The Day Winter Came Early

Rainy weather has cut through our August/September heat this year and allowed me to reflect on life away from the media buzz.  

Winter arrived without her date, that first week of October of 2018 the year I turned seventy.   Our late summer and early fall had been rainy and cool, much like it has been this late summer of 2025.   One day the forecaster gleefully announced the temperatures might fall to the 30's. All of this happening on the weekend of The Trails Golf Club Women's and Senior Men's Club Championships. 

How to dress for such unpredictable weather created a problem, a layering problem, and forecasting when the rain would be pushed out by the polar express made the day a real challenge.  

I'd chosen to play in the Championship, not to win, but to have fun with the ladies in our group and to play the best I could.  I'd set my goal on breaking 93, that seemed to be my reoccurring score that year, and I still  don't like it one bit. 

Our three lowest handicappers, likely to win,  teed off first and our foursome followed. Dressed like little snow bunnies, we laughed immediately at the absurdity of playing in this weather. 

Before teeing off on the first hole I felt my thick tights slipping from my waist. These were tight black pants that I saved for winter because they were long enough to cover my ankles from the cold winds or rain.  I did notice that the hanger was turned backwards when I pulled them off the hanger, which generally means, I didn't wear them last year. I missed the most important clue of the day.  At least I'd been smart enough to wear a heat wrap across my back and stretch at home.

My golf swing and focus held steady until the third hole. Walking up the hill to the green I felt my tights sliding down to my hips, with a gravity like pull I jumped and hiked up my britches as my friends snorted quietly facing away from me. 

Carol's sincere response followed, "I love my new Puma pants. You really ought to buy some like this." Where upon she showed me how nicely they fit her body and did not slide down the hips.  I didn't think Amazon could accommodate me instantly. But I thanked her for the advice.  At the nearby bathroom, I added a layer of rain and wind  protecting pants. 

Before we'd finished nine holes that day, the pants had stretched even more and I found myself reaching inside my outer wear to pull up my stretched tights before each shot, after each shot, and sometimes in between. 

Kathy Hines, Anita Bednar, Letty Watt, Carol Lindblad.

The rain came in sheets and then flew through.  Riding with Anita, we'd sometimes break into laughter over what this must look like.  How could women as smart as we thought we were think this was the way to spend a fall day?

We'd dropped behind the group in front, simply because we were talking and laughing about clothing and weather. Suddenly, we realized that at this pace we'd be caught for sure in the cold winds coming from the north. So onward we moved, quickly hitting our shots without taking time to think about the shot or the how to hit the shot!!!!!

To speed up play, on number nine green Kathy held the flag so Carol could tap in  her two-inch birdie putt while Anita and I walked to our lengthy putts.  Suddenly, we heard a piercing sailor's voice clearing the deck with four letter words.  Not wasting a moment we finished the hole and asked what caused the frustrated scream.  

"Carol missed her two-inch birdie putt!!"  Kathy yelled, "She broke the ice with the F bomb so now we can relax."

Doubled over in laughter and pulling up my pants at the same time was painfully funny.  Rather than stop for a bathroom break we drove on to the next tee and began the next nine. There was no time to add the scores for the nine holes, nor did I care.  I only wanted to get into the clubhouse before winter arrived, and throw away those 'relaxed fit'  stretched pants' that kept my mind totally occupied.

On hole #14, I powered through a drive and suddenly my belly button felt exposed.  "Oh, dear heavens," I snorted from the embarrassment,  "if mother in heaven could see me now, she would scold me for exposing my body."

Carol and Kathy joined in, "What would she think of the girls these days?" By now we were so relaxed and the group in front of us had just walked off the green, that we shared scenic stories about belly buttons, tattoos and other over exposed body parts. Golf just didn't seem important to me that day. 

The pants by now had to be held up by my hands when I walked. Then we noticed the calm. Two holes to go, 'please frigid weather hold off'' we whispered.  In the end, we hugged each other on the eighteenth green, raced to the golf carts and off to the parking lot where we unloaded our wet belongings. After gathering ourselves we compared scores, signed the cards and turned them in.

