It's an old German tradition. If the sun is shining sufficiently on the morning of Candlemas Day (February 2) for an animal to cast a shadow upon the ground, Spring is still six more weeks away. But if the sun is obscured by clouds on that mid-winter morning, Spring is just around the corner. The old Germans used badgers to be the harbingers of the arrival or tarrying of warmer weather and sun. I haven't been able to find any reliable records to determine just how accurate the badgers were.
During the 19th century, German people brought their families and many of their traditions to Pennsylvania. They found the native groundhog to be a better choice for weather prognosticating in their new home. The cuddly looking creatures have a mid-winter intermission from their hibernation, call it a hiatus from their hiatus, to take a peek around. So, if the groundhog is up anyway, you might as well let him do it. Besides, I don't have much experience with the creatures but it doesn't take a badger specialist to know that if you go out at 6:30 am on Candlemas, stick your hand down in a badger hole, grab one, and yank him out, and stick him up next to your face, he's going to have things on his mind besides looking for shadows and whispering his thoughts on the weather quietly in your ear. My guess is you won't celebrate trying it again the next year, that's for sure. We've all heard about good ol' Punxsutawney Phil and his (less than stellar) record of predicting the weather in Pennsylvania. In Georgia, we don't tune into Pittsburgh for the weather, no even from Phil Connors. So we have our own groundhog. General Beauregard Lee lives in his Greek Revival mansion at the Yellow River Game Ranch and boasts a 94% accuracy rate. He slipped up in 1993 and 2014. We'll give him that. Beau strolled out on his porch for a cup of coffee this morning, looked around at his adoring fans as if he wasn't expecting company but was magically ready with hospitality for all, just like any Southern Gentleman of such status. And then he announced an early Spring. To his credit, today's high at ABG World Headquarters was 70 degrees under a glorious sun that appeared after Beau had turned in for his afternoon nap. Tonight we're expecting some Spring-like storms. He's on the right track so far. Before you know it, we'll be wearing seersucker and Panama hats. There will be horse races and The Master's. The dogwoods will bloom and the world will be green again. We are confident. Our hero, General Beauregard Lee has proclaimed the changing season. It's all warm weather and sunshine from here on. Well, either that or we'll be up to our knees in snow in the middle of March. Let's think positive.
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A short tale from the Meigs Family of Savannah, Macon, & Inaha at Christmas, circa 1915.
The rising cigar smoke formed a light haze that hung high against the tall ceiling in the gentleman’s parlor. The conversations were jovial. Contentious politics, rumors of war, and local controversies had all been set aside in the endeavor to keep the spirit of Christmas. The discussion was thus kept to stories of seasons past, loved ones now passed on, and good friends separated now by distance but never by affection. Uriah was in Savannah, spending Christmas in Georgia during his break from studies in England. This season he was accepted in the parlor as a man, fully admitted to indulge in bourbon, cigars, and the status among the men in attendance. This was a rite of passage. He sipped carefully, not wishing the drink to spoil the experience of his first real taste of the benefits of being a true Southern gentleman. He was no stranger to drink as his pals at King’s, and previously at Eton, were capable of acquiring and concealing Scotch and gin. He also knew his limitations and exceeding them could mean a loss of status among the gray hairs. He also knew an impressive debut in the parlor would clear the way for success and influence among the Southern aristocracy. Being sent away to school wasn’t necessarily weeding out his rebellious streak. It was teaching him wiser ways to wield it. Amongst the laughter and the chatter the front doorbell rang and shortly thereafter the butler affived with a wire for Elijah. He opened the message and read it as a smile crossed his face. “Peacock Jones”, he chuckled. “I haven’t seen Peacock Jones in years.” There was some murmuring and then one of the older gentlemen responded, “Good heavens! Is that ghastly parvenu coming here?” Elijah laughed, “I’m afraid he must. He can’t seem to find hospitality elsewhere in