By Rich Skyzinski

The golf course is usually a peaceful locale, but would you make it your first choice when deciding where to live?

The experiences of homeowners whose properties abut some of the holes at Countryway Golf Course, north of Tampa, Fla., are no different than any other course in the country where fairways are defined by residences. There have been cracked and broken windows, peaceful Saturday-morning slumbers ended by the sound of golf balls bouncing across the roof, strangers peeking in the flower bed in search of a lost ball, a ding in the hood of the car parked in the driveway.

But in some instances, the field of play is so close to property lines, screened-in pools and patios have had golf clubs come through them.

"If I remember, it had been raining, some of the players had been drinking a bit and, oops, right through," explains Tom Cousins as he mimics a follow-through. Cousins is president of his subdivision's homeowners association and acts as an unofficial liaison with the club when complaints arise. "Obviously, some people have more problems than others. And most people who live on a golf course realize you have to expect some of that."

When you come right down to it, there's a curiosity as to how anyone can be surprised by the experiences one encounters when deciding to reside on a golf course. You live in the flight path of an airport, you expect a little rattlin' of the windows now and again. You live next to the interstate, the roar of 18-wheelers throughout the night is not totally unexpected. You live next to a golf course, errant shots and strangers traipsing through your backyard probably come with the territory.

Finding the perfect home on a golf course offers plenty of advantages other than the prospect of easy access to a few quick holes before dark: generally increased property values, panoramic vistas and, for the most part, an aura of peace and quiet. But for a variety of reasons, the relationship between golf facility and property owner can be contentious, antagonistic, even litigious.

It is often that way for good reason: the risk to an individual's personal safety. A unique way of everyday life is presented when a person wouldn't think of doing some light gardening, firing up the grill or stretching out on the chaise lounge without donning a hardhat or helmet. The situation is only compounded when golfers wander, sometimes to absurd lengths, to retrieve an object worth about $2. People who live next to a golf course are apt to dismiss these intruders as harmless ball-hawkers. Others who look out their kitchen window and discover someone rummaging through the backyard might call 911.

"Some people move onto a course and say, 'Gee, I had no idea,' " says Richard Hess, who lives with his wife, Greta, off the 13th tee at San Juan Hills Country Club in San Juan Capistrano, Calif. "But depending on your particular situation, perhaps you've got to expect some of those things now and then."

Peaceful coexistence usually results when plans are properly conceived and architects work in tandem with developers. Although the American Society of Golf Course Architects has no mandatory parameters for its members to use in the design phase, a minimum width of 300 feet from the center of a fairway to the edge of residential property is standard; on more elaborate designs, architects will often allot upward of 400 feet. The fact that a golfer would have to miss his target by perhaps 100 yards or more is nothing to understate; it is an occurrence far more common than you'd like to believe.

"I've lived on a golf course for the last 20 years," says architect Steve Smyers. "Nothing would surprise me."

Residential developers, however, have been known to build after a course has been established. They compound the problem by sometimes building on land that is marginally safe from errant shots. Take, for example, Ptarmigan Golf and Country Club in Fort Collins, Colo., where residential construction is still in progress around a course completed 11 years ago.

The par-5 14th crosses water twice and has a lake that traverses the entire left side of the hole; the right side is bordered by 3,000-square-foot townhouses. It's about five yards from the edge of the fairway to the water on the left, not an unusual hazard. Most golfers would compensate by aiming to the right, but some of the townhouses are only 10 yards or so from that edge of the fairway, making them a frequent target of misdirected shots. One could easily look at the stucco exterior and assume someone had taken a hammer to selected portions.

The homeowners off the 15th at San Juan Hills know the feeling. Theirs is another instance where the residential community came years after the construction of the course. They're pretty much in the line of fire, subject to the ramifications of any drive hooked off the tee. While one homeowner claims to have replaced 28 broken or cracked windows, another says he's replaced more than a dozen at a cost exceeding $3,000 and has installed bulletproof glass in one window located in a particularly vulnerable spot.

