Sprinkled in the assortment of oldies were a few exceptions—two couples both named Dawkins, and Pumpkin Green, a young man taking a break from his cross country hike to California in support of the homeless, or so he claimed.
The Dawkins brothers and their wives seemed to be continually in each other's faces and the Deans wondered why they bothered to travel together.
But before Cynthia could finish, the Dawkins brothers and their wives clamored into the kitchen, each looking as surly as ever.
The three largest quarters were located on the third floor, all presently booked by the two Dawkins brothers and wives, one pair of whom was not sleeping with his mate.
The Dawkins group trooped to breakfast, snapping at one other.
Paulette Dawkins was a short but massive chunk of good living who didn't know how to dress.
"I think it's stupid, if you ask me," Joseph Dawkins said as he rose to leave.
When Westlake obligingly opened a map and pointed out various high country locations, he had the Dawkins' rapt attention.
Dean left the group for the kitchen and found Paulette Dawkins had beaten him there.
Before old Pop Dawkins croaked, those guys hardly spoke to each other.
Dean was loading three full sacks in the rear of his Jeep when he was surprised to see Ginger Dawkins several yards away.
A party of Bird Song's male residents plus the Dawkins gals had gathered in the parlor.
All were mellowing on two bottles of cognac Paul Dawkins provided, in smiling celebration of some event known only to him and Paulette.
Big brother Joseph Dawkins, the smart one of the family, gritted his teeth and said nothing.
"Hell of a pitcher," Paul Dawkins mumbled.
Like that's all bad? they collectively thought, but only Paul Dawkins had the guts to so respond, spurred on by the rapidly disappearing cognac.
None other than Mr. Paul Dawkins, Sr. That's who.
The mine sits on a few hundred acres old man Dawkins owned.
Dawkins bought the parcel that contained the mine in 1955, part of sixty acres.
Old Paul Dawkins had a California address when he bought the land.
Nobody I talked to ever heard of Dawkins, but Mrs. Worthington said she remembers reading about this Rowland guy.
Dawkins never lived here?
The Dawkins brothers didn't know Martha.
Monday was transition day at Bird Song, with the arrival of six new guests to fill three vacated rooms, with only the four Dawkins, Brandon Westlake, and Pumpkin Green staying on.
Westlake was once again off photographing; the Dawkins, in independent pairs, Jeeping somewhere in the mountains, probably spying on one another.
At the mention of the name, there was a noticeable reaction from all members of the Dawkins' clan.
The other guests, embarrassed to see their host so humiliated and wanting no part of a Dawkins brawl, murmured excuses and toddled off to bed.
They stuck around, pretending to pick up glasses and snack plates while the Dawkins four quarreled, oblivious to their presence.
"The Dawkins were ready to kill each other out there," Cynthia said.
If it was so valuable, why didn't old man Dawkins develop it?
Randy, Martha, Fitzgerald, the Dawkins business....
Even the Dawkins seemed peaceful.
Paul Dawkins wandered out as Dean was turning the meat, finishing his second beer, and planning his weight loss campaign.
He turned his back to Dawkins and returned to his cooking duties.
Paul Dawkins just shrugged.
Dean hadn't even managed a last name for bitch-Jennifer, much less the details of Dawkins v. Dawkins.
It was the man he'd seen talking to Ginger Dawkins at the Farmer's Market on Sunday.
In his mind, anyone tied to the Dawkins, no matter how obliquely, was fair game.
Brandon Westlake, lustfully examining a pile of rusty tins, was pulled away by Paulette Dawkins for consultation.
Now that his diet had begun, wouldn't you know, Paul Dawkins had sprung for a case.
If you're gonna discuss the Dawkins, I'd best excuse myself.
Between him and them Dawkins, I never get to use it.