I wonder if living for a year in the Brown world is what makes Oregon appear to be the whitest place I’ve ever seen. Seriously, the only pigment I’ve seen is in the local Pinot Noirs bottled near where I’m staying. Regardless, the one color that isn’t lacking is green, cut to various lengths and shades. And the smells of spruce and pine. All perfectly combined in the amphitheater setting of the tee-box on hole #3.