My Journey To The Center Of The Groundhog Universe

Featured Image: Photo by Annie Bennett

“Oh, was that today?” is the usual response each year when people learn it’s Groundhog Day. Not me. I love this damn holiday. It’s the definition of whimsy and is so hilariously pointless. On a deeper level, though, I’ve always been obsessed with things that are just so human. For some, that feeling comes from seeing Christmas trees in everyone’s windows in December or watching ‘hope core’ videos on TikTok. For me, it’s Groundhog Day.

So, you can imagine my excitement when I saw a posting for a Groundhog Day rave last year. Surprising to no New Yorkers, it was in Bushwick. I went to a hole-in-the-wall club with EDM and drag (yes, the drag performers were dressed as groundhogs). Strobe lights were flashing, and a PowerPoint was projected on the stage, flipping through slides all about the famous Punxsutawney Phil. I learned about his significant backstory. Did you know he’s immortal because he drinks from an elixir of life, but his wife isn’t given the potion, so he often mourns his past lovers? Genuinely, read that again. That’s insane. I heard this, a few drinks in and borderline overstimulated, and decided some fact-checking was in order. 

It was all true. That night, I found out about a committee for Phil that handles his public appearances, general husbandry, and showmanship. And, you can be a supporting member of this club for $20. Again, I’m a few drinks in and putting on a slight shtick for my roommate and then-situationship, who both had accompanied me to the rave. So, I bit. I officially became a member of the Punxsutawney Phil Fan Club. A few weeks later, I received a signed headshot from Phil via snail mail and a certified member card, which I carry in my wallet to this day. 

In early December, I got an email from the Club with the official schedule for Groundhog Weekend 2026. I laughed at the outrageous events they were hosting: dueling pianos, lunch with Phil, Groundhog Ball. But what surprised me more was that they were almost entirely sold out. People were chomping at the bit to celebrate. There was, actually, only one event with tickets left: The Rockin’ Eve Dance. Now, readers, it’s important for you to understand that any inkling of financial responsibility I have is shattered at the prospect of FOMO. Plus, I was pretty tipsy when I got this email. So, yes, I spent $20 on a ticket to the Groundhog Rockin’ Eve Dance in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, set to occur in February. I think I really need to stop thinking about Groundhog Day after I drink.

About a month later, I got my ticket in the mail. A little white card with a Clip Art groundhog showed up, and I rolled my eyes at my past self. I have no money to go to Punxsutawney, nor the motivation to plan a trip. Why did I buy this ticket? I put the slip on my bulletin board just in case something came up (after all, it was $20 and nonrefundable). But I largely moved on from it. Then, some shit went down.

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It was nothing horrible. Just a typical bad month for a Brooklyn lesbian. My old situationship got a girlfriend, I got ghosted, and my on-and-off thing was officially off. I finished grad school and started a part-time job with terrible pay. I was in full-on wallow mode. 

Side note: I should’ve mentioned earlier: I used to be a park ranger in the Smoky Mountains. I hiked almost every day and lived in a cabin in the woods. Now, I love New York, but when I’m in a slump, I like to go back to the mountains. 

So, out of sheer boredom (and some curiosity), I look at the prices for a trip. At this point, Groundhog Day is in less than a week. Surprisingly, it’s only $150 for a rental car and a hotel room. The hotel had a pool, free breakfast, all the stops. But I don’t even make $20 an hour, so $150 is no small amount. I talk myself out of it but keep the tab open, just in case. 

The next day, I can’t get myself out of bed. My wallowing has entered a legit depressive state. Eventually, I say ‘screw it.’ I needed a change. I had a ticket to the dance, and it was a bucket list item for me to see Groundhog Day up close. I’m not scheduled to work those days, so why not? I booked the trip.

Let’s flashback to a few months prior, around October 2025. I was slowly leaving this friend group of “it-girl” lesbians that made me feel like I was in middle school again. That’s a whole other story. Anyway, I went to one of their events, but was hoping to meet some nicer people there. Outside, while everyone was smoking a cigarette and I was chatting up a friend from college, I met Ruth. 

Ruth is tiny, but if you look at her for a bit, you’ll realize her personality is much bigger. Remarkably, it’s not in an attention-seeking or self-centering way. She just has good energy. And what’s really exciting is that I’m not attracted to her. 

I know, I know. But seriously. It is so hard to make gay friends because I ALWAYS fall for them. So, I was especially excited about hanging out with Ruth when she invited me to her open mic night a few weeks later. The next time I saw her, I went to a party of hers in December. I was kind of surprised I was invited since the last time we hung out ended in an argument about Taylor Swift (I’m staunchly pro; she’s firmly against). 

Okay, flash forward to the last day of January 2026. I’m knee-deep in my depressive state, and Ruth put on her Instagram story that she needed someone to help her move a couch the next day. My gay kickball game got cancelled, so I didn’t have any plans. And, since my love life had taken a nasty blow that week, I was willing to put in the work for a friend connection. I slid up on her story and ended up in a U-Haul in Bay Ridge the next morning with a girl I’d met twice. 

