Columnists
Prognosticating and other Shenanigans
Groundhog Day! As much as I like all of the seasons, Groundhog Day is the promise of change. When this article hits the Times box it’ll be the day after. I don’t remember the second day of February ever being such a big deal when I was a kid, or even when I was a young adult. And I don’t know about you, but I didn’t give it much thought until around 2004 or 2005 when I was sent out to take a picture at one of the local nursing homes on Groundhog Day. Usually, I liked to be prepared for a story and a photograph, but was assured it was just a photograph, “Don’t worry about a story. There probably isn’t much of a story.” I walked over to the nursing home and the staff had a wooden signboard-style Groundhog that was on a platform of some kind to keep it upright. It was planted on the side lawn. A picture was taken. The mayor didn’t show up. A handful of residents had been escorted outside to smile for the camera. The opportunity to highlight the nursing home was taken and, so too, was the picture. Out on another photoshoot, a similar contraption was pushed out onto ice in Picton Bay. A plywood Picton Phil, if I remember correctly, sat on the ice and local folks placed bets on the date when the ice wouldn’t be strong enough to hold him. I was fascinated by the enthusiasm demonstrated that day. Several sailors from the yacht club showed up, along with the Commissioner from the Parks Department and there, in the middle of it all, was Hizzoner. I do remember when the movie Groundhog Day hit the theatre in Belleville. It seemed to have something to do with the furry little fella but more to do with the self-actualization of a man named Phil and his designs on a woman by the name of Rita. Sometime, long after that film left the theatre, I decided to do a bit of investigating into the lore surrounding the shadow-casting varmint.
According to tradition, if a groundhog comes out of its burrow on the second day of February and sees his shadow, he would be frightened and run back into his home in the ground. Apparently, this behaviour predicts six more weeks of winter weather. If he doesn’t see his shadow, it means an early spring will happen in six weeks. I’m going to guess, perhaps, a bit booze, and the ensuing shenanigans, helped to create this “tradition” of season forecasting. Historically speaking, the very first official Groundhog Day took place in 1887 in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. It was the brainchild of a local newspaper editor Clymer Freas who convinced a group of fellow businessmen, and groundhog hunters, collectively known as the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club, of the idea. The Club members trekked to a site called Gobbler’s Knob where, we’ve been told, the groundhog made his appearance. I’ll bet, dollars to donuts, the groundhog showed up after a jug of whiskey had made the rounds and the story was created to lend a bit of credence to day-drinking on Gobbler’s Knob. I imagine the “womenfolk” deserved a righteous explanation regarding the menfolks’ meeting at the Knob and their blathering on about the rodent who understood their drunken gibberish, or Groundhogese as they called it. “The whiskey-talking at the men’s club” is what I called the whole thing.
Do rodents really prognosticate? And if they do, is anyone really around to document it? While Punxsutawney is still the epicentre of the spring forecasting festivities every February second, thousands of people around North America join in the fun of wishing winter away and dreaming about spring. Wiarton has Willie and Shubenacadie has Sam, good ole Prince Edward County had Plywood Pete/Phil, Staten Island has Chuck and a few communities even celebrate with Wooly Bear Caterpillars. But why am I telling all y’all about this? If you’re a true County person, you know all about prognostication, the truth about the Groundhog and when spring actually arrives. Who needs a groundhog, these days, as an excuse for day-drinking, forecasting and prognosticating?
The Vernal Equinox happens on Saturday, March 20th at 5:37 a.m. in the Northern Hemisphere. Forecasting, prognosticating and other high-spirited manoeuvring, during a pandemic, starts the moment your feet hit the floor in the morning and you decide, “Life is too short—and the pandemic is too long—to drink my coffee black.”
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