Punxsutawney Phil’s Groundhog Day Prognostication Almost Here!

I am a “holiday” person. I love holidays. Christmas. Valentine’s Day. Halloween. I’ve never been much of a fan of Groundhog’s Day, but this year is going to be different.

Punxsutawney Phil, the omniscient groundhog with the ability to predict the weather in ways Doppler radar can’t, always seemed like a mythical creature to me. Sure I’d seen groundhogs at the zoo before, and perhaps a few were even named “Phil,” but the holiday seemed… oh… I don’t know… anticlimactic in some ways… as seeing one’s shadow takes only a moment and then it’s over.

But I was wrong. Groundhog Day deserves the fame given to its more popular counterparts, and Punxsatawney Phil– if all were right with the world– would be deemed as important as Cupid, the Easter Bunny, or Santa Claus.

What caused me to change my stance on the world’s most gifted groundhog? I’ll tell you.

Over Christmas, Christopher and I went back east, and on our way to his friend’s place, we stopped for a bite to eat in, yes, Punxsatawney, Pennsylvania. I was hungry by the time we made it to the Punxsatawney city limits (or perhaps it’s a township? Not sure.). Famished. Christopher knew it was only a matter of time before my hunger took over and happy passenger Christine became a Mrs. Hyde bitch, complete with low blood sugar and a piss-poor attitude. He told me we’d stop and eat as soon as he found a place. We stopped at “Punxsatawney Phil’s Cafe.”

I didn’t know that Phil had a cafe… but he does. And trust me, the groundhog has an ego. Pictures and statues of him pepper every ounce of space in the dining room. His presence is everywhere…

But Phil is not greedy. Prices at Punxsutawney Phil’s cafe are affordable to say the least. Christopher and I had breakfasts and coffees for a combined total of only $12.00… something unheard of in Los Angeles. I walk up to the counter to pay. Hand the cashier my credit card who gives me a stern glare for not telling him “in advance” that I’d be using a credit card (for some reason, at Punxsy Phil’s cafe, the method of running a credit card is seemingly more complicated than other establishments). As the man is “re-running’ my total, now armed with this new information about me using a credit card, I point to a statue of Phil and ask, “Where is he?”

The man looks up. “Phil?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Where is he right now?”

“At the zoo,” the man says.

“He lives there?”

“Yeah.”

“Hrmmm,” I say. “That’s interesting. I figured he’d live with a family.”

Christopher, who’d been lolligagging over by the door waiting for me to pay comes joins my side, puts his arm around me, explaining to the man, “She’s from California.”

Apparently feeling the need to explain why I would ask such a ludicrous question, Christopher starts to nudge me toward the door. But I haven’t signed my credit card statement yet.

“Oh!” The cashier became instantly cheery and all the credit card hassle was quickly forgotten. “You’re from California?! Welcome to Punxsutawney!”

“Thanks,” I say.

“Phil doesn’t live with a family, he has a special pen over at the zoo. I’ll give you directions and you can go see him.” The man gave us directions and we stroll out to the car, Christopher’s face still crimson.

“Do you really want to go to the zoo?” he asks, almost worried, as we get in the car.

“We don’t have to. I just wanted to know where he lived.”

“You know there’s like a hundred of those things.”

“A hundred what?” I ask.

“Groundhogs. There’s not just one Phil. Those things don’t live that long.”

This upset me. After feeling the warmth and love generated in Phil’s cafe/shrine, I wanted there to be just one Phil. A special one. A kind and loving and benevolent groundhog that meditated most of the year in his little zoo pen, contemplating what the weather would be like in February. In short, having experienced Punxsutawney, I’d forged a connection with a rodent in a way I hadn’t before.

“Why would you say something like that?” I asked Christopher. He looks over at me wide-eyed.

“What? Did you think it lived for like a hundred years or something?”

I sighed. A snapped my seatbelt on and looked out the window at the huge sign sporting a welcoming Punxsutawney Phil, beckoning weary travelers to stop at his cafe, take a load off, eat some pancakes. Somehow, the sky seemed a little more dreary now, the future a little less bright. I’d found Phil, and lost him within hours of each other. At the expense of sounding dramatic, a tiny part of my heart died that day.

Christopher felt it. My silence spoke volumes.

“I mean… we can stop if you really want to… I think that zoo is right over there.” Christopher said as we passed a little park that looked nothing like a zoo.

“It’s okay,” I said, wanting to put it all behind me (and knowing it was way too cold to walk even half a block in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania in December). And so we drove on… leaving Punxsutawney and the omniscent groundhog behind.

“I won’t forget you, Phil…” I whispered as merged onto the highway, my words lost on the frigid, northeasterly wind. “I won’t forget you…”

So to keep my promise, I am going to celebrate Groundhog’s Day this year. I haven’t exactly decided what the festivities will include, but there will be something special to recognize Phil– the one and only Phil– the most special groundhog the world has ever known.