Groundhog says six more weeks of winter…maybe

by Roland D. Hallee

Well, it’s Wednesday, February 1, the next issue of The Town Line is due to hit the streets tomorrow, and my deadline is fast approaching. Tomorrow is Groundhog day and I have not yet visited by little friend, Woodrow Charles, the weather prognosticating groundhog. So, I dressed and headed out. Fortunately, there isn’t very much snow on the ground, but a light snow was falling. The footing was not all that great. The rain has frozen the snow and it was a little slippery.

I finally reached the woodchuck’s lair, and like every year for the last 13 years, smoke is billowing from the chimney, and lights are on inside.

Instantly, I realized, since a woodchuck can live up to eight years, that would make Woody about 144 years old in human years. Amazing!”

I knock on the door, and Woody answered quickly.

“Come on in,” he said.

I noticed a suitcase near the door. “Going somewhere?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

“Headed to Houston.”

“What’s in Houston?”

“Super Bowl, my boy,” he responded. “I’m meeting some prairie dog cousins for the big game.”

“I thought they built a wall to keep you guys out,” I inquired.

“They can contain us, but they can’t stop us. We’re gonna tunnel under it.”

“Do you know anything about football?”

“I know that the Patriots and the Falcons’ offenses are comparable, but the Patriots’ defense is superior. It doesn’t matter that Atlanta has the No. 1 rated offense. Remember the St. Louis Rams’ vaunted “greatest show on turf” offense? Where did that get them? The Patriots held them to 17 points in 2002.”

“So, do you have a prediction?” I asked.

“Yes. Patriots 34-27.”

“No, no,” I interjected. “I’m talking about the rest of the winter. It is Groundhog Day,” I retorted.

“It’s getting more difficult to predict the weather with the way things have gone over the last 30 – 35 years,” Woody responded.

“What do you mean by that,” as I tried to pin him down for more information.

“The winters don’t seem to be as harsh.”

“So, you’re saying that climate change exists.”

“You’d have to be an idiot if you don’t think so,” he darted back.

I pushed further. “And you have the evidence to back that up, that climate change exists.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that. Just call it alternate facts,” he replied.

“You mean like fake news,” I asked.

“Something like that,” he answered.

“So, do you have a prediction, and I don’t mean the Super Bowl.”

“Okay, okay, if you insist. I have been checking my equipment, although I know you don’t believe me. I do have another life, you know.”

“I have an obligation to my readers,” I tried to convince him. “They deserve it.”

“All my science seems to point to coldest temperatures in early to mid-February and early March, with the snowiest period in mid-February and into early and mid-March.”

“Sounds to me like March will come in like a lion, meaning it will go out like a lamb,” I summized.

“You can say that,” he replied. “But I’m going to come to the conclusion that we’re looking at six more weeks of winter, although maybe not harsh,” Woody answered.

At first I was going to debate it with him, based on the information I gathered from Mother Nature’s other weather forecasters last fall, but I couldn’t really argue with him. He has been right 85 percent of the time.