A lengthy stand of young cypress trees has recently been planted along the left side of the 15th, but many second-floor windows sit unprotected. In 10 or 15 years, when the trees have matured, the problem will probably be a fraction of its current state. Until then?

The Hesses, who live beside the 13th at San Juan Hills, have had to replace just one broken window since they moved into their home two years ago. Yet their situation dramatizes the fact that virtually no owner adjacent to a golf facility is exempt from such headaches. The side entrance to their home faces the 13th tee; a right-handed player addressing his ball would have to look over his left shoulder to see the door. As if that were not enough, it is situated behind a dense stand of foliage that would appear impenetrable even by long-drive hulks who could smash balls through a metropolitan telephone book.

"The guy was very nice about it," Hess recalls of the player. "He gave me the name of his insurance agent, who called me two days later, asked for a copy of the bill and — bam! — it was paid. I still don't know how he did it. Standing up there on the tee and seeing where the window is, you'd think he would have had to hit it between his legs."

While no course wants unhappy neighbors and some situations can be remedied with fencing, netting or landscaping, some property owners make outrageous demands that are illogical or impractical. At Countryway, some residents suggested the course relocate a tee, but that would have brought more homes into play and forced players to tee off directly over the heads of others on a nearby green. "That," explains Cousins in dismissing the option, "would have only made the situation worse than it is."

Derek Derdivanis, his wife, Maryn, and their two infant daughters live at the end of the driving range at Corral De Tierra Country Club in Salinas, Calif. The family's A-frame and its 6,000-square-foot roof stands out like a bull's-eye facing the club's range patrons, some of whom line up less than 250 yards away. Even though the backyard receives 40 to 50 balls every day, the 45-year-old Derdivanis wouldn't consider moving. In fact, he has turned it into a uniquely tolerable situation by regularly whacking the balls back onto the range.

Derdivantis trimmed a few trees, built four tee boxes, laser-measured the distance to three practice flags and even added lights. "I can get up in the morning, walk out and hit balls," he explains cheerfully. "This works out better than I'd ever expect."

Derdivanis and the club's range workers get along so well, in fact, each will call the other for more balls when one's running low. "How many people have thought about being on the back of a practice range, where they get all the golf balls they want?" he asks with an apparent tinge of envy, "though I should be a better golfer than I am because I can hit all the practice balls I want."

Personal safety, however, is a concern. One thing residents whose properties are within range quickly realize is that "Fore!" is not a warning just for players. "Most of the shots have already hit some of the trees before they get to the yard, and lost most of their steam," Derdivanis noted. "And maybe my daughters will have to wear helmets if they're in the backyard unattended."

When Michael Uzelac and his wife, Veronica, moved into their home off the 16th hole, a shortish par 4, at Lake of the Pines Country Club in Auburn, Calif., two years ago, they asked the woman who then was renting the place if errant golf balls were a problem. "She said, 'No. It hasn't been a problem at all. Only one or two a year,' " Michael recalls. Almost immediately after buying the property did Uzelac, a semiretired dentist, realize the backyard "was like an Easter egg hunt every day. One ball here, another over there."

The Uzelacs do have a dozen Cypress trees planted on the fairway edge of their yard, which has made them slightly more comfortable with the situation. "Every time you come home," Michael says, "you ask yourself, 'Is anything broken?' You just live with that. Knowing what I know now, would we have bought the home? I'm not sure."

Still, with their collection of balls in the garage nearing 400, their only casualties have been a glass patio table, and one bedroom window broken only a day or two after it was installed during a recent remodeling. Asked to recall the last time he purchased new golf balls, Uzelac replied, "I don't know," then paused before adding, "but I know I won't have to buy another one again."

While they were remodeling, the Uzelacs added protection to a home office window. Using materials from a home improvement store, they built a frame that supports a tense mesh net over the newest, biggest and most expensive window facing the course.

It has done the job to perfection — so far. But when the day comes that the Uzelacs sell their home, a prospective buyer will notice the net and be spurred to inquire about a problem with golf balls. They'll have to come up with a different answer.