The Leaves Are Brown and We Have a Fungus… (The Season No Turf Wife Talks About)

I wasn’t going to write about this season of our life…

But then it hit me.

I have to.

Because somewhere, there’s another turf wife going through this—and maybe this is exactly what she needs to get out of bed today.

Or maybe writing this is what gets *me* out of bed today.

Truth is… we are in a really tough place mentally and physically.

Life feels like a whirlwind of panic (well… I’m in a panic—my grass grower, not so much 😆) and complete limbo.

If you’ve been through this, you already know…

This industry is all about “hurry up and wait.”

There are so many moving parts in the hiring process, and it never moves fast enough when you’re the one waiting.

Deep down, I know my grass grower is talented.

I know it’s just a matter of time before things turn around.

But in the meantime?

The “famine” stage can drive anyone absolutely insane.

I was watching a movie the other day… okay, fine—a mafia movie 😂

And I caught myself thinking… this feels a little too familiar.

(No, not the crime part 😆)

But the *family* part.

When someone is down, the way people show up—the support, the kindness, the community—it’s overwhelming.

And for that… we are incredibly grateful 💜

One thing I’ve noticed most through all of this is the shift in my grass grower.

Mentally.

Emotionally.

The realization that it doesn’t matter where… he just wants to grow grass.

I worried about him at first.

But like he always does, he’s put on his big boy cargo shorts ( grass grower fashion) and handled it like a boss.

Maybe he has to…

Because his wife is over here spiraling in the negative-Nelly zone 😆

The good news?

This is just a season.

(A pretty *shitastic* one… but still a season.)

And seasons change.

The wind shifts.

And your entire life can turn around in a moment.

Or in our world…

A growing season.

If you’re in this season right now…

I see you.

And you’re going to get through it! 

TILLTURFDOUSPART.COM 💜

I’m Not Competing With Another Woman… I’m Competing With Grass

“I’m not competing with another woman…

I’m competing with grass.”

That statement is deep once you really think about it.

I’m 24 years in… and there are still times I wish my husband was a typical 9–5 guy with a normal schedule.

Back then, I didn’t fully realize what it truly meant to be a Turf Wife.

You think you’re marrying a guy who plays in the dirt all day on a golf course…

When in reality, you’re marrying into a lifestyle that will keep you on your toes forever—whether you want to admit it or not.

A lifestyle where you can never get too comfortable…

because you’ll be moving again faster than you can blink.

You’re marrying a man who checks the weather like it personally affects him.

Someone whose entire mood can change because of “conditions.”

(Not even kidding… a simple rain event can ruin an evening.

Drought? Yeah… we’re not even going there.)

I also didn’t realize I was marrying into a super-secret grass-growing society that NEVER clocks out.

Like… ever.

Their daily EVERYTHING follows them long after they leave the property.

Now, by the grace of God, my grass grower tries to leave it all in the driveway before he steps foot into our house (took years… YEARS 😆)…

But there are still those moments it sneaks in…

And suddenly I hate the foursome who said his greens felt like putting on an egg crate.

RUDE.

It sits at the dinner table.

It shows up in every conversation—whether I want it to or not.

And I used to take that personally.

I used to think…

Why does this ALWAYS come first?

Why does everything revolve around grass?

Because from the outside…

that’s all it looks like.

Just grass.

But it’s not.

It’s pressure.

It’s expectations.

It’s armchair agronomic wizards with opinions.

It’s fertility.

It’s weather.

It’s your crew.

It’s knowing when to act—and when not to.

It’s 3am calls about irrigation blowouts.

It’s budgets.

Experience.

Priorities.

Membership expectations.

It’s knowing that if something goes wrong…

EVERYONE sees it.

And when everything goes right?

Crickets.

Those same naysayers suddenly have nothing to say.

Not even a “nice job.”

That’s the part you have to figure out.

You’re not competing with something easy to beat.

You’re standing next to something that demands everything from him…

and still asks for more.

That’s why I started calling his courses his “mistresses.”

Because he’s with her way more than me.

(At least I’m way less problematic 😉🤣)

YES… it’s frustrating.

YES… it’s exhausting.

YES… it can be lonely.

YES… there were times I felt like a single mom.

