Sunday was Groundhog Day. Or as I prefer to call it Let’s-Stop-Listening-to-the-Meteorologists-Who’ve-Spent-Years-Studying-Weather-and-Climate-For-24-Hours-So-We-Can-Let-A-Rodent-Predict-the-Weather Day.
I mean, let’s think about this for a minute. We have hundreds of millions of dollars worth of satellites orbiting the Earth tracking the movement of every cloud formation 24 hours a day. These satellites can spot hurricanes developing on the west coast of Africa, weeks before they threaten the U.S.
We have sophisticated radar systems that can see a tornado as it develops and can track weather accurately at your house and at your friend’s house across town.
But every year on Feb. 2, we anxiously wait on a groundhog, which is nothing more than a rodent, meaning it’s really just the larger cousin of a rat, to come out of his hole and determine whether or not he sees his shadow so we’ll all know what the weather is going to be like for the next six weeks.
Of course, the groundhogs can’t even get together on the forecast. Punxsutawney Phil, the most famous of the meteorological groundhogs, emerged at 7:25 a.m. from his hole in Pennsylvania and didn’t see his shadow, which means we’re going to have an early spring. Of course, it seems to be of little matter to folks that Phil emerged a couple of minutes before sunrise and even with my limited knowledge of meteorology, I think it’s hard to see a shadow without any sunlight.
But in Georgia, General Beauregard Lee emerged just before sunrise and somehow saw his shadow, which means six more weeks of winter. So basically, I have no idea what the weather’s going to be.
The tradition dates to at least 1887, and has religious origins in the holiday of Candlemas, a day when Christians would bring candles to the church to receive a winter blessing. It was thought that if the weather was good on Candlemas, then winter would continue. If it was rainy or snowy, spring would soon arrive.
Germans brought animals, usually a badger or bear, into the tradition. Groundhogs were used when the tradition came to America.
I have to say it’s a strange tradition to let animals predict the weather. I’ll stick to the meteorologists, thank you. But even then, I have simple needs with it comes to weather. Tell me it’s going to rain so I can grab the umbrella. Tell me it’s going to be cold, so I can put on a coat.
Meteorologists on TV go on and on about the weather. It used to be that TV stations squeezed in the weather forecast between the farm report and sports. Now it can take 10 minutes or more, especially if there’s inclement weather coming.
“Looks like a major blizzard building up over Saskatchewan,” the meteorologist will say. “Could be the worst they’ve seen in 20 years.”
OK, but we’re in Georgia, and I don’t remember the last time we had a blizzard. I’d care about a blizzard in Saskatchewan if I were a moose. But I’m not.
I used to joke about letting an animal predict the weather. I’d let Milly, the liver and white springer spaniel who lives at my house, out in the morning and if she came back in wet, I predicted that there’d be rain.
But I’m just not interested in a groundhog’s opinion. The only kind of hog I’m really interested in is one that produces bacon.
