Autumn, fall, change of the seasons, whatever you call it, occurs in the northern hemisphere on September 23 at 8:20 UTC. It’s a time when things start winding down in gardens, the kids are probably already back in school and you’re looking at your heating bill with a bit of trepidation, knowing that winter’s beating a steady path to your door.
But let’s stick with autumn for now.
Autumn occurs when the sun hits a point in the sky called the autumnal equinox, or here:
Credit: H.A. Rey, “The Stars”
It’s the little “V” you see underneath Virgo’s head, as if she fell down and tripped on the ecliptic (the path in the sky where the sun, moon and stars “travel” along the zodiac). The sun hits this spot on or about 21 September each year, but as noted above, this year it falls on the 23 September. But if you look in the newspaper or even on many weather web sites, you’ll notice that the times of sunrise and sunset are anything but equal. It’s close, but not exactly 12 hours of day and dark. A lot of that depends upon your latitude. The further south you go, that date creeps into October.
Here’s a handy chart to show sunrise and sunset times for New York You’ll see day and night aren’t equal until September 26. Why? You’ll find an explanation here.
This National Geographic video explains not only the autumnal equinox, but also nifty cultural practices that go along with it.
(You might want to watch it before Rupert Murdoch gets ahold of it and turns it into an exploitive clip about the sun ripping off the nighttime sky by getting dark earlier and earlier).
Want to hear the definitive theme song of autumn? Here’s a short, catchy tune by the band Screeching Weasel called “First Day of Autumn”:
Most important of all, nighttime sky watches CAN’T MISS the total eclipse of the moon! It takes place on September 27/28, 2015. Click here for details to look out for it in your neck of the woods. In New York, it actually begins at a decent time, starting at 8:11 pm, with the full eclipse occurring at 10:11 and lasting until 10:47. If you haven’t seen a total lunar eclipse, it’s worth watching. It’s a slow process, but you’ll have time to truly enjoy it. Don’t take your eyes off of it between 9:50 and 10:15 – watching the moon turn red is the coolest thing ever. Break out your binoculars!
Hope you didn’t make any plans to take that much-needed restful vacation to Puerto Rico from September 15-28, 2015. And while that’s the heart of the hurricane season, this wrath-of-nature event’s going to create giant waves not as the result of intense low pressure, but the crashing of a honking huge space rock. Yes, folks, this sucker’s got our name on it and it’s that apocalyptic nightmare we’ve been long warned about. So if any of you were thinking about paying bills or going to college, your time’d be better spent making plans of an otherworldly sort – the kind that involves a sudden belief in religion and hoping that all of those priests, preachers and other sorts are right.
NOT!
Oh geez, here we go again. Once again, life on Earth is going to end. Or that’s what they’d like you to believe on the internet.
So much buzz and inquiry flew around in cyberspace that the American authority on such matters, NASA, had to release a statement that categorically denied our home planet’s days were numbered.
As things go, this latest rumor of our planet’s demise have been greatly exaggerated. There is no asteroid, the Earth is still planning to turn and as far as vacations to Puerto Rico are concerned, it’s still hurricane season and you still might want to check the forecast before you leave.
Back in 1982, a rare alignment of all nine planets (back then, Pluto was considered one) occurred. Our entire solar system lined up within a 95° arc, all on one side of the sun in March of that year. This amazing event prompted horrific rumors of devastating earthquakes, shifts in gravitational forces and life as we know it’d go the way of Betamax players (also popular at the time). And no Earth-ending force would be complete without California’s San Andreas fault sliding off the West Coast and offering the residents of Arizona the beachfront property they’d been longing for. Of course, no one would have even given this planetary lineup a second thought had it not been for the book written by John Gribbin, Ph.D., and Stephen Plagemann, called The Jupiter Effect, published in 1974. For some reason, nothing really happened except nighttime sky observers had a fantastic view. Not long after, Gribbin and Plagemann published, The Jupiter Effect Reconsidered, backtracking to say the actual event occurred in 1980 and was responsible for the monumental eruption of Mt. St. Helens. Finally, in 1999, Gribbin admitted he might have been mistaken about the whole thing.
There seems to be no end of apocalyptic predictions, it seems – humankind thrives on them. Most of them seem to revolve around Christ coming again and bible predictions, or some deity wreaking havoc, or even a random event magically pull the plug on our planet. To illustrate, Wikipedia has a fairly comprehensive (although by no means complete) list of popular end-of-it-all predictions. Suffice it to say, we’re all still here.
