Richard Rankin, Governor of the Groundhog Lodge, poses for a photo Thursday morning with Octoraro Orphie. The famed whistlepig did not see his shadow.
Word of Orphie's forecast spread quickly through the natural world.
Mere moments after Richard M. Rankin, Hibernating Governor of the Slumbering Groundhog Lodge, pronounced an early spring, a perfect "V" of Canada geese flew overhead, pointed north.
Octoraro Orphie, the stuffed, mounted and dapperly hatted groundhog who makes his home in the rolling hills south of Quarryville, did not see his shadow under gray skies Thursday morning.
His forecast, an annual event in southern Lancaster County, was announced during early morning rites by Octorara Creek.
Groundhog Day, a Pennsylvania German tradition dating to the 18th century and rooted in European folklore, is celebrated each year on Feb. 2, also known as Candlemas, in the United States and Canada.
According to tradition, a groundhog will emerge from its burrow on a cloudy day, signifying an early end to winter. If the groundhog sees its shadow under sunny skies, however, it will retreat underground, indicating six more weeks of cold weather.
More than 200 robed and top-hatted members of the Slumbering Groundhog Lodge, as well as several dozen onlookers, gathered Thursday morning on the shores of Octorara Creek for Orphie's 104th appearance.
"Obviously, you are all here because you have faith," Stu Mylin, Defender of the Faith for the lodge, proclaimed.
Although their secret rites at dawn were not open to public viewing, member of various lodge squads delivered rhyming reports to Rankin at the old wooden manure spreader — dubbed the Pinnacle of Prognostication — during hour-long festivities beginning at 8 a.m.
"Spring is just around the corner," Rankin announced to loud cheers from the crowd.
For lodge members, the day began much earlier, with breakfast and a variety of beverage options in the lodge starting long before dawn. Many lingered in the lodge for hours, playing cards, smoking pipes and cigars and chatting with friends. Outside, non-members gathered around a bonfire.
The group left the lodge shortly before 8 a.m., donning white nightshirts or lab coats and, of course, top hats.
The group crammed onto the narrow covered bridge spanning the creek before parading in loose formation, accompanied by a fiddle, guitar, a couple of drums and a toilet-seat banjo, to the Pinnacle for the rites.
Orphie's prediction contradicted that of Punxsutawney Phil, the western Pennsylvania whistlepig scoffed at as an impostor in these parts. Phil forecast six more weeks of winter after seeing his shadow on Gobbler's Knob, a small hill in Punxsutawney about 65 miles northeast of Pittsburgh.
The Punxsutawney tradition dates back to 1887. This year, the event there drew more than 15,000 spectators.
Orphie and Phil are longtime rivals, with parties on both sides claiming the other is a sham. More often than not, their predictions disagree.
The feud was acted out on Thursday during a brief skit by Slumbering Lodge members, who represented both groundhogs as professional wrestlers. Phil, of course, cheated, but still lost to a triumphant Orphie.
Another highlight of the day was the "baptism by fire" of five "babies," as new members of the lodge are known.
One of them, 53-year-old Tim Jackson of Quarryville, had the dubious distinction of being chosen for a literal baptism by dunking in the chilly waters of the Octorara.
"I've been looking forward to this for 20 years," Jackson, beaming in outlandish attire, said shortly before the event.
"I've known for 20 years that this is an organization I'd like to join, an organization I'd love to be a member of," he said. "I consider it an honor and a privilege to be doing this. An honor and a privilege."
Jackson — wearing a yellow squall suit, waders duct-taped to his pants, a yellow bib and bonnet festooned with ladybugs and a pair of rubber chickens as flotation devices — got a little pre-dunking advice from Clyde Dubble, who in 1974 was the third person dunked in the 41-year-old tradition.
"It's not so bad," he said, winking at Jackson. "We've only lost one person."
Jackson kept a smile plastered on his face throughout the ceremonies Thursday, even as he gripped the ropes of the dunking chair and was swung out over the cold, dark waters of the Octorara.
He was dunked three times and came up still smiling. "I believe, I believe," he cried as he was hauled back to shore.
"My boots are filled with water," he confided as he squelched back to the lodge. "But it was exhilarating."