Keeping one hand on my pants, I walked to the ladies locker room to clean up.  With our small gaggle of women gathered round, I began to notice the scores.  Several of us played quite well, a couple were truly disappointed. Scores ranged from 109--85. Then our golf pro, Alan Hager, turned away from the score sheet, picked up the Silver Champions Bowl, and said, "Congratulations Letty, on winning the 2018 Women's Club Championship." 

Anita Bednar

I don't know that I've ever been that stunned in my life. I stood to accept the trophy and grabbed the pants to hike them up.  Awards were handed out to all of the winners. We were a cheerful group, and thankful to be inside warm and out of the weather. (No pictures of this event could be found. Perhaps we looked too shabby for the camera's eye?) *UPDATE, Anita found the lost pictures 11/9/2025

It was suggested that I keep those black sagging over-sized stretch pants and wear them next year. I threw them away that night. 

 

I have played several club championships since then without winning. Should I have kept those lucky black tights?  No matter the answer, I am blessed with seventy plus  years of "golf memories."

2018 Trails Club Champion Letty Watt, Carol Lindblad Low Net champion, Kathy Hines 2nd Low Net, not in pic--Dawn Stork, 2nd Low Gross. 

 

 

 

Here are a few links to other weather induced reflections:  

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2021/07/reflections-on-cool-clear-sunday.html>

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2024/11/sunbeams.html>

 

 <https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2021/07/reflections-on-cool-clear-july-4-sunday.html>

 
<https://literallyletty.blogspot.com/2025/05/the-rains-of-ranchipur-recalled.html>

Eating Fried Worms

We wondered what it must taste like to eat fried worms, but no one knew the answer. 

After reading Rockwell's How To Eat Fried Worms by Thomas Rockwell, one student stepped up and volunteered to eat fried worms for his class. Brad Driver became a hero in the eyes of his peers that day. 

Ellen Ryan volunteered to help me fry the worms. One Friday in February 1985, I bought big juicy fishing worms from the Bait Shop on Alameda and Cockrell St. in Norman, Ok.  We set up the experiment in the Jefferson School Library, using a  borrowed travel stove top, we added oil to a pot. When the grease began to steam we one by one dropped slimy wiggly worms into the hot grease. 

Brad Driver, Ellen Ryan, and Mrs. Watt

Ellen and I nearly fainted as we watched the worms wiggle and struggle to pop out of the grease. For several years I carried a grease burn on my right arm when one worm flew out of the grease and landed on my arm!  There was gasping in the audience of fourth graders. The screams were held chest tight until Brad Driver took his first bite and swallowed. 

Suddenly, screams of delight and fear echoed through the 4,000 square foot library, ceiling to floor and more than likely out the door. 

One bite and Brad continued until a half dozen crispy curly friend worms, without ketchup or mustard, went down his throat. His mother, Mary Ann Driver made sure to attend this daring act of her son's. She also provided a permission slip for Brad's menu, written on a napkin :)

The fourth grade teachers, our principal, Pat Wiggins, and a few district administrators along with two classrooms of students watching gave Brad a standing ovation that morning. 

Our question still remained. What did a worm taste like. After the applause, one hand waved and asked, "What did it taste like, Brad?" 

"Mushy sticky dirt!" Brad replied with a smile across his face. 

No one was disappointed, and the aarghs and ughs continued until the library was empty of students. Where upon in the dead of winter, I opened the outside door to allow the aroma of fried worms to filter into the fresh air. 

*With the onset of winter I looked around the house for a project. First, I found tubs and notebooks of papers, stories, ideas, notes, and recipes. I took the time to go through one tub and ended up trashing every sheet of paper. The next few plastic containers did not get my full attention. I simply carried them outside to the recycle bin and tossed. Note to self: I haven't missed a sheet. 

I relaxed and patted myself on the shoulders, having been uplifted by the papers now being recycled instead of collecting dust. 

One box and several scrapbooks stopped me. Memories and pictures of library events and teaching from 1972--2008 faced me. By the end of January of 2025, I was ready to accept the challenge to complete what had been started in 1984, added to immensely in 1994, neglected until 2018-2019, then stalled by COVID on February 20, 2020.

This year in mid-January our Jefferson Elementary team of Sallie Kennedy, Carol Upchurch, Kathy Taber, and I began the journey again to complete the collection of stories and memorabilia from 1894-to 2019--The 125-year history of our school. 

