February 2 is Groundhog Day, my favorite holiday of the entire year. On that day, Punxsutawney Phil will yawn, stretch, and drag himself out of his hole. If he sees his shadow, he’ll squeal the groundhog word for "Help! and scurry back into his burrow for another six weeks of hibernation. If not, he’ll wander off in search of tender grass shoots and clover, confident that spring has arrived early. Phil's behavior will be closely scrutinized by television meteorologists, who want to know what the weather's going to do as much as the rest of us.

Here in Hancock, NH, the ground is frozen solid as I write this, and Phil’s due to make his appearance day after tomorrow. An early spring would be a blessing, but I’m not optimistic.

Phil's been at the forecasting game for over a century now, and he's been right about half the time, which, come to think of it, makes him a pretty good weatherperson.

Groundhog Day is a major holiday in Phil's hometown of Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania which, from all reports, doesn't have much else to celebrate. Sun Prairie, Wisconsin has laid competing claim to the holiday. They call their groundhog Jimmy, which may explain why your local TV personality tunes in to Pennsylvania.

If you count backward and forward on your calendar, you'll notice that February 2 falls exactly halfway between the Winter Solstice (the first day of winter and the year's shortest day) and the Spring Equinox (the first day of spring, when nighttime precisely equals daylight). Days such as this (there are four each year) are called "cross-quarter days." Winter is, astronomically if not metereologically, exactly half over on February 2, a significant hump day and and an event well worth celebrating.

The pagans, who observed such things closely and seized any excuse to conduct a celebration, called this astronomical moment Imbolog which, in pagan language, means “lamb’s milk.” They lit bonfires, drank mead, held orgies, and sacrificed inedible animals such as goats to their weather gods in hopes of promoting an early spring. They had no particular reason to believe that a gloomy Imbolog meant an early end to winter, but they did. Pagans have never been noted for rational thinking.

European Christians, who lacked the imagination to invent their own holidays, stole February 2 from the pagans. They lit candles instead of bonfires, called it Candlemas Day, and wrote a poem about its amazing predictiveness: "If Candlemas be fair and bright,/ Come, Winter, have another flight;/ If Candlemas brings clouds and rain,/ Go, Winter, and come not again."

Apparently the Europeans doubted that they could tell the difference between a cloudy day and a bright one all by themselves. So instead of just looking at the sky, they watched the animals. Naturally, when meteorology came along, they appointed creatures such as bears, badgers, and hedgehogs to weather-forecasting jobs. The Germans who settled in Pennsylvania found no hedgehogs, so they turned meteorology over to groundhogs. The Head Groundhog down there happened to be named Phil.

Here in New England we call groundhogs "woodchucks," except for zoologists, who for some reason call them "marmots." Most of the woodchucks we see are squashed in the middle of the highway. Otherwise they're shy and elusive little animals and certainly prone to panicking at the sight of a shadow, even their own. I think it's only right that they have their own day, and I intend to propose Days for other inoffensive wild creatures such as voles and titmice.

back home

Image credits, from top to bottom, http://gojp.com/groundhog/mike.jpg; http://www.stormfax.com/ghogtoon.gif; http://www.princeton.edu/~tigermag/ISSUES/99Feb/pix/art_groundhog.big.jpg. And thanks to http://postcards.wired2000.net/Media/CI/AT/Thumbs/1408506.JPG for the wacked-out groundhog on the homepage. Happy Imbolog!