Because this isn’t a normal job.

There is no “leave it at work.”

It’s always there.

BUT…

there’s also the part that makes it all click.

The part that makes you proud.

The pride.

The way he cares.

The way he sees things no one else notices—before they become problems.

The way he refuses to half-do anything… even when it would be easier.

The knowledge.

The respect from his peers.

The moments when people finally do notice.

That’s when it clicks for a turf wife.

You’re not supposed to compete with it.

You’re just supposed to…

learn how to live next to it.

And maybe roll your eyes a little.

#tillturfdouspart 💜

Masters Week… aka The Super Bowl for Grass Growers

If you know… you KNOW 🤣💚

Masters Week… aka The Super Bowl for Grass Growers

If you’ve ever lost your husband to Masters week… welcome. You’re safe here 😌💜

Masters week is here… and we all know what that means:

Hunter green pullovers.

Pimento cheese sandwiches.

And every grass grower alive fully dialed into Magnolia Lane…

With one click of the remote…

Just like that… I no longer have a husband.

I now have a grass-growing robot with a doctoral degree in agronomy.

I mean… he’s physically here. Same house. Same couch. Same snacks.

But mentally? Emotionally? Spiritually?

He’s floating on a blow-up raft, sunning himself in Rae’s Creek.

The TV hasn’t left golf in 3 days.

Oh no… we are NOT watching.

We are studying!

Studying every blade of grass… like he’s about to be called in as an emergency consultant at any moment.

And the commentary???

I don’t even need to watch…

Because I’m getting a full verbal play-by-play whether I want it or not.

THERE’S EVEN A RINGTONE.

I cannot make this up 🤣

The things coming out of his mouth…

“I’m calling it right now… next week those greens are gonna be so dried out they’ll rival a parking lot.”

“That green is a little soft…”

“I don’t love the firmness on that approach…”

“They missed that mow line…”

“Is that an alien seed pod on the collar of 12?!”

Umm… sir?

(And no, I do NOT call him sir 🤣)

YOU HAVE YOUR OWN GRASS.

THIS IS THEE AUGUSTA NATIONAL.

RELAX....

And the way they say it too…

Like it’s personal.

Like Augusta called and asked for feedback.

And before anyone says “just let him enjoy it…” oh I DO.

I just didn’t realize I’d be single for a week every April 😆

Meanwhile I’m over here just trying to exist.

I could literally be mid-sentence:

“Hey babe, did you—”

“Yeah… mhm… looks good…”

LOOKS GOOD???

WHAT LOOKS GOOD???

I’m talking. You’re watching grass.

WE ARE NOT HAVING THE SAME EXPERIENCE 😆

At this point I don’t even ask questions anymore.

Because I already know what happens.

I say ONE thing like:

“What’s a stimp?”

And suddenly I’m in a full-blown seminar.

We’ve got numbers.

Moisture levels.

Wind direction.

Historical context.

A PowerPoint.

A TED Talk.

All I wanted was a yes or no 😭

So now?

I just nod,Crack a little smile like I’m engaged…

Meanwhile I’m actually thinking about a handbag I saw someone carrying in the crowd.

The key is to LOOK like you’re listening.

“Wow yeah… super firm… love that for them… YAY SPORTS!”

No clue what I’m saying.

Not a single thought behind those blue eyes.

And don’t even let the weather change.

A cloud rolls in and it’s:

“Well that’s gonna affect the greens…”

WHOSE GREENS??

YOURS??

ARE WE INVOLVED?? 🤣

But honestly…

This is their thing.

Their moment.

Their Super Bowl.

Their Grass Grower Olympics.

This is what I mean when I say “I support him” 🤣

So I let him have it.

I support him.

I respect it.

I even encourage it.

Heck… we have Masters cups that are ONLY allowed to be used during this sacred time of year.

But if I hear the word “undulation” one more time…

I’m checking myself into a facility.

A plush, quiet, husband-free facility… made exclusively for turf wives.

No golf.

No commentary.

No “just one more hole…”

Just peace and nothing grass related 🤣

Turf wives… do your grass growers do this too???

Tell me I’m not alone.

If you’re a turf wife… welcome home 💜

Tillturfdouspart.com 💜

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