I don’t know if they were being extra nice out of a sense of gratuity for my free labor, or just the silliness of the whole situation, but we had a great time. We conquered the BQE in the truck as the snow was still thawing. After realizing we couldn’t get it upstairs, we recruited two guys off the side of the road to move it. They each got $40 and a shot of vodka, and we all sat around laughing at the loss for feminism but the win for couch-moving. 

While this was happening, I told Ruth about my upcoming trip. She thought it was hilarious. I had hoped for someone to share the drive with, so, half-jokingly, I asked her if she wanted to come. To my surprise, she said yes. And meant it. Later that evening, I realized the trip was the following morning, which was a shock to both of us. But about 15 hours later, I was picking her up in a rental Toyota. We picked up my dog, Ivy, who hates car rides but loves the woods, and headed out.

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It’s a six-hour drive to Clarion, Pennsylvania (our hotel) from Bed-Stuy. I don’t know if you’ve ever done a road trip with someone you don’t know, but the stakes are high. If the vibes suck, you’re stuck. But this was not that. We laughed, listened to good music (I insisted on some Taylor Swift), and bonded over shitty exes, gender dysphoria, and IBS. 

We stopped about halfway for a hike, which was a condition I had for the trip. We pulled into a state park in rural Pennsylvania and got a trail map from an unattended plastic bin next to the wooden map at the trailhead. I knew it would be cold, but I did not think about the intense snowstorm that had struck the East Coast right before. Ivy had no problem running through the icy powder, but Ruth and I struggled a bit more. After thirty minutes, we were tired. We took the mysterious footprints as a sign that Bigfoot must be present, and therefore, we had no choice but to turn around. It was short, but God, it was beautiful. There just isn’t quiet like that anywhere else but the middle of nowhere.

Our next stop was a moonshine dispensary, which was actually the most convenient place to get alcohol around there. We knew we’d need some drinks to get through what was to come. The dispensary was run by the kind of woman you worry will be MAGA, but makes it abundantly clear that “her son is gay and she has no problem with it” the second she sees a mullet anywhere within a five-mile radius. 

Finally, we got to Clarion and checked into the hotel (motel is probably more accurate). 

It was time for a game plan. The hotel, to maximize cheapness, was 45 minutes away from Punxsutawney. While Ruth put her feet, still frozen from our hike, in a hot bath, I started actually looking up how one “does” Groundhog Day. It was go time. We had committed to doing the damn thing and were going to do it. We took some shots of Blackberry moonshine and played mermaids in the hotel pool. Then, we picked up some cheap Chinese food and watched cable on the hotel TV. I took a shower and put on a vest and slacks for the Rockin’ Eve celebration. I was overdressed, but in my defense, how does one know what to wear to something like that?

We got to the Rockin’ Eve celebration around 10:30 pm. It was held at the Fraternal Order of the Eagles. I’m still unclear exactly what that is, but think community-center-meets-dive-bar. The band, which was actually led by one of Phil’s former “handlers,” had some serious superstar status. The music category was “divorced dad rock,” and the crowd was loving every second of it. About twenty people were dancing, mostly white 40-somethings. It was cute watching all the couples let loose and celebrate. A lot of them were likely in for an all-nighter, and this was the first stop. In the other room was a bar with $3 well drinks, which isn’t relevant to the story, but I want to mention out of pure anger for New York pricing. 

Ruth and I were both surprised at the lack of “characters.” Sure, there was the one guy with a wig, an all-blue futuristic outfit, and a light-up scepter, but he was the exception. The main accessory was fuzzy groundhog hats; they reminded me of the animal hat trend from the 2010s- but with more fur. We also talked to Tut, a Punxsutawney local and Groundhog Day sceptic. She said most of the residents leave town for the weekend to avoid all the chaos. But any attitude she had against the holiday was overturned by her jeans. They were covered in people’s signatures and decorations, including a log of all of Phil’s predictions over the last few years. 

Then we talked to Grant. He was twenty-four, and he and his girlfriend had travelled from Iowa. It was their second time here. We were both on the younger side of the crowd, so we quickly struck up a conversation. He said he liked the “suspension of disbelief” that Groundhog Day requires. I liked that. His enthusiasm was clear, despite being understated by the themed t-shirts the bartender and patrons next to him were donning.

When I sat down with Tim, the head of the Punxsutawney Community Foundation Inc, I could tell he was skeptical of the press, but I earned his trust with some adoration for the event, which he was quite proud of. 

Tim represented the epitome of a volunteer that weekend. He regards Groundhog Day the way that Protestants interact with Christianity. His family raised him in the culture of it, and he knew he was destined to be involved. It’s more about community and tradition than anything else. Tim told me, “ I was six years old, and I was sitting on a porch swing with my great-grandfather, and we were talking about Groundhog Day. He was 84 years old… We’ve been celebrating Groundhog Day in our family for close to 140 years.” They’ve lived in the area for generations. 

