This talk, filled with interesting facts about groundhogs, the history of Groundhog Day, and a reflection on the midpoint of winter, was first presented at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Glens Falls in Queensbury, New York, on February 1, 2026.
Groundhog bites mayor! That was the headline in February 2009 after Mike Bloomberg, who was then New York City’s mayor, tried to bribe Charles G. Hogg to come out of his warm enclosure with an ear of corn. Charles, better known as Staten Island Chuck, bit right through the mayor’s glove and made him bleed a little. We can only assume that Chuck didn’t feel like looking for his shadow that midwinter day, since he didn’t respond to any requests for a statement.
Mayor Mike wasn’t special. There’s a long history of mayors getting bitten by groundhogs. The mayor of Sun Prairie, Wisconsin thought it would be great to hold Jimmy, their groundhog forecaster, and received a bite to his ear from the big rodent, who probably thought the beginning of February is way too early to be awake, especially in Wisconsin.
Before I share more about the somewhat silly but fun American tradition of Groundhog Day, I think we should take a moment to appreciate groundhogs, because us humans are not always so fond of them. Groundhogs do eat a lot, and if you’ve replaced the native vegetation in your yard with a vegetable garden, well, you just laid out a top-notch buffet.
They need to eat that much. Groundhogs are the largest member of the squirrel family. An average adult weighs in at around eleven pounds. They have two layers of fur – a dense undercoat and a longer coat called guard hairs. When they’re frightened, the guard hairs on their short tails stand up and look prickly. The other thing that happens when they get scared is they make a very loud whistle, which we heard about in the story, which is why some people call them whistle pigs. That whistle call sounds more like a scream to me, but what do I know? Groundhogs actually have a variety of chirps, whistles, and calls, including a mating call. But more on that later.
Despite their short limbs and considerable bulk, groundhogs are surprisingly athletic. Groundhogs can climb trees and even swim. They aren’t the fastest runners, though, only going about eight miles an hour, but having chased my little grandson around I can tell you that eight miles an hour is more than enough to avoid the clutches of an aging human. Really, a groundhog just needs a good sprint to escape into their burrow.
When a groundhog is out and about, they’re probably not far from one of as many as ten entrances to their burrow. Groundhogs are exceptional diggers, and their burrows are quite intricate. You heard how they dig u-bends to keep rain from flooding the burrow, which is rather clever. And they make several chambers, including a bathroom. While most burrows are around 20 feet long, it’s not uncommon to find sixty-to-eighty-foot burrows. Some have even been found that were in the hundreds of feet. They also dig down around six feet. That’s a lot of digging.
The burrow is an essential part of a groundhog’s survival. Not only do they sleep, store food, and raise their young in the burrow, they also use it to escape predators, like coyotes, bobcats, bears, and eagles. What’s really interesting is that each burrow is dug by a single groundhog. They are totally solitary except during mating season. I’ll get to the whole mating thing in a bit.
Other species use the burrows for protection or even live in them when the groundhog moves on, too. Foxes, coyotes, otters, weasels, and even snakes will take up residence in old groundhog burrows.
And, of course, groundhogs hibernate in their burrows. They’re one of the few true hibernators, meaning they don’t wake up at all during the winter. They lower their body temperature to around 37 degrees, their heart rate drops from its usual 80 beat per minute to about five, their breathing slows until it’s barely perceptible, their metabolism depresses, and they slowly burn most of their body fat as they sleep. Is it any wonder they eat so much? Around here, they have just a few months to fatten up enough to survive the next winter. Honestly, one of the reasons I don’t protest keeping groundhogs for the Groundhog Day rituals is because I know those groundhogs are better fed than their wild kin, and anyone who has fed a wild groundhog has a friend for life. Probably friends, because word gets around.
If you know me at all, you know I could probably keep talking about groundhogs the whole time but there is some deep spirituality and earth connection underneath the February 2nd spectacle of Groundhog Day, and that’s what I wanted to share this morning.
Groundhogs are native to North America, but Groundhog Day has European origins. It was started by the Pennsylvania Dutch, who brought a Candlemas tradition with them when they crossed the ocean. Candlemas is a Christian holy day associated with the presentation of Jesus at the temple and acknowledging Jesus as the light of the world. Everyone would bring the candles they made for the year to the church to be blessed, hence the name.
