During our morning fellowship, Sparky told me that under the ancient gods, it never snowed after St. Patrick’s Day.  That’s why we drink green beer.

He’s not wrong.

Oh wait, he is wrong.  I must have freeze brain.  It’s 16o outside.  That seems like an outrage, but it happens every year.

Early March, we get mild weather.  Boston Mills and Brandywine push there remaining snow around like a bald guy with a comb-over, trying to cover the bare spots to keep hope alive.  They stay open until St. Patrick’s Day, then close up.

The next day or weekend, there’s a blizzard or it gets wicked cold.