After all we are the Jefferson Dragons. We symbolize "Power, Wisdom, and Chaos." Right now, we are sorting through the chaos and laughing...laughing and loving every moment of the expedition. 

As you follow along with us through Literally Letty, I hope you find our history a little bit like your history, filled with joy and sorrow, uplifting moments and drops in disbelief, positive thoughts sharing space with the negative, and celebrations along with disappointments. In the end, I believe that good actions, good deeds, kind words, positive thoughts, and team work make this world a better place. 

And it never hurts to have a lot of guts to step out of your comfort zone and do something amazing, even if it is eating six fried worms. 

 

GOLF GYPSY--UP TO HER KNEES

 

"If your knees aren't dirty by the end of the day, you ought to seriously re-examine your life."  Bill Watterson

I ponder whether this quote is meant for gardeners or golfers.  I do, however, have a golfing friend who found out the hard way what it means to have your knees dirty by the end of the day. 

During a warm fall day, she (who will remain nameless) duck hooked her ball into a nearly dry pond on hole #8 at The Trails Golf Course. Normally, this pond is full of intimidating water, although I personally believe that the water table rises in the summer and spring because of all the golf balls that are covering the bottom of the water. 

Playing with her son and best friend, she was determined to hit the ball, lying 20 yards away, out of the drying sucking muck. Her first mistake was thinking she could even get to her ball. The muck showed prior footsteps that a dinosaur could have made squishy sticky and deep. 

Her first steps were down the embankment covered in grass and rocks, allowing her to sidestep any slippery slope. Her next few steps were sticky and slippery. Luckily, she carried her 8 iron with her for balance and to strike the ball. She took another few steps confidently getting deeper into the muck allowing her to walk and not lose her shoes.  She knew she could hit her ball out of the muck and onto the green grass near the hole. 

In the final approach to her ball, she began to tip from side to side while her friend and son looked on, already realizing that she might be in trouble. 

No one remembers whether she hit the ball or if she even reached the final destination. What they do recall is her sudden high-pitched scream heard 'round the golf course, "I can't move! My feet are stuck!" 

"Seriously," her friend called out, "pick up your feet slowly, one by one, and turn around."

"I can't," came the scream.  Like Tonto sinking in the quicksand, they watched as she mucked around shoeless and sinking deeper with each step. The Lone Ranger was not there to rescue her. What were her friends to do?

It was serious enough that no one bothered to take a picture. 

Her son grabbed his driver and slowly made his way towards his mother. Her friend took the arm of the son and a saving lifeline was created. However, it was noted that the people playing on the green on hole #7 watched and could not or did not choose to help. An imagined cartoon picture shows the on lookers laughing and pointing in disbelief.

At last, her son hollered, "Mom, this is serious. Forget your shoes and turn around and grab the driver." 

"But my hands are sticky, and I'll ruin your new club." She replied. "I can't balance myself enough to carry my club and reach."

"Mom, throw that club up on the bank after you take two steps toward me."

Whether in anger or fear, she took two sucking steps and threw the club out of the mud hole and past the golf cart to the middle of the fairway, and in the same action grabbed her son's club head and nearly fell face forward. 

With the strength of Sampson her son stood still and pulled slowly allowing his mother to take one small step at a time until the ground could hold her. 

Slowly methodically two people stepped backwards crawling out of the mud and muck, while the golfer stepped forward toward the shoreline. 

When all were safe on the dry fairway their laughter could not be contained. 

Her knees were dirty brown by the end of the day.

As she thought about her decision to hit the ball out of the mucky pond, she could only laugh. Those of us who witnessed the event or heard about it from others, who saw and heard the live action, won't forget the sight, and recognize that only a truly dedicated daredevil golfer would ever attempt that shot and we love her for that reason. 

**For images of Bill Watterson quotes click on this link Calvin and Hobbs

THE TRUE TOUCH OF GOLF

A body in Motion

Stays in Motion.

A body in a Recliner

Stays in a Recliner.

It doesn't take a great mind to figure this out, but it does take a young couple in their '70's  longer to recover from a two week overseas trip.

