Stories from the Farm
Turns out that Ground Hogs lie.
By the time we got home last week from our long trip, involving speaking engagements in five cities, the trees had shed their leaves and the fall colors were almost gone. Furthermore, I came home with a serious bout with gout and have hardly been able to walk. So, I have been reduced to hobbling around while whining pathetically. I have tried not to let that slow me down, and my days since have been filled with writing, podcasts and putting together the new studio. That said - all those farm chores that have to be done, still have to be done.
So, I have been lucky enough to be home on the farm for the past week. Frankly, it is a blessing to be here, doing all of the jobs that make a farm a farm. That means buying hay and grain, cleaning up manure, fixing issues with water run-off, taking care of the horses and of course, all those jobs that are required of owning a house and a farm. Anyway, long story short, on Monday, it was “dump day.” As we live rural, we don’t have a “trash service.” What we have is a local transfer station where we have to drive to unload our trash.
I get the flatbed to the barn to load up the empty grain bags and barn trash. As I walk around looking for trash, out at the back of the barn, I spot what looks like a very big, very dead groundhog - glassy eyed and splayed out flat. Yuck.
Now for those of you that don’t live on the east coast or haven’t heard of Punxsutawney Phil, ground hogs, also known as woodchucks, are destructive pests that can weigh as much as 30 pounds.
Ground hogs dig burrows, with an opening that is just perfect for horses to step into while running. Many a horse has broken a leg due to a ground hog hole. Ground hogs also like to burrow against things - like a foundation. Many an old barn has been lost to a ground hog. Generally, I let my dogs chase off, harass and even kill ground hogs - it is one service that I truly appreciate from our Aussie farm dogs.
Anyway, one of the most fascinating historic facts about groundhogs revolves around the ritual known as “ground hog day.”
You know, how the heck did Ground hog day come to be? Who thought up the crazy notion that if a ground hog sees its shadow, there would be six more weeks of winter? Well, the history is hundreds, if not a thousand years old. It goes back to the pre-Christian tradition known as Imbolc, which was a Celtic “pagan” festival marking the beginning of spring.
Imbolc or Imbolg, also called Saint Brigid's Day, is a Gaelic traditional festival. It marks the beginning of spring, and for Christians it is the feast day of Saint Brigid, Ireland's patroness saint…
Imbolc is mentioned in early Irish literature, and there is evidence suggesting it was also an important date in ancient times.
It is believed that Imbolc was originally a pagan festival associated with the goddess Brigid, and that it was Christianized as the feast day of Saint Brigid, who could be a Christianization of the goddess.
As Christianity spread across Europe, many folk traditions were merged into Christian beliefs. For instance, it is believed that the celebration of Imbolc evolved into what is now known as Candlemas: the feast commemorating the presentation of Christ in the holy temple in Jerusalem. Some early European Christians believed that if Candlemas happened on a sunny day, then one could expect 40 more days of wintery weather.
In Germany, the tradition of Candlemas was merged with the belief that if small animals, such as badgers glimpsed their own shadow - hence a sunny day, then there would be an extended winter.
When German immigrants settled Pennsylvania in the 18th and 19th centuries, they brought the germanic customs of Candlemas with them. In leu of a badger, the groundhog became the annual forecaster.
The annual media event known as “Groundhog Day” originated in Punxsutawney, PA in 1983, as a way to build tourism.
OK, now that I have taken you all down that rabbit (or groundhog) hole, let’s get back to the dead groundhog.
With three dogs bounding around my feet, all of whom still have not noticed the dead or nearly dead groundhog (yet to be determined), I ever so casually saunter to the front of the barn. My dogs and groundhogs, particularly this family of groundhogs, go way back. Bella (below), is my killer rabbit - with her blue eyes, fluffy mane and sweet demeanor. But she is glad to tear into a groundhog- live or dead. I must add, that Bella goes after groundhogs like a steak tartare dinner. Not a pretty sight, and not an event that I wish to have happen at this particular moment in time. Back to my hurt foot. Frankly, in order to get through the day, I need to direct my dogs away from chaos. Any sort of meeting between “Punxsutawney Phil” and Bella isn’t going to happen on my watch at this point in time.
(Pictured above: Bella- my own personal killer rabbit. She not big on strangers, either).
Oso, the red young male pup, does not need a lesson from his auntie Bella in how to shake something dead and eat it ! We are still busy trying to instill the idea that chickens, guinea fowl and black vultures are not “playthings”. That is, they are not to be chased, harassed, killed or even looked at. Which (so far), he totally gets - even at eight months old, because being a “very good boy” is most important to him. But today is not the day to test just how good he is willing to be.
(Pictured above: Bella - the killer rabbit, her sister, Nina [who doesn’t get the whole notion of killing animals, although she dearly loves a good deer chase] and the pup Oso).
I get the dogs back to the house, without having them seeing said dead beast. Then armed with a shovel and garbage bag, I head back out to the barn to dispose of the carcass.
Turns out, ground hogs play possum. The stinker has departed the scene. Gone to greener pastures. Humph! Here is the thing about putting any living thing in a tight corner, they will do anything to get out of it. Even lie. Turns out ground hogs lie.
Turns out people who feel trapped lie too.
Back to loading trash.
Jill and I have been breeding working Aussies now for almost two decades. We only have a litter every six or seven years, to keep what we like in the old working lines going.
The first photo above at the top is of Oso Rojo (Rojo) - the great-grand parent of our pup Oso, and the grand parent of the two girls.
(Rojo and Luna - great and grand parents of our current dogs).
(Jill used to put working titles on some of our dogs -sheep, cattle).
(When we lived in Jefferson, Maryland (early 2000s), we had a Christmas tradition of hitching Percheron and driving a pair to town to buy a Christmas tree).
(One of our boys in the back of the wagon - with Rojo, Luna and Cal. Rojo and Cal were also great groundhog hunters. Luna -not so much.).
I am going to indulge myself in putting up a few more images.
At one time, we used to breed, show, drive, and train Percherons (giant draft horses). Now that we have light horses, I forget just how big a Percheron stallion is. Pictured is MG’s Prince Charles. Our pride and joy for many a year.
Farming is in my veins. Science, medicine is my muse - but the farm and family is where I turn to heal.
What a beautiful story! :-) Thank you for sharing, Dr. Malone!
Beautiful photos, beautiful family (including the dogs & horses). Thanks for the "up close and personal."