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Some of the more southerly-dwelling snowbirds have already stated north, so the shopkeepers and restaurant owners are commenting that "the season" is over. It rains nearly every day a bit, and yesterday it rained torrentially in that wonderfully tropical way, one large badass cloud wandering around the metro area with an outdraft around it and looking like a stemmed mushroom, where the cap is dark gray and the stem is dark silvery rain. Our lawn has suddenly remembered what it's for, and thick green has replaced the sparse brownish ground cover of two weeks ago.

But there are places in which "the season" isn't over until May -- places catering to snowbirds from the higher latitudes, the North Dakota and Minnesota and Canada folk who know there is still crunchy snow on the ground up there. Yesterday we had brunch in one such place, visiting Heather's family friend and nearly-relative, Max, and his lady Sandy. They are residents of Bentley, and one can tell the season by the brunch-wear restrictions: jackets are still required for men in the dining room this month.