"The next year I sometimes caught a mess of fish for my dinner, and once I went so far as to slaughter a woodchuck which ravaged my bean field ... and devour him, partly for experiment's sake; but though it afforded me a momentary enjoyment, not withstanding a musky flavor, I saw that the longest use would not make that a good practice, however it might seem to have your woodchucks ready dressed by the village butcher."
Henry David Thoreau,``Walden''
By Richard Young
Herald Copy Editor
CALL ME A CURMUDGEON if you want, but believe me, I find no reason to celebrate today, Groundhog Day, a day when a mob of frenzied followers quiver at the predawn antics of a rather large and nervous rodent.
As far as I'm concerned, every effort should be made to put Punxsutawney Phil and his kind on the endangered species list, or close to it, anyway.
No, it has nothing to do with his forecasting skills, questionable as they are. Nor does it have to do with the fact that he calls for another six weeks of winter right when we're itching for a spring thaw.
My contempt for Phil and groundhogs as a whole runs much deeper. It's rooted in a blood feud that borders on the homicidal. Such is my hatred, for I am of that breed of men that had no compassion for such creatures. I am of the most unforgiving of souls, those who seek vengeance, no matter how violent, once they have been wronged. I am ... a gardener.
Just as there are no atheists in foxholes, there are no animal lovers in gardens, at least none who love groundhogs, anyway. Ask any gardener; groundhogs are the most destructive creatures God ever created. They are in the purest sense of the word a ``pest.'' So don't be alarmed by my manner. Consider my story:
I approach gardening as an almost religious experience. You sow the tiny seed that holds the secret of life, and with the nurturing of the good Earth, the sun and the elements, life is renewed in the form of wonderful plants and fruit, which, in turn, give life to us. It's a holy avocation.
Enter the groundhog with an appetite. He enjoys fresh vegetables as much as I do, only he won't stop until he has his share and mine, too.
The beans were coming along so nicely a couple of years ago. They were several inches high, the leaves were full and green, and the plants were just ready to set fruit when Phil decided to go shopping in my garden, which he saw as his own open-air market. The next day the beans were gone without a trace. A Lawnboy couldn't have cut them any closer.
``You're gonna have to kill that groundhog,'' said Joe Wiercinski, my co-worker and gardening consultant. ``That's the only way you can deal with them.''
Naaa, I thought. It can't be all that bad. Besides, I couldn't kill anything; I'm a Democrat. But it wasn't a few weeks later that Phil had helped himself to the pumpkins, butternut squash and what was left of the lettuce. Such was his gluttony.
``I'm telling you, you're gonna have to kill that lousy groundhog,'' Joe said. ``He's just getting fat on your vegetables.''
Well, I thought, next year I'll try a fence. How naive. They're not called ``ground'' hogs for nothing. That season, when Phil found he couldn't go around the chicken wire, he commenced digging, and gone were the peas and my head lettuce.
Not, only was I finally convinced of my friend's advice, I was enraged. The ravenous beast entered my garden and laid waste to all my work. Not only did he rob me of my food, he took from me the enjoyment of a wholesome, creative hobby.
And in the process he turned me, a usually gentle fellow, into an obsessed fiend with a taste for blood. It was war now. Forget the live-tap, I thought. Were I to catch him, I would have done him in with my bare hands, run him through with my pitchfork, so I would.
And you wonder why I call for his death.
But, as murderous as my hatred is, I don't believe in killing for the sake of killing. That's wasteful. There has to be a purpose, a higher good that comes of it. And that is why I propose we stop thinking of the groundhog as the subject of a holiday or even a pest and consider him as something more useful, a food product.
Let's stop celebrating groundhogs and start cooking them.
I'm perfectly serious. I'm not the first to come up with the idea. Look at Thoreau; he knew a cheap meal when he saw one and seized the opportunity. True, he complained of a musky taste, but I bet with the right spices and modern cooking methods groundhog could be made into a delicacy that even Martha Stewart would serve. (Garnished with parsley and lemon, of course. Presentation is everything.)
And who knows? Maybe we'll hit upon a new, abundant source of low-fat protein. Groundhogs are as common as houseflies, and since they're strictly vegetarians they are no doubt pretty lean. Think about it: ``Groundhog, the other white meat.''
Granted, it may take awhile for Americans to get used to the idea of serving woodchuck, but you might be surprised once they get a taste of it. I know that during the Depression my mother's family enjoyed coon a time or two. (No, it didn't taste like chicken, more like beef.) And I'm willing to bet that right here in Mercer County there are a number of people who have actually cooked and enjoyed groundhog.
If so, I would like to hear from you. If you have a recipe, or if you agree with my idea of taking a common, nuisance animal and developing it into a useful food product, send me a letter, care of The Herald, Box 52, Sharon, 16146. Let's let the world know. Perhaps we could do a food page. Headline: ``We predict you'll love filet o'Phil.''
If you think I'm pursuing this out of what happened to my garden, you're absolutely right. After all, revenge is a dish best served cold.