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Stepping out into the cold February morning I mumbled to wife Gwen, “I hate to be a naysayer but I believe the Pennsylvania wookchuck is a hoax, at least unworthy of Angelkeep forecasting, and I’m going out for ‘truth, justice, and the American way.’”
A slip on the icy February lawn caused a sudden stop under a tree. Just above was perhaps the wisest of all Angelkeep wildlife. “Mr. Owl,” I began, “have you ever heard of the crack-pot spring-beginning predictor Punxsutawney Phil?”
“Who?” the owl answered while spinning his head about left to right, forward and back.
“A Pennsylvania dude, maybe Quaker or Amish or Republican, he’s never said, but I seek someone to predict Angelkeep’s spring arrival.”
“Who?” the wise owl asked.
“Well, how about you, the wisest of feathered friends? What have you to say?” I pleaded.
“Knock, knock,” the owl began.
“Who’s there?” I answered curiously.
“Who.”
“Who who?” I responded in appropriate “knock-knock” form.
“Nice imitation, but can you fly or eat mice?” the wise old owl answered with a belly-feather fluffing chuckle.
By this time a squirrel was sniffing around the corn kernels that went flying from my feeding can when I slipped on the yet snow packed grass. I abandoned the laughing owl and approached the squirrel.
“Mr. Squirrel,” I began, trying to impress it with flattery. “My calendar lists March 20 as the first day of spring. What do you predict as the first spring day at Angelkeep?”
“Nuts” Mr. Squirrel said while staring at me and forming a question mark with his bushy brown tail.
“It’s actually corn kernels, what did you want me to bring out for the deer?” I asked.
“Nuts. Nuts. Nuts.” The squirrel said without beating around the bushy tail.
“Please, just give me a date,” I asked the squirrel, who was chattering away sounding much like two coins, the serrated edges of two quarters being rubbed together (Indiana quarters). “What do you think of Punxsutawney Phil’s guestimate at the remaining weeks of winter?”
“Nuts,” he said.
I almost asked if he meant nuts as “crazy” or nuts as “food,” when he darted for his oak tree, now abandoned by guess “Who?” since a deer was approaching the scattered corn.
The buck approached cautiously and snorted nostril vapor, indicating that today was not Angelkeep’s first warm spring day.
“Mr. Buck, I’m doing a spring prediction survey,” I began trying to act journalistic. “What is your prediction as to how many weeks remaining till Angelkeep experiences spring?”
The buck stomped his hoof once and snorted smog-like steam twice.
“Do you mean one or two weeks?” I queried for a definitive answer.
The buck lowered his head in my direction with nostril fog ricocheting off the frozen ground.
“Ugh, nice rack. Ten points, impressive. Do you know you have six tines on one side and four on the other? Not a trophy set! Now are you suggesting spring is 4 weeks, 6 weeks, or 10 weeks away?” I asked, wanting journalistic accuracy for The News-Banner.
The hind reared on his hinds, snorting like a duel stacked steam locomotive, in a deer-like suggestion for me to move away from his corn kernel claim. I raised my white tail in alarm and fled.
Racing to the house, slipping and sliding on the frozen icy lawn, I failed to discover a single dandelion. They are a sure sign of spring. The last dandelion that opened at Angelkeep was on December 2, 2009. So the MarkleBank calendar, the American Lung Association calendar, the American Heart Association calendar, the Ball State Univ. calendar, and all the other calendars sent to me must be right. Spring begins March 20, regardless of what Punxsutawney Phil said, or didn’t say. Angelkeep is beginning to think those Pennsylvanians have a wildlife imagination.
by ALAN DAUGHTERY
Mr. Daugherty is a Wells County resident who, along with his wife Gwen, enjoy their back yard and have named it “Angelkeep.”
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