Glory, Glory to the Groundhog
Greetings from Punxsutawney, the weather capital of the world, where I’ve just stood for two and a half hours in pre-dawn temperatures hovering between twelve and fifteen degrees to watch a rodent predict the weather.
It sounded like a good idea.
Back in the fall, you see, I attended a special event for an environmental organization where the martinis flowed like water and the next thing I knew I was holding a live groundhog—the world famous Punxsutawney Phil—in triumph after apparently bidding on and winning a VIP trip to Groundhog Day.
I’m still not sure how it all happened. But, as I often do when I get in these situations, I called in the troops. In this case, my dear friend Susan, a self-proclaimed wood tick from Oil City, PA, now living in a center hall Colonial in Chevy Chase, MD. She jumped at the chance to ditch her hubby and kids, and off we went in an F-150 in the middle of a blizzard.
Our first event was a cocktail party with the Inner Circle of the all male Punxsutawney Groundhog Club who organize the festivities and go by colorful nicknames such as Storm Chaser, Stump Warden, and Big Flake Maker. Interestingly, a lot of the Inner Circle vacation in Rehoboth’s Pines neighborhood.
I learned that back in the late nineteenth century, the local “good old boys” gathered on a hilltop for an afternoon of hunting, drinking, cooking, and eating groundhogs. Nobody eats ‘em today. I was relieved, having endured another rodent eating incident just last year.
Groundhog Day also has roots in what the northern Europeans called Candlemas, a mid-winter celebration of spiritual awakening. The Europeans believed that if it was fair and bright on Candlemas Day a badger would cast a shadow, meaning a second winter would come. The Germans, who settled Pennsylvania, adopted the native groundhog as their weather prognosticator.
The first official Groundhog Day was held in Punxsutawney on February 2, 1887. It’s now a weekend-long celebration of the groundhog. We watched an Amish rock and roll band, pub crawled with swarms of drunken partiers, and witnessed every incarnation of groundhog paraphernalia imaginable—wood carvings, ice carvings, plastic statues, mugs, hats, sweat shirts, t-shirts, and even pieces of fine art. I even learned to shoot a bb gun. It sounded like a good idea.
On the big day, Susan and I were pulled out of our beds at 3:00 am by a man with a black top hat and bow tie offering coffee and a shot of Bailey’s in preparation for the trip up to Gobbler’s Knob. There we joined thousands of faithful followers for Phil’s official prognostication: As the sky shines bright above me, my shadow I see beside me. So six more weeks of winter it will be.
I’m going back in the hole. See you in six.
You can reach Rich Barnett and read more of his stories about Rehoboth at www.rehobothwithrich.blogspot.com.