Why is it seemingly so popular to want life to end on our planet? Lots of reasons. Those in power used it as a means to control less sophisticated types, while others, through limited means of scientific understanding, considered such celestial events as comets to be a omen of death. The same goes for plagues, droughts and other extreme weather events, earthquakes, eclipses and more. I remember as a kid hearing Pat Robertson of the 700 Club predict the world would end in 1982. Why? He was a big fan of the Antichrist and figured that’d be a good time as any for the devil to show up. That, and this prediction bolstered viewers for his popular TV show. Hey, wouldn’t you want the latest details of your demise? Of course, if you were God’s Chosen, you’d be lifted up in The Rapture…and all of his viewers were special, natch.
Alas, as long as humans trod the earth, there will be naysayers for its future. The Assyrians are famously known for making this oft-quoted prediction, way back in 2800 BC:
“Our Earth is degenerate in these later days; there are signs that the world is speedily coming to an end; bribery and corruption are common; children no longer obey their parents; every man wants to write a book and the end of the world is evidently approaching.”
I’ve been back for a week, yet I’m struggling to figure out what to write in this blog. I’ve so much to say about Pluto, the near miss up in the ISS and Ant-Man, but my thoughts keep drifting back to my recent vacation. So why not blog about that? It was, after all, the last subject of my blog.
Andrew and I took a trip that amounted to 4000+ miles/6437+ kilometers, driving through New York, Connecticut, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, Maine, New Brunswick, Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, all in 15 days. For those of you who are unfamiliar with such places, check it out on a map. Looks doable, right? That’s what we said. And sure, it is. However, possibilities always come with caveats and, in our case, ambition met with reality. Our car ate up the miles and burned through its recent oil change all in one journey, but it didn’t complain once.
I have to tell you, it was an AMAZING adventure that I hope to repeat…just not all at once. Be that as it may…
We started out one early morning and drove clear up to Maine in one shot – nine hours – and settled in Freeport, Maine, home of L.L. Bean and their grammatically incorrect sign, unless you really don’t want people kissing outside your store:
It’s a charming town, so we stayed overnight, shopped a bit at the 24-hour L.L. Bean, then continued on the next morning through the vast expanse that is Maine. Traveling along State Highway 9, we discovered its beauty – and its remoteness. Feeling hungry and needing a pit stop, there wasn’t a single place to pull over and eat. Sure, there were a few convenience stores with take-out menus, but no toilets. Luckily, we found a place just when our bladders and stomachs nearly gave up hope. About an hour and a half later we arrived at Lubec, where we crossed into Canada.
Up until relatively recently, Americans and Canadians had to show only a driver’s license to cross the border. Now, we need passports or an enhanced license, which contains much of the same information one has on its driver’s license embedded in it. But that doesn’t stop anyone from enjoying each other’s nation’s treasures.
Our goal was Campobello Island, where Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt had a summer cottage (a term I’ll use loosely) and also the location where he caught crippling polio that prevented him from walking for the rest of his life…but didn’t stop him from becoming the greatest American president ever.
From there, we took a tiny ferry across to Deer Island, and because the tide wasn’t going the right way, we missed the world’s largest natural whirlpool – looks like a sink draining. Another ferry put us into St. John, NB, and quite possibly the worst motel room we’ve ever had, ever. But it was only for one night and the drive to it was quite beautiful – saw a moose! – and then it was up to Moncton.
We eventually wound up at Confederation Bridge, a bridge so long it took three songs playing on the radio to keep us entertained while we crossed. It was totally cool, though. PEI is one of these magical places that you trip upon at some point in your life and swear you’re coming back. Lucy Maud Montgomery felt sufficiently inspired to write “Ann of Green Gables,” and we were lucky enough to stay across the street from the home that inspired her to write said book.
The next day, we rode horses on some Martian-red sand and hopped a ferry from PEI to Nova Scotia, just in time to celebrate Canada Day.
Tides are insaaaaaane! Check out the below photo:
Now this is a low tide! Andrew’s in the lower right hand corner, crouching as he snaps a photo. That’ll give you some perspective on how empty the beach becomes after the water ebbs.
After Nova Scotia we drove north and headed to Newfoundland. We took the 8-hour ferry to Port-aux-Basques, giving me ample time to finish “The Caves of Steel” by Isaac Asimov, nap, eat and take artful selfies.
