Laurie Snider
Notes from the Nest
As I sit in my easy chair, huddled by the crackling fire, tapping out my latest “Note from the Nest” on the keyboard, the snow and winds are raging, howling and lashing against my windows, causing them to shake and rattle with each new gust. I can feel ice-cold air seeping through the cracks in the floor of the sunroom, as the latest polar vortex settles over us, draping our little town in a cloak of intense, raw, frigid temperatures.
Undoubtably, Randy will have a couple of hours of shoveling ahead of him, when he arrives home from work and after two recent, significant snowfalls we are running out of places to pile it. Despite this we consider ourselves to be hearty Canadians, preferring to stay and play in the snow, rather then fly off to escape it in some sunny clime. Admittedly though, I’d be fibbing if I didn’t concede that at the mid-point of winter, I find myself daydreaming of tip-toeing through the tulips, dancing in the dandelions and prancing amongst the peonies, fixating on just how many more weeks until spring. Thankfully, in a few days time, a woolly, little rodent will be emerging from his den to offer me his perspective, on current meteorological conditions.
Feb. 2 is Groundhog Day and has been celebrated in North America since 1887. It’s also known as Candlemas Day, a Christian celebration marking the presentation of the child Jesus. Churches hold lighted candle processions; signifying Jesus is the light of the world. This is the day Christians may bring their candles to the church, to be blessed for use for the rest of the year.
Historically, Candlemas was also thought to be the day spring’s fortunes were to be told. An old English poem states, “If Candlemas be fair and bright winter has another flight. If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, winter will not come again.” Beginning in Germany if a hibernating animal, originally a bear, badger or hedgehog, saw its shadow on Candlemas day, cold and wintry weather would last for another six weeks.
The first Groundhog Day festivities began in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, started by Clymer Freas, an editor of the Punxsutawney Spirit newspaper. The merrymaking was initially carried out by the local Elk lodge, who were more interested in hunting and eating them at their annual banquet. After the release of the movie Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray in 1993, hooplas marking Groundhog Day across North America have become a bit of a sensation.
If you happen to find yourself in Punxsutawney, on the second day of February, in the early morning, you’ll want to head straight out to Gobbler’s Knob, to catch their diminutive, downy prognosticator Phil, before he is roused from his sleep. His handlers, all members of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club Inner Circle, are easily recognizable in their top hats and tuxedos. Members of his inner circle assist him to his stump, where he’ll share his prediction with the president of the club, speaking in “Groundhogese.”
Thanks to the popularity of Murray’s movie, anywhere from 10,000 to 40,000 people will gather on the Knob, to bear witness to the enlightened one, followed by food, music and a ton of fun. According to local lore, the same groundhog has been making predictions since 1887, sustained all this time by drinking groundhog punch.
Phil might be a movie star and the most popular of the toothy soothsayers but he’s hardly the only one. Most residents of Ontario are more familiar with our own telepathic gopher, Wiarton Willie, the burrowing resident of Bruce county. Woodchuck Willie’s story began in 1956, when a local resident Mac McKenzie wanted to show off his hometown to friends. He invited several to come to a Groundhog Day celebration. A reporter from the Toronto Star was among those who attended what turned out to be an evening of imbibing at a local bar. The following day the reporter, needing an apt reason to file an expense claim, was aided by McKenzie. He apparently threw his wife’s hat in the snow and announced a weather-related prophecy. The photo was snapped, appearing in the Star the following day and the rest is history. The day is now celebrated annually with dances, parades, pancake breakfasts and a fish fry and is one of the most popular events in Ontario.
So, just how accurate are these overgrown squirrel diviners? Turns out, not very. Phil’s accuracy rate is a dismal 39 per cent. Wee Willie’s is even worse, with him coming in right only 25 per cent of the time. I suppose though that’s not really the point as these furry fortune-tellers offer some lighthearted fun and a few rays of sunshine, even if there’ll be six more weeks of winter.