georgia – home of the Masters. For at least a few weeks every year golf was a big thing. And there were vestiges of big event all year long. For example, I remember taking a prom date to the old Green Jacket Restaurant (which is now closed).
If you think Augusta's a nice place, it's probably because you haven't spent much time there. The city's okay, I guess. I like describing it to friends who live in milder climates. I tell them that apart from being hotter than Bangkok, Thailand, it has mosquitoes the size of humming birds, rattlesnakes instead of the copperheads we get at my home in Central Appalachia, and little red ants that'll drop something like battery acid on your feet. The pine pollen is horrible in the spring and you can spend half your day sitting in traffic at red lights. Other than that, it's not a bad place…
So when the Masters rolls around each year I may watch a little of it on directv, but I tend to think about the reasons I don't want to move back there. And while the golf course looks beautiful on TV, most of the locals are never allowed on the grounds.