this town.” “Paw”, Uriah asked, “Who is Peacock Jones?” With an exuberant flourish, Elijah explained. Certainly, the man’s parents had not named him “Peacock”. That would have been absurd. No, his birth name, given to him just minutes after he was born in a small tobacco farm cabin outside Metter, was Joe Bob. Not Joseph Robert Jones. Not even Joey Bobby Jones. Joe Bob Jones. Joe Bob’s mother, like so many women in rural Georgia in the 1880’s, died in a subsequent childbirth, taking Joe Bob’s newborn sister with her. Joe Bob’s father soon went stark raving crazy and was admitted to the Georgia State Lunatic, Idiot, and Epileptic Asylum in Milledgeville. It was a cruel and tragic series of turns in Joe Bob’s life. But if anything, he was resilient. Before the state could take custody of him, Joe Bob jumped a train to Savannah and made his way performing odd jobs and eventually became employed by Elijah as a warehouse courier on the riverfront. When the Second Boer War broke out, Joe Bob ran off again, this time in search of adventure with the British Army. He returned from the war inexplicably wealthy, fabulously dressed and adorned, but not one bit more socially refined than when he left for Africa. He used his newfound wealth to acquire some businesses, increasing his treasury along the way. Riches helped him gain entrance into some of polite society’s finer events. However, his lack of charm and grace did not sit well with the locals. Soon, Peacock, as he came to be known, was a pariah everywhere but the Meigs house on Monroe Square. He eventually left town and became somewhat of a drifter, albeit of a much more wealthy variety. Elijah was anxious to hear of the younger man’s travels. “The man’s manners are absolutely dreadful, Elijah. Your negro butler has more class.” Elijah raised his glass and smiled to the railroad magnate, “I do have one classy butler, don’t I?” “You know that’s not what I mean. Peacock Jones is a disgusting fellow. He has no respect for expectations or morals.” “Edward, I don’t think he is quite as barbaric as you are painting him to be.” “What about the morning he showed up at Christ Church with a harlot? I don’t mean that figuratively. The wench was still being paid from the night before.” “I do remember that. If I recall correctly, your wife fainted. The only other time I’ve seen someone faint in church like that was in that snake handling church in Alabama.” “Very funny, Elijah. But I don’t seem to remember you laughing when he and his guest starting passing the flask back and forth.” “I don’t recall that. I might have been paying attention to the liturgy at that moment.” “Clever. So tell us then, what do you see in this man?” Edward Gordon crossed his arms across his chest with a smirk that demanded a satisfactory answer. “Peacock Jones and I were walking out of a mercantile in Timbuktu in nineteen and three.” He started. “You ever been to Timbuktu, Edward? No, I didn’t think so. I was attacked by a crazed warrior of some sort. He hit me from behind and knocked me to the ground. I rolled over to try to fight back. Before I could react further, Peacock Jones grabbed the assailant by the arm, spun him around, caught him with a kick square to the throat, spun him around again, and tripped him to the ground. By the time he got back up, Peacock had pulled the Colt revolver he had concealed in his coat and blasted the lunatic in the forehead. This is one of several instances in which Peacock Jones has saved my neck. Peacock might not be a prime choice for a polite society Christmas party, but I know I can count on him when it matters.” Edward tried to maintain his poise but the weight of the eyes in the room made the back of his neck heat up and his own eyes cast downward. His face was that of a man who had called a bluff in a hand of poker only to learn his opponent was holding four aces. Just then the butler's voice filled the parlor, "Mister Meigs, Mister Peacock Jones." Edward's face was still a bright scarlet as Elijah cried out "Peacock! What a pleasant surprise!" without taking his eyes off Edward. The Elijah turned and faced his guest to greet him with a handshake and offer him something to drink. Uriah smiled wide at the interactions. He always found Edward Gordon to be stuffy and arrogant and if his trains did not carry Meigs cotton from Inaha to Savannah, it was doubtful he'd ever be invited to these events. These were the moments that Uriah was most proud of his beloved grandfather. Peacock was gracious toward Elijah's greeting and responded "Thank you, Elijah, I'll have a mint julep, hold the sugar