If You Ask Me / By Martha Knight

Had enough yet?

For some of us, one pretty snowfall, just before Christmas, would be enough. No drifts, please. Maybe a fresh dusting when it gets dingy. Hold the ice.

The skiers will want more snow, but why not limit it to the ski slopes? Hunters like some tracking snow during hunting season. Okay, okay, snow in moderation, at certain times, is bearable. But we could do without the bitter cold, right? Shoveling gets old fast. Keeping ice-melt around is difficult when what the store has on hand is in 50-pound bags I can’t carry.

The horrible road conditions need to go, too. Enough with the non-stop plowing, the spreading of anti-skid mixtures,

So this year of all years, it is crucial to avoid the Woodchuck Curse. We all learned, early in life, that if a woodchuck come out of hibernation and scrambles to the surface on February 2, and sees its shadow, there will be six weeks more winter.

Six weeks! Six weeks more of what winter is this year, six more weeks of frigid temperatures and mountainous gas bills and pipe thawing and all night faucet drizzling. Six miserable weeks! Instead of the month and a half we would have, otherwise.

We know from experience and logic that it isn’t just one woodchuck that puts us at risk of extended winter woes. Of course not. Look, this has been going on for centuries, and throughout what we laughingly call the Temperate Zone. The local woodchucks affect the local winter, regardless of what Punxsutawney Phil sees or doesn’t see, says or doesn’t say, when his handlers haul him out of his artificial den.

So that is why we need to plug all the woodchuck holes! Somebody from PETA is likely to complain that this is inhumane. The poor things won’t have enough ventilation! They need to be able to come out and perform their courtship rituals or whatever, and arrange for marmot marriage, something on the order of “Muskrat Love.”

(If Captain and Tennille could have a romantic hit based on anthropomorphized muskrats, why not celebrate woodchucks in the same way? Rhyme possibilities abound. Luck, snuck, muck, pluck, amuck…)

PETA schmeta. Where are they when horses and cattle break their legs in chuck holes? I know someone who swears he broke a ski pole in a chuck hole and took a bad header himself. And at least one golfer swears he lost a fortune in golf balls in a chuck hole at the Echo; but then, that golfer swears a lot about his game.

So I say we are entitled to go forth and plug all the woodchuck holes prior to February 2. If your conscience smites you, turn the other cheek. Or go out and unplug the chuck holes on February 3, when the danger is past. Then humanely shoot the chucks when they emerge.

As I see it, plugging the chuck holes is the least we can do. That measure does not provide as much protection as the marmot menace calls for, does it! That is why I have encouraged readers to do due diligence with varmint plinking, poison, flooding with the garden hose, sending trained mini dachshunds down to the lairs, deploying heat seeking missiles—Be creative!

Running over woodchucks on the highway is somewhat effective, but it would be better if drivers would chase them down off-road as well. Otherwise it’s a matter of being right there when the groundhog decides to cross at that particular place.

Years ago my first hubby (I will call him DH1) and I were cruising along in our Simca (subcompact Chrysler product made in France) when he beheld a woodchuck right in front of us.

Because Simcas had the motor in back and the trunk in front, we thought DH1 should have been able to yank on the trunk-opener lever and capture a leaping deer, pelican style. But that would not work with a lumbering woodchuck. (Of course woodchucks lumber. The question in the song is how much, not whether.)

There was no time for DH1 to take evasive action. So we went over the woodchuck with the left front wheel, then the left back wheel, WHUMP—THUMP!! I turned around to look back, and DH1 looked in the rear-view. He was starting to pull over so we could go back and get the mess off the road.

But no need! As we watched, the chuck got up, shook itself, and then finished crossing the road, looking disgusted but not even limping.

Instead of signing off with “Peace,” I leave you with this touching piece. You know the tune.

Woodchuck, woodchuck, morning light

Mowin’ it down with all his might

In the mornin’, without warnin’

Do the Lindy at Woodchuck Land

And the two step, see him goose step—

Then they whirl and they twirl and they rumba,

Whistlin’ a whistle-pig numba,

Bloat from the clover they love,

Looks like Woodchuck Love.

Nibblin’ on lettuce, chewin’ on peas,

“Charlene dearest, would you please

Be my lady?”

She says, “Maybe.”

Now he’s scratchin’ her ears an’ pattin’ her back.

When he gets too fresh she gives him a whack;

What a couple! Hear them chuckle!

And they prance and they dance to some bebop

And they trample a sample of oat crop,

Dig a new tunnel of love—

Looks like Woodchuck Love.