The Hidden Magic of Random Pairings
The magic of a random golf pairing isn't in finding the right person—but it in the pure luck of the draw.
Have you ever had a philosophical disagreement so strong that you felt a physical reaction? It’s like your body is rejecting their idea before your brain can put words to it.
I had one right before I left for my nine-month trip to municipal courses. It was with someone in the golf business, and they were adamant that I pre-plan my pairings ahead of time. My stomach clenched as he went on.
He wanted me to call the courses beforehand to make sure they could pair me with, for instance, the guy who had played there for 50+ years, or with the lady who helped save the course from going under.
After playing with 269 random pairings at 111 municipal courses, I ran across plenty of those folks on my trip, and sure, they make for great stories.
But for me, the magic isn’t in finding the “right person.” It’s in the pure luck of the draw.
Here’s an example of the hidden magic of a random pairing.
For the Fourth of July weekend, my girlfriend Mia and I made it to Bend, Oregon—a gorgeous vacation town with more Subarus than people to drive them. Mia’s sister lives there with her husband and two children, so our weekend was full of fireworks and processed food. After a few days off from golf, I searched for a nearby muni.
The issue for golfers in a vacation town, however, is that the greens fees are almost always in the triple digits and the course usually carries the word “resort” in the title. But just twenty minutes north, in the town of Redmond, sits Juniper Golf Course, the only municipal in the area and probably the only course that needs to make change if you use a $100 bill for the greens fee.
I parked my van amongst a sea of Subarus and made my way to the first tee to see who the random pairing gods had in store. Moments later a cart pulled up with two adult men and a shy, young boy sandwiched in between them.
The boy’s father, Brandon, hopped out and introduced himself. He had brought along a family friend, Ray, to play with he and his son Tyler. “He’s just going to hit a few here and there,” he said, pointing to Tyler. I told him to hit to his heart’s desire, and away we went.
Before starting a family, Brandon and his wife gave their 20s and 30s to their careers, making several successful investments that paved the way for their future. They traveled the globe, spending months at a time in places like Italy and Australia.
When the desire came to settle down and have children, they learned they couldn’t conceive. Instead of reverting back to their old life, they threw their hearts—and resources—fully into the foster program.
“We’ve fostered over 40 kids through our home over the years,” he told me on the undulating fifteenth green. “Sometimes we’ll have them for a few weeks, or a few years.”
Tyler, a reserved child who struggled to hide a smile when he’d connect with a drive, came into their home as a 10-month-old, and they later adopted him. They also had two young girls then, one in the process of adoption and the other, who they hoped to adopt, was recently claimed by a distant relative in another state. Ray pulled me aside later to tell me how crushing that was for Brandon and his wife, hinting at the wear and tear the legal process has done to them. The foster system takes an iron resolve, I learned.
***
Rare is a time when I don’t pursue a bookstore as my first stop in a city. My parents own an independent bookstore in East Tennessee, so it’s in my blood to seek these out. I gravitate towards the local section. Here you’ll find genres or authors important to the area, giving you a feel for the lay of the land. When I found out Brandon owned a bookstore on Redmond’s main drag, I made an unplanned stop there on the way out.
In Oregon, they love their trees like home improvement shows love shiplap. A tall evergreen is the only thing adorning their pale-white license plates, which can be seen on the back of every Subaru. On the golf course, an Oregonian doesn’t tell you to aim at the last tree on the right, that’s not specific enough. Instead, they’ll say, “You see the deciduous Red Alder? Aim at the branch on the left that’s in desperate need of pruning.”
At Brandon’s shop, I was unsurprised to see books about trees in the local section, so I snagged one called The Hidden Life of Trees. I read the first chapter that evening and was struck by how trees in a forest live in relationship with each other.
In forests, a tree grows its limbs outward until they reach the neighboring tree’s limbs. They stop expanding because their goal is to provide a canopy to properly regulate the climate of the forest’s floor. Once their outward growth stops, they reinforce their own branches, making them as strong as possible to protect the forest.
Underground—and even more fascinating—trees connect roots with each other to allow the passing of nutrients, nourishing any of their neighbors in need. This means entire forests operate in unison like one being, opposed to being thousands of individual trees. In fact, trees that grow by themselves have a significantly shorter lifespan because they are unplugged from this network, exposing them to storms and are likely to wither away.
No, I did not anticipate using the words “fascinating” and “trees” in the same sentence, let alone be knee deep in a book about them that evening. Yet I digress.
***
While reading this chapter I thought about Brandon and the way his life mirrored the rhythm of a tree in the forest.
His 20s and 30s were a time of exploration and figuring out who he wanted to be in the world. This was his branch growing phase. For he and his wife, their focus on careers allowed them to expand their branches—dreaming of children of their own with each spring of a new leaf.
Success with finances helped them reinforce these branches, proving strong enough to withstand the storm of learning they couldn’t have children. Instead of trying to grow taller, they used the nutrients from their deep roots system to nourish others that needed it the most, like Tyler and the 40 other children that have passed through their door. Their home became a canopy, a safe space for children to receive vital nourishment, leaving no tree to survive on its own.
If I called Juniper Golf Course before my round and explained the book I was working on, they would’ve paired me up with some lovely regulars. They would’ve regaled me with stories of how the course used to be in a different spot in town, the time a former pro played there, how the high-desert terrain affects golf shots, and so on.
But you can’t pre-plan magic.
The magic, for me, is in the randomness of it all. Randomness that paired me with a bookstore owner, sending me on a whim to his shop after our round. Randomness that has me reading about trees late into the evening, a subject matter I only cared to avoid on tee shots.
The randomness of booking that particular tee time on that day at that course, and having my life rerouted in ways I could never have planned. That’s the beauty of the random pairing.
Oh, and for the golf course? It’s named after the many juniper trees that frame its fairways. Of course.