The Tail Of A Lost North American Halfbreed Marmot

aka groundhog. alias woodchuck.

Much like delicious pizza and essential black and white cookies, Groundhog Day does not exist in Japan. This is one of those holidays that happens to be unique to Canada and the United States. It is also one of those holidays that happens to be unique to my rather innovative family. Since I am free to do as I please and infiltrate all sorts of ridiculous ideas into the pliant, young minds of a few trusting pupils for my own entertainment, I have decided to do exactly that.

Groundhog Day will go beyond Punxsutawney Phil and the Bill Murray movie staring that heinous Andie MacDowell. Growing up I believed that EVERYONE celebrated Groundhog Day with early morning original poems and delicious cookies used to lure the ‘groundhog’ from his/her deep, dark slumber. That is, until that one fateful day when, while brandishing the Official Groundhog Mask and Staff, I asked a friend if they knew of a good word that rhymed with ‘masticate,’ as the groundhog was going to ‘masticate’ cookies in this year’s poem. After the laughter subsided, it then became abundantly clear to me that perhaps not everyone does this.

Therefore, in retribution for this misconception that I carried for many a year, I have no qualms about making other foreign, trusting children believe that there is, indeed, a grand and elaborate American tradition that celebrates a forecasting marmot with masks, delectable cookies, and creative poetry.

So without further a due, I give you this year’s poetic contribution:

I sing of cookies and a groundhog who went quite hungry this year,
Even whilst writing this poem our authoress silently sheds a salty tear.
There were no cookies this February second, not a single little nibble,
So inspire me, Muses, to relate this royal rodent’s tiny quibble.

Our Groundhogess awakes confused, alone in her dark den,
The floor’s made of tatami, her address reads “Ehime-ken.”
While this puzzling change leaves her bewildered, what follows is a double whammy,
There are no savory cookies at her bedside! Where is that infernal family?
For every year she counts on them to rudely jolt her from her rest,
Should their hands offer gifts of jewels and cookies – they may join her for breakfast.
So every dreary winter season her nose takes the lead
It twitches and quivers anticipating the long awaited cookie-feed.
With a song the troop approaches giving her ample, off-key warning,
They come to her – a prognosticating woodchuck, only for this very morning.
She’s a fickle, royal critter, who enjoys prolonging her day of fame,
She deliberates the weather, looking relaxed, composed and quite urbane.
Should she spot a dim, shaded shadow it means the sun is out,
But it also warns weeks of winter, evoking childish, petulant pouts.
If the skies are cloudy and no shade is spotted, a roar from the crowd arises,
For it means spring will be coming soon, or so the rabble hastily surmises.

But our stalwart groundhogess has no audience this cold Friday morn’
She looks around her bare accommodations, lost, morsel-less and forlorn.
She has found herself in a country where groundhogs are recherché,
Her day of fame is overlooked and homemade cookies deemed passé.
For in Japan they celebrate things like dolls and drunken men,
Rodent prophets aren’t respected – nor revered is her burrowing kin.

So instead she must rouse herself from her dark and cozy burrow,
To treks to school, paws cold and empty, brow creased deeply in a furrow.
But wait. What’s this? At school she comes across young impressionable minds,
She will share with them this grand tradition and receive treats of varying kinds!
Perhaps the poems won’t be the same, perhaps they’ll call them haikus instead,
Perhaps she’ll have to buy her own cookies to keep her tummy happily fed.
But it must go on, it must continue – her rein will be supreme,
For, from her and from only her the seasonal future they may glean.

*

A Happy Groundhog’s Day to all. We have reached the happy midpoint between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox. Whatever the hell that means.

Given the fact it just snowed here, I’m going to go ahead and say there will be six more weeks of winter. But someone lie to me, hold me and tell me otherwise.

Details:

You’re currently reading “The Tail Of A Lost North American Halfbreed Marmot,”

Published:
2.2.07 / 6pm
Category:
what i call life, culture, unschoolish