The Golf House Club at Elie

There we stood on a rather flat lowland tee box looking left over our shoulders at the Firth of Forth with white caps splashing on the banks of the golf course. Straight ahead and looming skywards stood a grass covered cliff  that a goat might thoroughly enjoy climbing and munching on the luscious green grasses. To the right a small white building housing the pro shop to Ellie Golf Course where the starter now uses an authentic submarine periscope to look for the foursome over the hill, making sure they are out of the way of our tee shots.
(Click here to see the slide show and history of the Golf House Club of Elie).  Behind us stood a row of homes built centuries ago, and there out of sight a single car road leading down to the rocky shores of the expansive clear blue waters of the Firth of Forth. (NE Scotland) 

Jack and I dressed for cool temperatures and possible rain showers which didn't let us down. Neither did our bodies. Being simply overwhelmed with the landscape, the cool winds, and history oozing out of the rocky fences protecting old lands, I barely managed to hit the ball, while Jack's tee shot flew upwards but not nearly enough to fly the edge and roll downhill. Pushing a golf cart with borrowed clubs we set off on our first Scottish round of golf. After three holes we had climbed a cliff, walked down the hill proudly as our shots did roll on the fine grasses, then pushed our trolley (holding our golf clubs) slowly up hole #2, took a deep breath and walked over the ridge and played a daring side hill, down hill par 3.   

For our first round of Scottish links golf we found a few things that confounded us. One, being people near our line of ball flight. Didn't they know they were in danger of being hit? Two, I saw people standing immediately behind the green I intended to hit with my golf ball. Luckily, my gut said wait because my shot rolled over the green, through the low area and found a home on the next tee box. Looking around I saw people on every hole and very nearby. I smiled, and the sun peaked through the clouds long enough for me to say that it was a sunny day in Scotland. 

A Note on the Scorecard reads:

Players are requested to be aware at all times

..of other players and people walking near or over

the course, especially when playing the 10th and 

12th holes where the path to the beach crosses

these holes. 

The greens rolled more smoothly than any I had ever played on, but not a flat place to be found. Each green rolled like the waves on the ocean. A quote on the Elie website says, "If you love links Golf, you will love Elie's close cut fairways with firm, fast, true greens. A memorable and enjoyable test for golfers of every ability." I personally loved their velvet undulating greens twice the size of Prairie Dunes. 

The greens rolled on and on, and my eyes drifted to vistas and castles, all in the same breath.  

Hole #10 challenged us to hit not only straight up, but over rocks and bushes. Only a serious Swiss mountain goat would find footing on the approach side of this rocky mound!  Just the fact that I found my ball on a ridge made me proud.  I felt more like a mountain climber than golfer, as my second shot hit the top of the ridge and bounced back! Once again I hit the ball and this time my 8 iron sailed up over the hill and disappeared from sight. Jack's tee shot sat proudly on top of the hill waiting on me. The reward came swiftly when I realized that my third shot rolled forever down the hill and left me a putt across the green. I beamed with pride that I'd conquered the cliff, but oh, I had yet to me my biggest challenge at Balcomie Links, a few days later.

The uniqueness of Scottish golf reminds me so of my childhood in the 1950's playing golf on courses that offered drinking water out of the ground, rough raw nature at its best, and walking golf on terrain that kept the weight off all golfers. At Elie there is an old ship bell near the bottom of the 10th hole, sitting right on the water's edge.

I rang the bell with the spirit of a child then looked back up the hill and suddenly began to respect the game of golf as it is meant to be.  From tee to green the course for women to play is considered 5,768 yards, add to that wearing two layers of clothes, pushing a heavy bag and two wheeled trolley sideways, up and down, then flat out on lowland side, I beamed with pride.  The winds seem to carry that gritty spirit it takes when one is challenged and focused. 

I teed off hole 14 and proudly found the middle of the fairway with my tee shot, but my ball lay very near a stonewall (by the rules it is called an integral part of the course). Puzzled, I laughed, "How do you play a stone wall?" 

"Carefully" came a whisper in the wind. "Be careful." 