Hey, we were bored…
Newfoundland’s AMAZING. Nothing short of. However, take my advice – DO NOT plan to drive from Port-aux-Basques to St. John’s in one day. It’s something like 570 miles/913 km/12 hours in one go. Andrew and I are idiots. We said f*** it, let’s go. So we did. Along the way, we saw this:
…which led to this:
Yes, he boldly went where many moose dare to go – in the middle of the highway – and I was driving, but luckily he chose to run back into the woods and not total our car, but not before Andrew took his incriminating photo.
Because Newfoundland is packed with pristine beauty, we stopped frequently. Even took the time to nip into Terra Nova Provincial Park.
Finally, we came to St. John’s, saddle sore but relieved. Loved that city the moment I stepped into it, not because it was the end of the road (finally), but because it’s a happening town all lit up like an Easter basket under a Christmas tree.
However, we had a mission: icebergs. We were not disappointed.
There are no words to describe that iceberg that accurately conveys its size or majesty. That’s the ice field an iceberg leaves behind – just as dangerous as the iceberg itself. Later on our tour, Andrew and I were screeched – listened to a Newfie recite the history of the province, taught us a saying in Newfie tongue, we had to repeat said (incomprehensible) phrase, kiss a frozen cod and take a shot of rum. Afterwards, we received a certificate declaring us Screeched and honorary Newfoundlanders.
Alas, we turned around and headed back towards the ferry (another 13-hour drive) and over to Nova Scotia once more to enjoy Bras d’Or Lake and a coastal assortment of lighthouses, then a fun-filled evening in Halifax, only to have lunch in Moncton once again and depart Canada over a very friendly crossing at St. Stephen, New Brunswick to Calais, Maine. In fact, both towns are so close you see license plates from both New Brunswick and Maine in each town’s streets.
A quick stop in Bar Harbor, Maine and Sturbridge, Massachusetts over the next two days ended with our arrival at home.
It’s that time of year, in these parts of the world, at least, that one rises off of one’s bottom and seeks adventure, or a break from the routine, at least. This New York State person is headed out, way out, to the above pictured place. Can you guess where that might be?
Gas is relatively cheap now. Put that together with the American love of cars. The result? Pack it to the gills and set off somewhere that you’ve never been before. See, the advantage of a road trip is that you don’t have to juggle weights in suitcases to shove them in a 747’s cargo hold. You have the absolute freedom to take every single pair of pants you own, twenty pairs of shoes, all your T-shirts, most of your sweaters and about eighty percent of your socks and underwear. So what if the trunk won’t close – there’s no weight restriction!
Andrew and I decided we’d head off to Atlantic Canada: New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island and Newfoundland. I’ve been to Canada a bunch of times, just not there. Andrew’s never set foot in the country. I happen to think it’s a fine place worth visiting over and over again. It is, after all, right next door.
As a kid, I dreamed of going to Nova Scotia after seeing such dramatic photos of the Bay of Fundy in a National Geographic magazine. Having grown up on the New Jersey shore, the Atlantic there seemed pretty tame, only eating up a relatively small chunk of the beach at high tide. Here, the beach either vanished entirely or the ocean disappeared. Wow! Years later, after Andrew and I married, he showed me the dramatic tides in Cornwall, England, where he’s from. That was pretty cool, but my curiosity about the Bay of Fundy never abated.
I trolled the Internet looking for cool places to visit and pretty soon, the itinerary filled up with New Brunswick – we’re crossing in Maine and I want to see Campobello Island (where President Roosevelt contracted polio and left him crippled). Then up to Nova Scotia, PEI and Newfoundland added spots in our must-see list. Tell you what, though, this website for Newfoundland won me over. It’s not like I didn’t want to see it, this quirky website made it impossible not to.
No trip is complete without a reading list. It’s going to be time for me to catch up on my classic sci-fi and I’m bringing along a selection of Asimov, Bradbury and one or two others to read, mostly on that 8-hour ferry ride between New Sydney, NS and Newfoundland. Andrew’s reading “Existence” by David Brin and “The Martian” by Andy Weir. I fully intend to abscond with both at some point.
But for now, as we set out on our epic adventure, I might just stare out the window and enjoy the sites on our own fair planet. Or look up and see my favorite constellations in different places. Cross fingers, there could be an aurora – sunspot activity’s been kicking up. I’m hoping to find enough wi-fi sites to do a few postings. And who knows? Maybe I’ll see one of those icebergs drifting by.
Hooray! Today, the Hubble Telescope celebrates its 25 anniversary! And what a celebration it should be, and is. The New York times posted an article today that features astronomers and others involved in Hubble’s history what their favorite photo is.
