Compost That!: Groundhog's Day

Traditions are those wonderful practices passed down from one generation to the next, helping to define and transmit a common culture. Often filled with meaning beyond what we understand, traditions have deep meaning and offer us a way to punctuate the seasons, our history, religious events, our rites of passage, our personal milestones. Sometimes they come from deep in the past, sometimes we observe them to honor an elder, and sometimes, as in the case of Groundhog's Day in our family, a child has led us.

On a balmy early February day in Central California, 28 years ago, a four year old girl named Emily was riding her pink bike with training wheels on the sidewalk in front of her house, pigtails flying, as her parents worked in the yard. Emily had been learning about Groundhog's Day at Montessori School and the mystery and wonder of that furry prognosticator was filling her mind. She was a child who thought deeply about such things, and there was much to think about: shadows and light, winter sleep and spring wakening, early blooms and deepening cold. Her heart continued to fill and finally she asked her mother for permission to do something about these thoughts, something surprising and outside what was usual for her reserved personality. Emily wanted to ask the neighbors, many of whom were out in their yards enjoying the weather, how they were going to celebrate Groundhog's Day. Certainly, she reasoned, people were going to celebrate! The story of the Groundhog was magical, and coming close on the heels of Christmas, Emily understood that great events required ritual and special marking, usually singing and food.

Yes, said her mother, you may ride your bike up and down the block and ask our neighbors what they planned to do for Groundhog's Day. A mother will gladly hold her own heart outside of her body to keep her child's heart warm and beating inside the protected space of her bone and muscle. And so Emily's mother watched as the little girl, dressed in matching pink and gray fleece pants and hoodie, bravely approached Ralph, the crotchety old man with the big heart next door; Mrs. Sorenson, the kind woman who was the first and only owner of her home, built in 1930; Yuriko, the neighbor who was the least scary because she spoke with an accent just like Emily's Grandma Suzy's; and others, all out enjoying the sunshine and each other.

It only took a few minutes for Emily to return home, confused and a little teary-eyed. The result of her survey was improbable and disorienting - nobody had plans to mark the day. Not one neighbor could tell her about plans to celebrate!

Now, imagine a precious little face, full of concerned expectation, looking up and asking what our family plans to do, when the rest of the known world plans to do nothing at all? What were we going to do about Groundhog's Day?

Well, honey, the obvious answer is that we will bake the best chocolate cake ever, a cake that will be worthy of the occasion, a cake that will be decorated with symbols of February 2nd, a cake that will leave us satisfied that the Groundhog has been honored.

We gathered a collection of small plastic animals from Emily's playthings, including one that we designated as the Groundhog (it may actually be a beaver, but I won't commit to it), baked that cake and ate it with joy as we retold the tale of the creature who came out to see its shadow - or not.

And every year since that year, that particular recipe for chocolate cake has been used on Groundhog's Day, and only on Groundhog's Day, with the same animals to decorate it. Even in college and law school when Emily was away from home, she corralled her friends into the ritual.

And yesterday, February 2, 2013, we did it again. This time, the enchanted child was a blue-eyed little boy who, like his mother, thought the Groundhog was magic, indeed.