Greed is a part of golf and like in life greed takes away what smart has played. I could have played a short club and gotten the ball over the wall, but I didn't. I played a 5 wood out to the left of the fairway, and never saw that ball again. It seems the stone fence continued down the left side of the hole, as the fairway weaved through an opening in the fence. Did the wall act as a retaining wall against the water, to keep the sheep in or out, or as a wall for keeping golf balls? 

We finished our 18 holes in four hours. After having only made one or two proud putts all day, I managed to sink the last putt of the day, a 20ft. putt on hole 18 in front of a gallery of men. I was ready to clap for myself when they took up the cheer. For a brief moment a tear fell down my cheeks, wishing the old pro, my father, could be here to celebrate. Because of his love of the sport we, too, have come to love this game, where men and women take on the links, the weather, the terrain, the challenges. Where in Scotland your walk alone with your thoughts, your ball, no fancy carts to take you place to place, no food or drinks to order at the turn. Where a player is truly one with the game. 

hole 14 with a magnificent backdrop 

Where do I begin to say thanks to our hosts, Niven and Lesley Hunter, for arranging tee times, safe travels on the narrow curving roads, expeditions to castles, Queen's views, a feeling that time had gone backwards, fabulous drinks and meals every night, and for sharing their time with us. The Solheim Cup, another highlight, didn't let us down. 

Two Little Girls

Helen, Letty, Jonya, Johnie Stapp c. 1953 

There were two little girls

  A blue-eyed beauty

Who danced like a whirling gig and sang for the folks.

There were two little girls

  A green-eyed child

Who galloped like a horse and pretended to be a circus flyer.

Letty Stapp with Sherry Cantrell  c. 1955 on E. st SE, Miami, Ok

There were two little girls

   One blue-eyed little girl

Whose dark curly dangled and danced all over her head

She smiled and giggled and brought

  Joy to the world.

There were two little girls

  The other a green-eyed little girl

Whose light brown hair bounced like a butterfly.

The sun and heat graced her face

  When she pretended to be Tarzan.

Jonya, Dad, Letty  Long Beach, California c.1961

There were two little girls

  One with curls

Who loved playing with dolls; paper dolls, Tony dolls, and rosy cheeked baby dolls.

  On the stage they felt no fear.

There were two little girls

  One without curls

Who raced little cars through dirt and sand, and

Built houses out of blocks and furniture out of sticks.

  Through competition they learned fear and accomplishment.

Letty and Jonya, Prairie Dunes c. 2010

There were two little girls whose lives drifted apart

One learned a new language and found beauty in Spain

  And her calling in Spanish, a teacher she became.

Jonya in Antigua, Guatemala 2018

The other discovered books and traveled the world through words

   And felt the call of a library, a storytelling teacher she became.

 

There were two little girls, curious little girls

Together they bounced through roaring streams and ocean currents;

  Gathered sea shells, rocks, leaves, and baby bunnies;

  Chased fireflies and listened to the evening echo of locusts.

Their curious love of nature centered their lives.

There were two little girls maturing through adventures,

  Through pain and loss.

Jack and Letty at Texas State Fair, 2017

Families they raised and shared their hearts with loved ones.

One year they lost their parents, and old secrets lost their hold.

Their worlds spun but not without control.

  The blue-eyed brunette grew to fairy tale stature with

  Flowing curly hair the color of arctic ice,

Shirts of every color danced around her feet.

Her radiant smile and lyrical stories charm those around her.

Bill and Jonya cruising 2017

The green-eyed sister changed glasses by color and shapes,

  Much like her Miss Clairol hair.

She loved the laughter of children and people at play

And turned to the golf course where she lost her worries among the trees.

Letty c. 2017

There were two little girls, aging like good wine

  Who, one day, found themselves looking in the mirror

Laughing as curls the color of silver and ice danced and dangled around their faces.

And right in the middle of their foreheads curls bounced as they giggled at themselves.

Their hearts filled with love, a passion for life, thanks to their parents and the world that raised the two little girls.

Jonya and Letty, c 2016

**Dedicated to our parents Helen and Johnie Stapp who died August 26, 1989 and October 21, 1989 respectively, and to our families and friends, past and present who helped to raise two strong women.

Golf Gypsy in the Enchanted Forest

There is a cliche my mother used to say, "You can't see the forest for the trees."  I might change it to say, "Some Days you can't find the fairway for the trees."  

