Let’s take a moment and acknowledge the greatest gift the good souls of Ireland have ever shared.
Groundhog Day.
Right now, Feb. 2 feels like 10 years ago and you’re probably thinking I got my column timing wrong. But St. Patrick is a key figure in the history of Groundhog Day. It’s possible this strange tradition would be lost if not for him.
Celtic people celebrated seasonal turning points, and those traditions were ingrained in their culture. When St. Patrick showed up, he took the pragmatic approach of “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” and wove Celtic lore and holidays into the church. May Day, Halloween, All Saints’ Day, and Groundhog Day were all passed to us by the ancient Celts.
Here in Harpswell, we have groundhogs who must all be afraid of their shadows. This year especially, the relentless, freezing cold is making it hard to believe the weather is turning a corner.
Someone who lives in Florida told me she isn’t leaving the house unless the reading on the thermometer is greater than her age. That’s a brilliant piece of advice if you live in a warm state or your age corresponds with contracting mercury. But for most people around Harpswell, using age and temperature as a guide would have us stuck inside until July, and we have things to do.
Feeling winter’s grip doesn’t mean we don’t know how to navigate through it.
After the last big snowfall, our doorways were blocked with snowdrifts so well packed the imprint of the door stood in perfect relief when we tried to go outside. The only way forward in that much snow is to shovel out one step at a time and throw snow on top of the snow you’ve yet to clear. Double, triple and quadruple shoveling is the snow-clearing equivalent of Groundhog Day, without the pomp and fun of a town festival.
So, we might be great at surviving any season, but nobody needs some little stinker named Phil to tell us winter isn’t over. What we do need is a party and, like the ancient Irish, we need to lean into tradition.
Groundhogs.
Let’s make a good-for-nothing rodent good for something: raising town spirits by lying about the weather.
It’s time for Harpswell to appoint a weather-predicting groundhog. “Harpswell Harold” can be roused from his den by someone dressed in “fisherman core,” then he and his keeper can take a boat ride around the Neck and islands to share Harold’s prediction: Winter is over. Harold will always predict a quick end to winter because he’ll understand that standing in your truth can be wearing, no matter how tough you are. And we can gather at points and piers to cheer the good news, even when we know it’s absolute rubbish.
Why does Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, get all the fun?
The Celts celebrated the midpoint between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox because they knew a good tipping point when they saw one.
I’m sure you’ve noticed it’s getting lighter every day. By the time March 17 rolls around, the sun won’t set until 6:50 p.m.
On St. Patrick’s Day, you can eat your corned beef and cabbage in the sunlight, and your body clock, wound up by a new supply of Vitamin D, might work to keep you up past 9 p.m.
Can you think of another holiday that captures our collective imagination like St. Pat’s? Chicago is so bullish on it they mark the day by dying their river green. We don’t have the Chicago River, but we have an ocean of crisp, white snow — a pristine canvas for some eco-friendly color.
There are parades, bagpipes and beer. And if you’re not yet sold on the magic of the Irish, St. Pat’s brings another benefit you might like.
Some of you are a few weeks into Lent and you’re wondering why you gave up caffeine, carbohydrates, drinking booze and being snarky. Your mornings are fuzzy and what you really need is a giant cup of coffee with a bourbon-infused pastry and a few minutes to spew all the zingers you’ve been saving up.
Enter the saint. There’s a history of lifting Lenten restrictions on St. Patrick’s Day to encourage celebration. The day is in honor of a saint, after all, so it all equals out in the end.
We must also thank the Irish for sharing their wit and way with words, and I want to share my favorite Irish blessing:
May those who love us love us.
Of those who don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if he cannot turn their hearts,
May He turn their ankle,
So we may know them by their limping.
I hope everyone has a spring in their step, and I wish you all the luck and gifts of the Irish.
