It's Groundhog Day
My mother's favorite holiday. Followed by the first day of school
It’s February 2, and my Christmas wreath is still on the front door. The tree came down sometime between Epiphany on January 6 and MLK Day, but the wreath and some white lights around the door and in the windows remain.
I thought that I would take everything down today; it seemed like a fitting time to say goodbye to electric winter lights and start that bleak, unadorned period of waiting for spring. Between now and the daffodils, nothing - just a blank front door, empty steps, empty flower pots, in attendance for the first sign of thaw.
Today is Groundhog Day. It was my mother’s favorite holiday.
Why would anyone’s favorite holiday be Groundhog Day? No special desserts, no presents, no parties except for a few guys in top hats in Pennsylvania showing off a rodent to the beat of polka music at 7 am.
And it doesn’t even offer any magical certainty that spring is soon to arrive; Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow this morning, heralding six more weeks of winter; that puts us about at the Spring Equinox, so Phil is right whichever way the wind blows. It is peculiar, and kind of fun, but enough to be a favorite? Why, mom? On her last Groundhog’s Day, in 2021, I finally asked her.
“To me, it was the beginning of spring,” she said. She was well into her cancer treatment by then; after Christmas, she became more and more forgetful, and unsteady on her feet. She was losing track of time; she no longer knew what the date was, and often confused day and night, asking for dinner in the morning, and coffee at five in the evening.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
In February, the crocuses are still a long way off on Long Island, but that’s enough of a reason to me. In earlier days I would have pushed her for some mythical backstory of why she loved the holiday - some atavistic connection to the rodent in charge, like a woodchuck in Mongrassano who could sense when it was going to rain, and was awarded with ribbon-strewn processions through the streets - but no longer.
Looking back, it made sense for her to perversely pick a random, third-tier holiday as her favorite: she was a contrarian and a minimalist. Groundhog Day is over by 7am: you can watch it on the Today show and get on with your day without dealing with a fancy dinner or presents that people could buy for themselves anyway.
(The same logic was behind her historical love of the first day of school: she liked to shock us by saying out loud what every mother secretly thinks, that by August the fun of family togetherness has gotten really old and it was time to get back to a routine which sent the kids out of the house for several hours a day. No gifts but a quiet house to herself; no meals but a baloney sandwich in a lunch box to be eaten off premises.)
The end of winter and the end of summer do feel like portentous: times when we await change with equal amounts of joy and dread. It’s not a coincidence that February 2 is also Candlemas, an ancient Christian festival that marks 40 days from Christmas, and the end of the holiday season. In many countries, on Candlemas, all household candles should be lit to celebrate Christ, the “Light of the World.” Any mangers and Christmas decorations should be put away if you haven’t gotten around to it all ready.
It’s nice to be able to go on Wikipedia and get confirmation that what you decided to do randomly, like leave up Christmas lights til your mother’s favorite holiday, was actually a thing. An ancient thing, no less.
In Italy, on Candelora, there is even a little traditional weather forecasting on the day. In Padua, for example:
Se ghe xè sołe a Candelora, del inverno semo fòra; se piove e tira vento, del inverno semo drento (Vèneto)
Se il giorno della Candelora è soleggiato, siamo fuori dell’inverno, se piove e tira vento, siamo dentro l’inverno (Italian)
“If on the day of Candelora it is sunny, we are out of winter; if it rains and is windy, we are in it.” The translation is mine, and inelegant.
One more holiday palimpsest: February 2 is also Imbolc, a holiday that originated in Neolithic Ireland. On Imbolc, people wait for a visit from St. Brigid, and look to badgers, or even snakes, to divine the coming of spring. Imbolc celebrates family hearths, which are bright and warm no matter the season.
Maybe mother didn’t do the deep Wiki dive on her favorite holiday. But she knew, even in the deep of winter that the light was coming, and the hearth of the home is eternal, and that is why she liked that groundhog.
So not because it’s Candlemas or Imbolc, but because of her, I am leaving the wreath up, and twinkly lights around the front door. They might stay until the crocuses come. For now, winter is still here, and I am waiting for a sign of spring that I can believe in.