One day this summer the groves of trees and tall grasses must have been exuding an unfavorable enchantment over my ball. My woes began on the fourth hole and didn't end until we finished our 18 holes.  The Trails Golf Course in Norman is a river bottom course lined with towering trees on every hole and sawtoothed pampas grass where the trees aren't growing.  I might add the witches boiled their pot and added water filled ponds, and sand bunkers, to the mix of curses that I experienced that day.   

Ironically, I hit some tremendous shots and made one dynamic putt, but I incurred several penalties along the way.  Overall, if I count only my trees hit, sand blasts shots, water shots, and penalties then I shot under par. I may have even set a personal best for hazardous play. 

On hole #7 the pro drove by and chuckled to see four of us wondering through the forest like lost souls, tripping over fallen limbs, and raking the leaves away looking for long lost golf balls. He smiled and asked, "Are you looking for Letty's ball (she who rarely ventures out of the fairway)?" 

"Yes," I responded still able to laugh, not knowing what the future held. His face turned red and he said, "Oh, that was suppose to be a joke!" 

That day on the golf course, I felt a kindred spirit to my hero, Alexander and the Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day, with the thought, "And then do you know what happened next?"

At The Trails a golfer is rarely alone in the forest.  The tree witches will find a way to tease and insult one's ego. Sometimes, they leave a trail of exchange balls, never yours but occasionally a fair exchange ball; other times they will kick the ball around in mid air like a Quidditch match from Harry Potter. The player can only watch as some other force is in control of the golf ball.

Somewhere in the Rules of Golf there is an unwritten rule that I did not know.  It reads, "When the wondering foursome agrees that the ball must be nearby, not lost, but covered by a magical leaf then there is NO penalty.  The once cursed player may drop a ball nearby an agreed location and hit the ball back into play." I thought it made sense. Why should a player have to go back and hit another golf ball when the first played ball is sitting nearby, just not visible due to the enchantment in the forest. (Rule:  7 ate 9) 

I watched my husband launch two fire bolts today, both flew into the enchanted forest with the firepower to break a curse, but the magic on the limbs and leaves never returned his shots.  No one laughed, but we were in awe of his lightning fast swing.

In golf, like in any sport in life, I am safe from the evil spells for another day, or until my spirit weakens, and I cannot hold them at bay!  Between now and the next tee time, I will walk with the humility that this game teaches us, and laugh at the stories we share. 

Golf Gypsy: Rat Bastard's Revival

Alice, alias Rat Bastard

Her given name is "Rat Bastard."  She came to me several years as a prize in a golf event at Prairie Dunes.  I believe my golf gypsy friends from Topeka rigged the play day, just so I would win this ratty beady eyed character.  I'm sure they never dreamed that when she became the head cover for my 5 Wood that her devious ratty ways and wayward life would soon change, as I hit solid clean shots down the fairway with her,earning her the name of 

"Alice."  

But times and places change and with that new friends and stories are created.  Alice's history at The Trails has been overshadowed by her

rat like tail that startles golfers.  I'd thrown her down on the fairway and prepared to hit my five wood into the green when Tammy screamed and jumped sideways on the golf cart.  "That tail it moved.  What is it?" She screamed.  It's rather difficult to calmly settle a woman down after she thinks she's seen a tail to an animal twitch, especially one that resembles a rat.  Laughter, however, is the miracle worker.

Maybe that's why I keep her in my golf bag.  On a warm sunny spring

Cathy, Ellen, Jean

day this year Ellen walked by my golf bag then suddenly leaped to the side and yelped like a she'd been bitten.    The foursome quickly gathered round to assess the problem when they all

discovered "Rat Bastard" sitting on my golf club.   The official 

  explanation made no sense, what friend would give someone a rat head cover, but the laughter that followed made for fun memories. 

Lucy, alias Big Dog, and Alice

 Just like in life, sometimes the golf shots don't always run straight and true.  Perhaps the      greatest gift of playing sports is making friends, and learning to laugh at yourself.  Rat   Bastard and Big Dog may fail me from time to time, but my real friends stand with me and guide me through the rough.   

Laugh for me somewhere on the golf course today, dear friends.   

Letty Stapp Watt
historian, golfer