Generally, he explained, locals are fans of it all. The culture of Groundhog Day permeates Punxsutawney year-round. “This is who we are,” he added. He said residents are split into two groups:  “You jump in, and you get on board with the crazy, or you get out of town.” Tim runs a bed and breakfast and said they get visitors from all over the world, which you wouldn’t otherwise expect for a small Pennsylvania area. I asked him why he thinks people are so intrigued by the holiday, and his answer was simple:  “The sheer novelty and joy.”

Ruth, out of necessity, tapped in for the drive back to the hotel. I slept in the passenger seat, let Ivy out to pee, and collapsed in bed. Around three hours later, we woke up for the main event.

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Phil is presented at Gobbler’s Knob, which is not available to drive to on Groundhog Day. Instead, at 3 am, school buses start shuttling people from a few parking lots around town to the main area. We were too tired to get there right at the beginning, but arrived around 5:30 am. We paid $5 each for a bus pass, which some people had even zip-tied to their clothes so they wouldn’t lose it for the way back. 

The crowd was smaller this year, they said, because of the cold and it falling on a Monday. It felt packed to me. We walked under the iron arch announcing we had arrived at the esteemed Gobbler’s Knob. Performances were going on at the stage to entertain the masses who had been waiting for hours just to get close to Phil. We missed most of the performances since we didn’t arrive at 3 am, but social media has since informed me that a cover of “Pink Pony Club” with Groundhog Day-relevant lyrics was a highlight. Ruth and I stopped at the Porta Potties and went into the press room, where the “Inner Circle” was getting ready to start the procession. The Inner Circle all wear tuxedos and top hats and are given nicknames by the rest of the group. It’s like if a frat was made up of around 15 people in their 60s, and instead of beer, they worship a rodent. 

I spoke with “Windbreaker,” aka Tom Uberti, who has been an emeritus member of the Club since 2005. He had been recruited into the group. In fact, that seemed to be the general trend. Some guy calls another guy, and they get inducted. Apparently, spots don’t open up very often. Windbreaker told me, “I’ve known most of these guys my entire life…So, I thought it was an honor. It really is.” He emphasized, “This is a big deal, okay? When I was working construction all over the country, people found out I was from Punxsutawney. They went nuts. They had all kinds of questions about Groundhog Day. So make no mistake about it. Groundhog Day is a big deal around the country.”

Interestingly, he added that after the Bill Murray movie came out, the event changed a lot. It became much more family-friendly, and the crowds grew exponentially. 

My conversations with other Inner Circle members got cut off as the procession began. People who pay to be “VIPs” accompany the tuxedo-clad men to the front of the crowd. Ruth and I walked behind them with the other reporters. As they all climbed up to the stage, the crowd’s excitement grew. The stage was simple—a sign in the back and a tree stump in the middle. That’s where Phil was residing, waiting for his big moment. 

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Miss Pennsylvania stood next to the men in her tiara and sash as a member of the Inner Circle led the crowd in a guttural call and response consisting solely of the word “groundhog.” Phil’s interpreter was leading the show. As he explained to the crowd, he is able to translate Phil’s language through his magic cane, which was handed down to him by his father. It was this cane that he raised in the air as Phil’s handler brought him out. People went crazy. You’d think Taylor Swift herself had come out of that stump. The prognosticator looked slightly bothered by the ordeal but nevertheless ready to make his legendary prediction. There are two scrolls that are written by Phil. The interpreter reads out the one Phil selects, which is based on whether or not he sees his shadow. The Old English, combined with pomp and circumstance, makes it feel like we were finding out who the next King would be. After the preamble, the interpreter got to the meat of the scroll. His voice got louder as he revealed that six more weeks of winter had been foretold. Widespread groans spread through the crowd but were quickly overrun by cheers. People didn’t like the response, but were still very happy to be there.

And then, that was it. The official ceremony part probably lasted about fifteen minutes. We decided to skip past the insanely long souvenir and bus lines and walk directly back into town. We actually ended up hitchhiking about a mile of the walk. As our frozen feet were making their way down the road, I stuck my thumb out at a middle-aged woman who let us into her back seat. She was listening to Fox News on the radio, so we kept the conversation light until she dropped us off at the crossroad. After our obligatory souvenir shopping, we were shocked to learn that it wasn’t even 8:00 am. So, with energy drinks and a bit of moonshine in our bellies, we headed back to the hotel to check out. 

It’s hard not to get swept up in the joyfulness of the event, even though there isn’t much of a point to it. But does there need to be? It’s fun. That’s all it has to be. And while it’s easy to laugh at the people who dedicate so much time and energy to running Groundhog Day, they provide a really unique experience for their visitors. It’s like Tim said, “It feels central to the town’s identity.”

Would I do it again? I don’t know. Probably not—unless I had a good reason. It’s exhausting, and the payout is minimal. But, damn, it’s a good story. 

Maybe someday, when I have disposable income and more than two days to plan, I’ll come again. I’ll bring my kids and pretend it’s for their benefit, but really, it’ll be for me. Thank God that damn groundhog is immortal. Until we meet again, Punxsutawney Phil. Take care of your town for me.