March and October are the bookends of my (still rail-less) front porch season.

On one end is March, generally a 31-day extension of the snow, muck and cheerless gloom of an already-endless winter spent living in close confines. But when Stephen King's "The Shining" starts reading like "Chicken Soup for the Cabin Fever Soul," I know it's time to take the barest excuse of spring to drag out the rocking chairs. Drive by our house any March day when the doors aren't frozen shut and you'll likely see me out there, glass of high-test ale in hand, refusing to acknowledge the temperature even as the false warmth of hypothermia sets in.

October, at the other end, throws a party even as the retreating chlorophyll turns fall leaves into nature's own code red signal of approaching winter. The comfortably cool and reasonably bug-free days are perfect for sitting on the porch, beer mug in hand, mesmerized by the soybean harvest in full swing across the road. (I work very hard early in the day to alleviate the guilt of being entertained by the productive toil of our neighbors … honest.)

The two months are connected in another, much more significant way, at least where beer is concerned. The mainstay brew of Oktoberfest, Märzenbier, comes directly from, indeed is named for, the dismal month of March. In pre-refrigeration Germany, the cold temperatures of winter were the brewer's friend, inhibiting the growth of bacteria unfriendly to the longevity and flavor of beer. In spring, temperatures would rise to an adversarial level right around March, effectively ending the brewing season until the return of cooler weather in fall. Smart and popular brewers ensured a steady beer supply through the end of summer by brewing a final batch with elevated alcohol content. Placed in such cool storage as could be mustered, this brew was able to withstand bacterial infection and sustain beer drinkers in the final weeks before the first beers of fall were ready. The celebration of the marriage of Bavarian Crown Prince Ludwig to Princess Therese of Saxony-Hildburghausen in October 1810, the historic catalyst for today's Oktoberfest, coincides precisely with the tapping of those kegs.

With the advent of modern refrigeration, there are many fine Märzens available year round, though I still enjoy the style best as a fall seasonal. I've sampled a notable few this season as they've appeared on the store shelves including domestic Oktoberfests from Bell's and Iowa's own Millstream, sampled at the brewery in Amana, as well as German representatives from Spaten and Ayinger.

All are solid examples of the style. Ranging from the slightly hoppier Bell's and Millstream to the rich malt of the Spaten and Ayinger, everyone should find something to their liking.

Everything I've had from Ayinger has been top-notch, especially their Celebrator doppelbock, so it was my most anticipated selection.

Even if it didn't come topped with possibly the coolest beer cap ever, featuring a tiny, colorful festival scene, the Ayinger Oktober Fest-Märzen would take top honors for my personal tastes. That it does only enhances one of my all-around top picks of the year, let alone from this fine group.

Careful not to mar the cap, I open the bottle and pour. Just over a pint of honey-colored liquid fit perfectly into my favorite glass stein, with room for a respectable head of foam. Slightly heavier in body than a standard lager, it supports a buttery, toasty malt character with just a touch of sweet, like bread fresh from the oven. A deft choice of hops, bright and floral, comes across more spicy than bitter. The moderate 5.6 alcohol-by-volume melds the malt and hops flavors, providing perfect warmth for a brisk fall afternoon.

The rational part of my brain, admittedly tiny, knows that winter closely follows fall. But as I sit on the porch, märzenbier in hand, soaking in ridiculously fine autumn weather, I only comprehend the present except to lift my stein in a quiet toast to March.