In parts of Europe, Candlemas was also considered the start of the farmers’ year, after which they began to prepare the fields, if the weather cooperated. There’s a little rhyme from an old folksong: “If Candlemas be fair and bright, Come, Winter, have another flight; If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, Go Winter, and come not again.” So was born the tradition of watching badgers, or some say hedgehogs, to see if it was sunny enough to make a shadow under them, so the farmers knew if they should get ready. Now, when the Dutch arrived in the eastern United States, they didn’t find badgers. The only badgers on this continent are in the West, and those badgers aren’t cute storybook creatures like their European cousins. I guarantee one would do more than nip a finger if someone tried to drag them out of their den. But the Dutch settlers had groundhogs who started popping out of their burrows at the right time. Well, at least the males do. I promise I’m getting to that.
Anyway, that’s how Groundhog Day got started. The first record of some kind of official ceremony was in 1886, in a town called Punxsutawney in western Pennsylvania, in a spot called Gobbler’s Knob. That now quite famous groundhog, or let’s be honest, series of groundhogs because even in captivity groundhogs only live ten years or so, that groundhog is known as Punxsutawney Phil. You may have heard of him. He has his own website. The mayor of Punxsutawney always wears a top hat to the ceremony. Maybe the groundhog is less likely to bite a guy in a top hat. Someone should have told Mayor Mike.
Anyway, Candlemas is just part of the spiritual history of this time of year, and it actually has connection to the Roman calendar. For the ancient Romans, February, or Februarius as they called it, was the last month of the year and February 5th was considered the first day of spring. Because the days started getting noticeably longer, the month was associated with renewal and light.
There’s a Celtic association, too. Imbolc, the festival honoring Brigid, or Brid, her name in Irish Gaelic, takes place at the beginning of February, usually somewhere between the first and the fourth. Brigid was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann, who were one of the original tribes of Ireland, now elevated to a pantheon of gods and fairy-folk. Brigid is the patroness of poetry, protection, healing, smithing, and livestock, particularly cows and sheep. Followers of Brigid were said to tend sacred flames at her shrines, ensuring they would never go out, in case you were wondering if there was theme to these things.
Just a side note – in what’s known in the English language as the Book of the Taking of Ireland or the Book of Invasions, it’s said that Brigid started loudly whistling and weeping after an invader pillaged somewhere, basically sounding an alarm for the rest of Ireland. She whistled a warning, kind of like the rodent we’ve been talking about. It’s probably too much of a coincidence, though.
The name Imbolc derives from an older Irish word which meant “the beginning of spring,” and shares origins with a word meaning “ewe’s milk.” Imbolc acknowledges the time the cows and sheep were pregnant and their milk started coming in, a sure sign that spring was coming. Remembering that winters were much harder in the days before grocery stores, getting to the halfway point of winter and being able to have milk to get through until crops started growing were things worth thanking a goddess for.
Brigid the goddess was so beloved that she was Christianized rather than abandoned when the new religion took over. St. Brigid of Kildare is the patron saint of learning, poetry, protection, healing, blacksmithing, livestock, and dairy work, pretty much the same list as the goddess’. The woman who became St. Brigid is said to have founded the monastery at Kildare and to have died on February 1st, in either 524 or 525 CE. Whether that’s accurate or not, February 1st became her feast day.
There’s a school of thought that Kildare started out as a pagan temple dedicated to the goddess Brigid and was overseen by a druidess who was given the title Brigid. Then Christians reimagined this druidess as a Christian for their stories and made her a saint so the people who still honored Brigid the goddess would come around to the new religion. The nuns at Kildare also kept a sacred flame burning, which might have been originally lit for the goddess. Whether the two Brigids were the same entity or not, Imbolc and St. Brigid’s Day are similar spirit-filled celebrations at the beginning of February.
