Say it right before you say anything else. Broom-Sedge, not Brooms-Edge. The staff will correct you if you slip, and they will do it so politely that you will feel welcomed rather than scolded, which tells you a good deal about the place before you have hit a ball. You will find the proper name on the merchandise too, a small insistence that this club knows exactly what it is and would like you to know as well. What it is, in the end, is a club in Rembert, South Carolina, just over half an hour from Columbia Regional Airport. It came out of the sandhills boom, when a group went searching the land around Columbia for somewhere to build a different kind of membership. They ultimately settled here. Broomsedge was born on a piece of ground that does not behave like a tidy rectangle, and that turns out to be much of its charm. The property pinches in the middle, a chokepoint that the routing has to thread. The first five holes play out across the southern portion of the land, a kind of opening movement. Then comes the par-3 sixth, and it carries more weight than a short hole usually does. It is the hinge, the narrow passage that joins the southern holes to everything that follows. You play it, and then the rest of the course opens up to you. There is something lovely about a layout that admits its land has a waist and makes a feature of it rather than an apology. The course is unique and wild, and the words fit the spirit of the club as much as the ground. Broomsedge is not chasing what so many new clubs in South Carolina and Georgia are after, the winter getaway and the overnight stay. It is hoping to bring something harder to find in America. The model leans toward the way things are done in the UK, a membership that is mostly private but keeps a door open to the public. Very few private clubs in this country offer that. It is a quietly radical idea, the notion that a club can belong to its members and still let a stranger in to feel what they feel. You see the personality of the place in the flagsticks. They are homemade, made by the wife of one of the founding members, and they are a delight to aim at. They are not much help with the wind. You may stand over an approach squinting at a flag that tells you little about the breeze, and you will have to read the air some other way. But they give you a target unlike any other, and a shot well worth photographing. A flag that is charming and a little unhelpful is a fine emblem for a course that values character over convenience. Then there is the matter of The Pig. When Broomsedge opened for preview play in 2024, an old pink barn still sat beside the first tee. The club kept it and used it for storage, and it earned its affectionate name. The Pig is gone now, knocked down. But the club did not let it simply disappear. Pieces of its wood were saved, set aside for the halfway house, so that the barn that once stood by the first tee can greet golfers again at the turn. That instinct, to keep what came before and fold it into what comes next, runs through everything here. A name pronounced with care. A flag made by hand. A barn remembered in its boards. Broomsedge is new, but it already knows how to hold on.