We at The Wanderer celebrate Groundhog Day every year – we even throw a party and give out gifts to all our advertisers and associates. But why the big deal over a silly tale of a groundhog that will supposedly predict the next six weeks of weather?
First and foremost, it is a chance to celebrate having made it through the first bitter half of winter, with February 2 being the midway point between the official start of winter and the official start of spring – the equinox of the equinox, if you will.
Groundhog Day symbolizes an act of defiance of sorts, in the face of the second bitter half of winter still to come. Every February 2, we stand around a magical groundhog, who even defies death by drinking a secret elixir every summer during the Groundhog Picnic that adds seven years to his life, and we hope for winter’s hasty death.
We watch to see if Punxsutawney Phil will see his shadow and retreat back into the earth to spend six more weeks in a winter coma, or if he will stay above ground as we melt our way into March over the next six weeks.
Before it was ever called Groundhog Day in the 1800s, the early German settlers of Pennsylvania brought with them the tradition of Candlemas Day, with its age-old saying, “For as the sun shines on Candlemas Day, so far will the snow swirl in May…”
The tradition of trekking to Gobbler’s Knob on February 2 began in 1887 and has remained a tradition ever since.
Just last year, Phil, named so after King Phillip and formerly referred to as Br’er Groundhog, indeed saw his shadow, which was followed by subsequent hell to pay in the form of two massive back-to-back winter storms in February and a miserably cold March that wouldn’t quit.
Some believers say Phil is always right. Whenever he doesn’t see his shadow, we hope he is.
Groundhog Day does, for us, symbolize hope, however fleeting that hope may be. We maintain the perpetual optimism that the dark days of freezing cold and impromptu blizzards will end and the warmer, sunnier days of spring will push those daffodils through softer ground and hurry up and get here.
And even if winter lingers longer than it takes a sloth to round up a herd of snails, we get to enjoy that one day when a short, furry, groggy groundhog crawls out of his hole and says, “Bite me, winter!”
If that isn’t something to celebrate, then we don’t know what is.
Happy Groundhog Day, everybody!
By Jean Perry