Today, many Pagans and others on nature-based paths, like me, celebrate Imbolc with spiritual practices derived from all those traditional festivals. We light candles, make Brigid’s crosses out of wheat stalks for protection, feast on milk and white cake, force snowdrop bulbs, write poetry, plan our gardens, and bless our seed packets. We acknowledge the quickening Earth and dream about the future. I’ve been doing Imbolc rituals for many years. They help me be with winter and whatever’s happening out there, and to feel hope.
So why should we pay attention to when people, especially those who may have very different beliefs than we do, celebrate things? I believe it goes back to the science of the seasons. If you totally missed this in school, the Earth’s axis is tilted, so the sun is a little closer or further away from us depending on where the Earth is in its orbit, which accounts for the seasonal changes. That natural cycle hasn’t changed since it was observed by the ancient Romans or the Tuatha Dé Danann, so the midpoint of winter has always been about now, in the northern hemisphere, anyway.
No matter what we humans are doing, the seasonal cycle continues, through wars, revolutions, and even through everything we do to destroy the environment. Even the world’s political powers can’t stop spring from coming. Let’s be honest, stuff happening in this country has made me feel pretty hopeless lately. And climate change has messed with our weather patterns so much that I don’t know if the Groundhog Day lore even applies anymore. But nobody has stopped the Earth from circling the sun. If you need evidence of a higher power at work, there it is. For me, nature is the higher power. Maybe you believe in a different one. In any case, the Earth is still floating around the sun. So, this day, when we are halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox, is worth acknowledging, no matter how we do it.
And it’s also worth remembering that winter is still here. The weather may stay cold and snowy or we may have an early thaw, but the spring equinox is still six weeks away. Winter has its own magic and we miss it when we rush to spring. Can you enjoy our groundhog weather forecasts tomorrow without wishing the snow away?
It seems modern humans are always in a rush. Electric lights, furnaces, cars to take us to the grocery store, or down south where it’s warmer, these things have disconnected us from the spirit of winter. Our culture discourages putting everything on hold for a few months and goodness knows capitalism doesn’t want you to stop being productive just because it snowed. But winter invites us to slow down, to rest, to be quiet, to reflect. We need that – body, mind, and spirit. Maintaining a constant high level of activity is, I believe, raising our stress levels to what has become a new, very high baseline. It doesn’t take much else to increase your stress to dangerous levels, and lately there seems to be a lot of much else.
Many of the anti-stress practices we have, like meditation, retreats, gentle yoga, and journaling, are very wintery in nature. Although you probably can’t take a sabbatical, or hibernate, until spring, you can release some of the unnecessary busy-ness to make space for one or more of those practices.
And appreciate the wonder of winter. Observe the sparkle of sunlight on snow, notice which beings are still present and how even they are spending less time being active, pay attention to how your body responds to the changing light. And, whenever you can, fill the quiet darkness with intimacy.
Which brings me back to the groundhogs.
Interesting fact – you’ll never have a Groundhog Day weather forecaster named Greta or Patty. In the beginning of February, or as soon as it starts to warm up, only the male groundhogs stir. If it’s safe enough out there – I don’t know, maybe they do check for their shadows – they emerge from their burrows and go looking for a female groundhog’s door. They aren’t ready to mate yet. That happens in spring. They are really just there for a visit, like a date. They hang out for a bit, enjoy some groundhog conversation, and maybe spend the night curled up together. When two groundhogs decide they like each other, the males will use that mating call I mentioned to get together again when the females are up and around, too. This makes me think that maybe groundhogs would be better associated with Valentine’s Day, which, by the way, also has ancient Roman origins – and a kind of yucky story of a martyred saint that had very little to do with hearts, flowers, and dates. Never mind, let’s let groundhogs have their own day.
Here and now, though, on the cusp of Groundhog Day, let’s center ourselves in the center of winter. Don’t rush to spring, even if the groundhog’s shadow doesn’t appear tomorrow. Tune into the ongoing circle of the seasons, as the groundhogs and all the more-than-human beings do, as our ancestors did. Feel the steadiness of the seasonal cycle that underlies the chaos of the modern world. Let that be a source of hope. And remember to rest while the snow is still falling and night still arrives early. In the quiet stillness, meditate on what might be. In the darkness, light candles. And maybe have a sleepover, groundhog style.