It is now time for a Spring festival in the heart of Winter.

Today, here in the United States (and Canada as well), it is Groundhog Day. On this day, little furry varmints are pulled out of their cages to participate in a quasi-traditional rite of prognostication, the results of which are no doubt influenced adversely by human participation.

At this moment, the digital thermometer says that it is 17 degrees F, and feels like 4 degrees F. My wife says that the Celsius scale works better in these temperatures, because it feels negative, so those numbers are -8 C, with a wind chill of -16 C. Winter only arrived in the last few weeks, and the lakes are not even frozen (i.e., enough for racing) yet.

In honor of Punxsutawney Phil (who apparently did not see his shadow and, therefore, predicts an early Spring) and the rest of the poor critters who were unwillingly forced out into this weather today, I will now crawl back under my covers to indicate my own prediction.