I'm Going with Phil

Rob Martin was formerly a wildlife biologist and an anatomy professor at Dyersburg State

The good news came out February 2 when Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, so apparently early spring is imminent. His handlers call the Pennsylvania groundhog the “prognosticator of prognosticators” and I guess I should put some stock in his prediction. The proclamation: “Glad tidings on this Groundhog Day. An early spring is on the way” was read at Gobbler's Knob, where the Groundhog Day celebration is held each year a couple of miles from downtown Punxsutawney. Thousands of people turn out at sunrise to see the famous groundhog each year according to a tradition that dates back to 1887.

Groundhogs (also known as woodchucks, but known only to some by “how much wood would a woodchuck chuck” fame) are actually large ground squirrels. They are sometimes called whistlepigs, or land beavers, and young groundhogs are sometimes called “chucklings”. (For real y’all) Groundhogs are said to be intelligent animals, forming social networks, communicating danger by whistling, and working together to build their tunnel networks. Which is a real problem to some people such as my neighbor who has a large garden and hates the whistlepigs that occasionally burrow under his tomato plants. To the extent that occasionally I hear a loud boom in the late afternoon which indicates that another land beaver has paid the last full measure.

But P. Phil has a really good thing going. My research shows that Phil actually resides in a comfortable enclosure known as Phil’s Burrow – with his wife P. Phyllis I might add (no not kidding) - located within the Punxsutawney Library, near the children’s books section in downtown Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania. And when the library is closed you can still see Phil’s burrow from the outside.

With air-conditioning and all the greens, vegetables, and tree bark he can eat, at taxpayer’s expense I might add, Phil is no dummy and knows a good deal when he finds one. So maybe we should listen to his prediction.

Accordingly, I was surprised and greatly encouraged by a large bright light that appeared in the horizon east of my house early one morning last week. I had forgotten how good it felt to have natural solar heating and unfiltered daylight raining down. It was brightly shining down on me as I walked Tux the mountain cur on the trail behind our house on a beautiful early February day.

My refreshing walk as the warm radiance lingered in the sky, revealed to me the details of the plants along my walking trail, which had not been noticeable for several recent weeks of cloudy overcast weather. Things outdoors are less distinct when the sky is gray and overcast, including my personal perspective it seems. But this particular morning, in the bright airy light I began to see the details again. I noticed lots of buds beginning to swell on the tips of many branches. Elms and oaks and pear trees showed definite changes in the buds on their branch tips. I noticed the green blades of jonquils poking up through the leaf litter where the early yellow beauties will soon appear.

Now it’s early mind you. But according to Punxsutawney Phil early spring is imminent. Not that I’m that impressed with Phil’s record as a meteorologist, but I’m willing to jump on the bandwagon this year. It will be a while before we actually see early spring flowers. But the buds are swelling y’all. I promise.

But whether Phil is correct or not, the signs are here. A pair of bluebirds were seen multiple times visiting my bluebird box in the backyard and they looked very serious about pursuing a rental agreement with the landlord. And the spring peepers are back which are one of my favorite late winter/early spring indicators. Spring peepers are tiny chorus frogs found in most of the eastern United States. Their chirping call is often heard at night this time of year and this sound is a welcome sign that spring is not too far off now after the cold nights of winter.

I walk Tux at bedtime along the field edge behind our house and I hear them now almost every night. It’s nippy and the dog walk is abbreviated most nights because of the chill, but there they are. Their rasping trill emanates from a distant wet spot on the back edge of the field. The evening stars are bright and my breath is still frosty, but the spring peepers do not lie. Spring won’t be too long now.