The anticipation of February 2. The groundhog is said to come out of its hole at the end of hibernation. If the animal sees its shadow, it is said to predict six weeks more of winter weather. I bit my nails and tapped my foot as I impatiently waited for Punxsutawney Phil to give us the news. “Please don’t see your shadow!” I must’ve thought to myself over a hundred times.
There is an ancient frustration that stirs each year when the groundhog emerges from its burrow. A frustration rooted in the longing for warmth, for sunlight, for the gentleness of spring upon a world too long in cold and wetness. Yet, good ol’ Phil, with his twitching nose and sleepy eyes, steps into the light and casts his verdict of winter’s longevity. And if he sees his shadow, my mood sours.
It’s not about the shadow itself, but what it represents. Six. More. Weeks. SIX MORE WEEKS of grey skies and nipping winds. Six more weeks of heavy coats and shoveling the driveway. Oh Phil, so innocent, becomes the bearer of BAD NEWS. A messenger of negativity and winter’s refusal to let us go. And though logically, the groundhog is a creature habit, my broken heart feels otherwise.
If you were to ask me to sum up my feelings, the word I’d choose is, betrayal. It’s the fact that this furry thing dictates the promises of greenery, sun and warmth, tempts us with brief glimpses of thaw, hints of longer days, only to steal them away with one shadow. It feels so personal, as if Phil conspires against me. I imagine him chuckling in his burrow, watching the snowfall, tucked in all cozy in his home, satisfied with his shadow’s results. He becomes the symbol of every cold morning I have ever endured, every icy sidewalk I have embarrassingly slipped on, and every gust of wind that has almost blown me over to the next county.
The irony. Oh the irony. A creature so unaware, nor does he care about our seasonal impatience. He becomes the source of our hopes. And so, when the groundhog sees its shadow, I hate it. Maybe not with a deep, true hatred, but with the kind of frustration born from months of waiting around in the cold. It is an unreasonable hate, but at least I’m being honest. It is the hate of someone who has watched the calendar pages turn slowly. Someone who has dreamed of sunshine and blooming flowers… only to awaken again beneath falling snow and 30 degree weather.
Yet ,the groundhog is not the only one to blame. In 1886, The Punxsutawney Spirit newspaper was credited with printing the news of the first groundhog sighting, “Today is groundhog day, and up to the time of going to press the beast has not seen his shadow.”
When the shadow falls, I cannot help but feel betrayed. I cannot help but feel that, in some small way, the groundhog has chosen winter over me.