Here’s one of my favorite images:
This photo is from 2012, and a brief description taken from NASA’s HubbleSite.org follows:
The giant elliptical galaxy in the center of this image, taken by NASA’s Hubble Space Telescope, is the most massive and brightest member of the galaxy cluster Abell 2261.
Spanning a little more than one million light-years, the galaxy is about 10 times the diameter of our Milky Way galaxy. The bloated galaxy is a member of an unusual class of galaxies with a diffuse core filled with a fog of starlight. Normally, astronomers would expect to see a concentrated peak of light around a central black hole. The Hubble observations revealed that the galaxy’s puffy core, measuring about 10,000 light-years, is the largest yet seen.
The observations present a mystery, and studies of this galaxy may provide insight into how black hole behavior may shape the cores of galaxies.
Astronomers used Hubble’s Advanced Camera for Surveys and Wide Field Camera 3 to measure the amount of starlight across the galaxy, dubbed A2261-BCG. Abell 2261 is located three billion light-years away.
The observations were taken March to May 2011. The Abell 2261 cluster is part of a multi-wavelength survey called the Cluster Lensing And Supernova survey with Hubble (CLASH).
Object Names: Abell 2261, A2261-BCG
Image Type: Astronomical
Credit:NASA, ESA, M. Postman (STScI), T. Lauer (NOAO), and the CLASH team
# # #
But what do I find so fascinating about it?
Click on the above link for larger files of the above photo. Take a look. It’s an amazing assortment of galaxies – tons of them! And they’re beautiful, so beautiful, gems each and every one. This literally took my breath away. Not only are those galaxies millions of light years away, their light comes to us from millions of years ago. What we see no longer is, and who knows what’s taken its place, if anything at all.
Within each of those galaxies floating in the universe are worlds utterly unknown to us. We can fantasize and dream about life on another planet in another galaxy, but the truth is a bit elusive at the moment. Still, we can regard them for what the Hubble brings to us – a beautiful perspective of the universe and its imagery.
If you find yourself a bit bored, sad or otherwise challenged by the rigors of this world, click on the Hubble Telescope site. Explore its pages. Allow yourself to dream and be awed at this portal on the magnificence of nature.
There’s a tiny, disk-sized patch of snow behind the museum where I work, a reminder that winter wasn’t all that long ago. I keep waiting for it to melt, but it refuses, so I ignore it and remember that its water’s going to water the grass it’s hiding. In defiance, some crocuses finally gathered the gumption to bloom – a month late – and later the daffodils joined in.
Ah, spring!
But if that snow didn’t want to release its chilly grip on Earth, all I had to do was look up and see the spring sky greet me. Clouds are the only impediment to these yearly harbingers of warmer times.
I’ve got a few favs I eagerly look for when the days begin to lengthen. When Leo starts strutting up that heavenly hill come February, spring isn’t far behind.
There’s no mistaking him. He’s got a jewel on one foot, Regulus, magnitude 1.4, and sports another in his tail, Denebola, a bright second-magnitude (2.14) star. He leads the parade for my next favorite grouping:
Bootes, the Herdsman. You can’t mistake him either, although he’s so large it’ll might take a little patience to find him. His main-feature star, Arcturus, lights up his lap. He’s sitting down, smoking his pipe, wondering how all those sheep he was supposed to watch disappeared (perhaps Leo ate them?).
Or maybe he’s just trying to hide that hunk of bling behind him, the Northern Crown, or Corona Borealis. It has a second-magnitude star, Gemma, actually a binary star, or two stars rotating around each other. Its magnitude shifts from 2.21 to 2.32, not very noticeable with the unaided eye. You’d need seventeen straight days to stare up at it with a telescope to measure the change.
Credit: Till Credner (Own work: AlltheSky.com)
We all know how lions pride themselves on their gorgeous manes. Bootes must share the same sentiment, because between him and Leo, there’s a fantastic group of very faint stars known as Berenice’s Hair.
It’s small, but that doesn’t make it special! There are eight galaxies within it, several globular clusters, 200 variable stars in its region and if that weren’t enough, the North Galactic Pole is amidst her strands. But wait! There’s more! She gets all twinkly and festive during the Christmas season. Bragging her own meteor showers during December and January, she peaks from December 18-25, right in time for the holidays. It’s also important, when looking at her, not to expect to spot the Milky Way. When her hair is high in the sky, the Milky Way is lower in the sky, on or near the horizon.
