Growing Up in Augusta During The Masters (And Why I Love It)

If you read yesterday’s story about the Thacker family just outside Gate 6—a home that never moved and the lemonade legacy that’s still going strong—you already know Augusta holds more than just golf history. It holds heart. Grit. Family.

Today, I want to share what it felt like to grow up here. To live in a town that transforms every April, to work across the street from the gates, and to carry Masters Week memories like heirlooms.

There’s something about growing up in Augusta that makes Masters Week feel like a hometown holiday. It’s not just a golf tournament—it’s a transformation. The azaleas bloom brighter. The air feels fresher. The whole city shines up and shifts gears like it’s preparing for royalty. And in a way, it is.

I was born here, I live here now, and this will always be home. And every spring, when the tournament returns, it brings a flood of memories—some nostalgic, some hilarious, and some that make me proud to call Augusta mine.

One of my favorite memories is from my time working at the Augusta Country Club. Spring was always buzzing with events—from member tournaments to MCG’s graduation and spring celebrations—but the year Larry Mize won the green jacket? That one’s frozen in time. I was a junior in high school, finally old enough to serve, and his dad was a member of the club. I remember the sun nearly coming up and those men—grown, Southern, and so proud—still riding the high of that win hours later. You didn’t need to be at the National to feel the magic. It was everywhere.

A few years later, I worked in the Men’s Department at JB White’s department store in National Hills, just across from the gates. This building now houses Map & Flag – the first and only official Masters hospitality experience outside the gates of Augusta National Golf Club. But then, international patrons would come in and buy stacks of Levi’s jeans—sizes didn’t matter, they knew they’d all sell overseas. That’s when I started to understand just how global this little hometown tournament really was.

Back then, in the late ’80s and early ’90s, you could walk up to the gate and buy a sticker ticket for the practice rounds. Ten dollars on Monday, fifteen dollars Tuesday, and twenty for Wednesday’s Par 3.

At JB White’s, the ladies on the first floor—cosmetics and menswear—had a system: we’d take turns “going to lunch,” walk across the street, and trade the same sticker ticket back and forth until it no longer stuck. No scanners, no fuss, just hometown charm, cheap sandwiches,  and shared awe.

My first time actually walking the course was in high school. My friend Liesl’s parents—and their neighbors—rented out their little cul-de-sac to Jack Nicklaus’s family during Masters Week. Her parents had tickets and let us go for a few hours using theirs.

We used their parking pass and walked a back way toward the pro shop. And that’s when it happened—we passed Jack Nicklaus himself. Liesl said hello. He said hello to her by name. And that was all it took.

Gobsmacked. Just a taste. I was hooked. Wide-eyed. Reverent. And forever in love with this place.

I certainly didn’t know at the time that I would marry a golf fanatic—who would one day caddie full-time at Augusta National—but looking back? I’m not shocked. Not even a little.

Since then, I’ve been lucky enough to attend more than a dozen times—maybe more. And on the years I went during the early part of the week, when cameras are allowed (Monday through Wednesday only), I always brought mine. Just a few quiet captures, respectful of the rules, but full of the magic that only the Masters holds.

These are a few of my favorites over the years—each one frozen in time, tied to a moment that made me smile:

🎩 Local Tip: Mind Your Manners at The Masters

If it’s your first time attending, consider this your friendly Southern guide to doing it right. Augusta has unspoken rules, but here are a few that are very much spoken—and strictly enforced:

• Two gate entries per day. You can leave the course once, but that’s it. So plan wisely—and maybe don’t forget your camera in the car.
• No pets, except service animals. This isn’t your neighborhood dog park. Leave the furry friends at home.
• Be quiet during play. This isn’t a football game. Keep it classy, and follow the lead of the crowd.
• Walk, don’t run. Speed-walk if you must, but no running. Ever.
• Stay behind the ropes. They’re not suggestions—they’re boundaries. Use the crosswalks and stay where you belong.
• No napping or bare feet. Tempted by that soft, dreamy grass? Resist. Keep your shoes on and stay upright.
• Leave it better than you found it. No litter, no sand stealing (yes, that happened), and definitely no pocketing a pinecone “for the memories.”

In short: act like you’ve been invited to the nicest backyard in the world—because you have.

💭 Journal Prompt:

What seasonal event or hometown tradition shaped your view of where you’re from? What parts of it still live in you today?

Check back tomorrow for Tuesday’s post: “Behind the Green Jacket”—a peek into the etiquette, symbolism, and unspoken rules that make Augusta National feel like its own world.

And later this week, I’ll share one of my favorite stories of all: the years my husband spent as a caddie at Augusta National—and the unforgettable things he saw inside the ropes.

💚 And yes… the pimento cheese is still $1.50. Some things are sacred.

Don’t miss a day of Golf Week.

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