Welcome to #GroundhogDay, or should I say woodchuck day. I won’t get into that debate, call your favorite zoologist. Today, I thought I’d share the scene from below ground.
It’s a cold February morning in Pennsylvania. The air is cool and dank, and really all anyone wants to do is stay in bed; including Punxsutawney Phil Jr. His alarm goes off just before dawn and he hits snooze and rolls over. Before the nine minutes are up he hears a shrill call from the other part of the tunneled home.
“Junior, get up! They’ll be calling for you soon. Today is your day, you need to get up and shower.”
Phil rolls over and covers his furry head. “Why was I born into this family?” Phil Jr. had been pressed into action after his father met an untimely passing with a Mack truck.
Every February 2nd since 1887, the Punxsutawny Groundhog Club has shown up outside their family hole to nudge the eldest male out for a reading on the seasons. “Mom, it’s the 21st century, can’t these guys look at a RADAR or weather app!” Phil yelled back to his mother.
Before he could cover his head again his mother was at the foot of his cubby. “Phillip Henry Junior, you get out of that hole right now. We are not going to be the branch of the family tree to fail our legacy. Now get up!”
“I know, but seriously, they haven’t even changed their outfits in over 100 years. It’s the same top-hatted freaks every time! Maybe if I bit one of them, they’d quit this madness. We’re only right like 40% of the time.”
His mother sighs and sits on the edge of his straw and grass bed as Phil Jr. sits up and rubs his eyes. “Phil, please embrace these few minutes for our legacy and for the community we live under.” She pulls a tissue from her apron pocket to dab her misting eyes, “and for your father, grandfather all the Phils before.” Groundhogs can’t count very well, so once they got to Phil X, they started over with Phil junior’s father.
Phil Jr. swings is feet over the straw bed, “I know mom. I’ll do it for you.” His mother reaches over and places a gentle kiss on his head between his ears. “Thank you son.”
And so the legacy and lore of Groundhog Day continues.
Click to tweet: It’s a cold February morning in Pennsylvania. The air has a dank feel, and really all anyone wants to do is stay in bed; including Punxsutawney Phil Jr. His alarm goes off just before dawn and he hits snooze and rolls over. Before the nine minutes are up he hears a shrill call from the other part of the tunneled home.