And speaking of meteor showers, in mornings you’ll find the Lyrids, or meteor showers occurring near the constellation Lyra. Those occur at the end of April, peaking between April 22-25. The radiant is where to look; the meteors seem to be originating from that point.
Credit: astrobob.areavoices.com
Now, get off that couch, stop texting, get outside and go have yourselves a great look at the nighttime sky!
There’s a whole lot going on in nature this week. Take, for example, the March 20th total eclipse. It’s the first total for a couple of years. The others have been annular, or the kind where the moon doesn’t quite hide the sun and it peeks out like a ring. And in case you didn’t know, eclipses come in pairs, two weeks apart: the sun hides its face, then the moon. It’s just the way nature works. Not everyone gets to see this spectacular event; those in the northern extremes of Europe (and polar regions) will see it just fine, but the rest of Europe will have to settle for a partial eclipse. That’s fine by me, something is better than nothing.
Eclipses are weird. I experienced a total eclipse when I was about 7 or 8 years old. It was covered live on TV, when people still held wonderment and what nature could do. I clearly remember it got dark, a fairly good representation of the stars came out, birds went silent and all became still. Mom admonished me for looking up at the sky, yet both of us snuck a peek and I remember getting a chill. It was so, so strange to see this blackness where the sun ought to be. Lots of our neighbors came outside and pointed and laughed nervously. We all knew better. We knew that the sun’d pop back out again and the warmth would return, birds would wake up, a bit confused at the short night, perhaps, but ready to launch into song once more. And sure enough, it did. Everyone retreated to the inside of their houses, catching the few last bits of the broadcast describing the marvel we all experienced.
So what if the sun got stuck, though, behind the moon? Suppose, just for an hour or two, the sun had had enough of working to warm the planet. The moon, normally a celestial object waiting to dominate the evening sky, chose not to budge, either. Let’s say they went to war. A line was drawn in the sky, and neither of them were giving way until the other relented. Imagine what people might say then? Oh, they’d be all right with it for about the first five or ten minutes, but after that? A nip in the air becomes a chill, then cold, then freeze. Our balance turns wobbly, then a sickly feeling emerges from our insides. Hair rises off of our heads as breezes end. Building creak, water flows everywhere and electricity shorts out. Planes can’t fly. Our world ceases, but still exists. The National Guard is called out, but is helpless against the force of nature.
Take that, Nature says, and keep on ruining the planet. I’ll take care of matters for myself. When all of you have had your fill of ignorance, I’ll imbue you with light. Until then, may the best people evolve, while I clean house.
Ah, if only…
In the meantime, we’re still here, facing the Ides of March, Pi Day, and the inevitable East Coast first day of spring snowstorm from the relentless winter we’ve been experiencing. Can’t wait to shovel that 3″ – 6″ in the driveway.
Multiple images of the Supernova Refsdal, appearing over time.Credit: NASA and European Space Agency
There’s a sight to behold in the universe, located in the constellation Pegasus. It’s known as the Einstein Cross, a singular supernova that is seen four times. It’s an example of the forces of time and gravity meeting in space, and what can happen when they dance together.
Simply put, the Einstein Cross is the result of gravitational lensing. That means there’s something in the way that’s spreading the view. Take, for example, one exploding star. Place in front of it a collection of galaxies. The gravitational force is such that the rays of light are spread in several different directions, and in this case, four. So while it’s rare enough to catch a star exploding, it’s even more magnificent to watch it four times.
The New York Times has a great article and a very cool video regarding this unique occurrence in the universe. You can read it here.
It used to be a common joke, once upon a time: selling a naive sucker the Brooklyn Bridge. Same goes with swamp acreage. But the moon?
Con artists throughout time dreamt up plots to sell lunar land as expansive as the graveyard along the Garden State Parkway. Don’t worry about how you’re going to get there – you’ll figure it out! Where else can you get so much prime real estate? Tell you what, it’s yours for the price of $100!
Well, there’s organizations selling star’s names to people willing to shell out money for no real reason except vanity – the National Star Registry, for example – but how real is that? Turns out, there’s interest in developing what the moon’s got to offer, and it could possibly be open to anyone with a way up and back.
Before that happens, though, there’s a few important details to consider, starting with the Outer Space Treaty of 1967 (also known as the Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space, including the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies). Simply put, it says the moon belongs to no one in particular but to all humankind, no nation can put weapons of mass destruction upon it, and any nation that places a space object that lands upon it is responsible for any damages caused by said object.
This treaty was created well before the concept of private concerns launching their own scientific/lunar endeavors into space. But we’re entering a new stage of space conceptualization now. Private industry is poised to take over where nations once ruled. Corporations such as SpaceX already contribute to NASA missions. So what’s next? The Moon Treaty of 1979 clearly states that no private entity can profit from the moon, and whatever is reaped from the moon must be for the benefit of all. The United States, Russia and China, as well as many other nations, never signed it. While there’s no underhanded endeavor to plunder the moon’s riches currently underhand, anyone’s a fool to think that isn’t going to happen as soon as it’s possible.
And really, what’s to stop individuals from going on up and taking what essentially is ungoverned land? Think about it. Throughout the history of the Earth, nations have taken over other nations, usurped the powers of other leaders, raped the resources and ruined cultures, all for the sake of greed and profit. The entire side of the globe where I live (the United States) can thank its present existence to explorers from the other side of it, all in the name of seeing what’s there and what can be done with it. Never mind that the land was already populated and doing well enough.
Truly, it’s only a matter of time before honest lunar endeavors turn into questionable ones. In my mind, it’ll begin as an entirely cooperative gesture with clearly drawn lines. But in the end, a small incident will lead to greater dissatisfaction, and it’ll only be a matter of time before hell will break loose.
In the meantime, enjoy the view. It might change dramatically during our lifetimes, or those of our descendants.
February 2 is a big day for a small creature. Lots of pressure rests upon the back of the above pictured groundhog. And yes, while he’s enjoying the lovely spring weather in the tree in our backyard, a lot depends upon his interpretation of when that season arrives.
Since it’s really not fair to pin the entire nation’s forecast on one groundhog, many locations throughout the United States and Canada have their own local weather hog. Their names usually reflect their hometowns, such as Punxutawney Phil (from Punxutawney, PA, where the movie Groundhog Day was set), or Staten Island Chuck (from Staten Island, NY), Balzac Billy (from Balzac, Alberta), Queen Charlotte (from Charlotte, NC) or Winnipeg Willow (from Winnipeg, Manitoba).
If it’s a cloudy day and the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow, it’s an early spring. Should that sun be blazing away in the sky, well, that’s enough to discourage any groundhog from enjoying the weather and so our rotund rodent friend retreats to the burrow. Counterintuitive? Yeah, I think so. I mean, why would anyone beat a quick exit from the sun unless they forgot their sunscreen?
Since I’m in the Hudson Valley, I generally take my predictions from Staten Island Chuck. I seem to remember there being a closer chuck, but I didn’t happen to hear what his prediction might be for spring, so I’m sticking with SIC. Seems that he called for an early spring and went back inside. Or maybe he was a bit reticent in making any sort of prediction. You see, last year New York City Mayor Bill DeBlasio was invited to participate in the ceremony and held up the woodchuck/groundhog for the first time. Upon holding said animal, it wriggled from his grasp, fell, and died a few weeks later. This year? Bill watched.
But really, I’d have to say I agree with what SIC predicted. It seems like we’re on a Monday snowstorm schedule. For the past few weeks, we’ve had snow, and just enough to close the schools and prevent me and Andrew from driving to work (but not from our desks at home). It refuses to snow on the weekends, or if it does, it’s on Sunday evening when we’re attentively watching Downton Abbey. The last thing I’m wondering is how I’m going to get to work, it’s how anyone finds Mary so fascinating when she’s got to be the least passionate, sex-craving person on the planet, and yet she attracts men in droves (it’s the money, surely).
I digress.
There is no weather science behind the groundhog, nor do they receive any special instruction from their elders that bestows upon them all the magical powers they’ll need to tell us to go get more salt for the driveway and gas for the snowblower. It all came from a European tradition involving a badger. Pennsylvania Germans began their tradition here in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, with the first recorded prediction noted in 1841 from Morgantown, PA (he didn’t say what the groundhog thought about the weather, but I’m sure it wasn’t positive).
As far as I can tell, I’ve not seen any official recognition by the National Weather Service regarding the predictions of any of this nation’s groundhog prognosticating teams. Given the nature of some of their recent predictions, however, one might think they’ve consulted Staten Island Chuck to see what his take on those clouds moving in from the south and east mean.
I’m going with SIC’s prediction for now: six more weeks. After all, we’re expecting 6-12 inches come Sunday into Tuesday.
Moon, Stars and Beyond 