and you can keep those silly leaves as well. Edward! How are you? I haven't seen you since your wife fainted at church that morning. I do hope she was not seriously ill." Peacock offered a handshake that the older man refused. "Fine by me. I never liked you anyway you pretentious old fart." Peacock stepped over to check the curled ends of his dandy mustache in a wall mirror as Edward steamed. So many breaches of etiquette in such a short time. He would have challenged Peacock to a duel if the younger man's pistol skills did not make such an undertaking a certain death sentence. The smaller conversations resumed as Elijah returned with Peacock's drink and then the two men discussed recent visits to Egypt and the Far East. Before long the guests began to trickle out, each offering formal good byes, including a rather disheveled Edward Gordon. The parlor was emptied except for Elijah, Uriah, and Peacock. The guest dipped his head. "Elijah, I'm afraid I've killed your party." "Nonsense." Elijah replied. "The party ended on time, as planned." "I must say that I appreciate the way the two of you handled Mr. Gordon." Uriah said, retrieving two cigars from his inner coat pocket and offering one of them to Peacock, "I've never really liked that man." "Much obliged." Peacock replied taking the cigar and lighting it. "It seems your grandfather is doing well in mentoring you. You'll turn out to be a better human than Edward. I'm not sure what I've ever done to him but, now that I think about it, I'm not sure anyone in this town cares for me much. Except you, Elijah." "You will always be welcome in this home, Peacock. If you and Uriah are the only guests I have for the rest of the night, I will be content." "You have always been a good friend to me, Elijah. You deal with me as a man, rather than some character in a story you wish to tell. Everyone else in this town is trying to make up some crooked manner in which I make my fortunes, trying to debate whether I've had my fortune long enough to be respected, or complaining about how I spend my fortune." "Mr. Jones, it seems to me that your fortune is your business." Uriah said. "You have to call me Peacock. That name is one thing these people have given me that I truly enjoy. One of them, can't remember which one, decided that I was pompous and overly adorned and slapped that nickname on me. I find that once people see you own the insults they hurl at you, it often comes back to get them. Besides, Mr. Jones is my father." "How is your father, Peacock?" Elijah's inquiry was sincere. "Since you asked, that's why I am here. I'm spending the holiday in Savannah since the crew will be on holiday as well. But I received and urgent telegram and caught the first ship from London. I'm heading to Milledgeville to bury my father." "Bless your soul, good man. What horrible news to receive at this time of year. I do hope you'll be staying here with us." Elijah rang for his butler and gave him instructions to prepare a guest room for Mr. Jones. "Uriah," Elijah continued, "can you accompany us to Milledgeville to bury Mr. Jones?" "My ship departs New Year's Eve so I don't think it would be a problem." Peacock's eyes welled up. "My father was never able to be the father I needed. But I have never held that against him. He fought valiantly in the war and worked his fingers to the bone growing tobacco. When my mother and sister died, something just snapped. I've been to see him so many times over the years. Sometimes he recognized me, sometimes he thought I was Napoleon or maybe Julius Caesar. I've worked to make sure that no matter how crazy he was at the moment, he never was left wanting anything. But even though he was not able to be a traditional father, I'm still heartbroken at his passing." "Peacock, I remember losing my father. The Yankees took him from me and much of Georgia mourned with me. Now Uriah and I will mourn with you." "I'm not here to ruin your family's Christmas." "You aren't ruining it." Uriah said. "Paw just told you that you are part of our family Christmas. You enjoy the holiday with us and then we'll accompany you for the funeral." The mood of the evening had changed. It wasn't a bad thing though. There had been mirth with acquaintances and socially connected people. Now there was mourning with a true friend. The conversation shifted to stories of Christmases past. Peacock had some wild ones. Once the holiday passed, the three men loaded a train for Milledgeville. They retrieved the body of Mr. Jones and transported him via train back to Metter. Peacock had wished to bury his father alongside his beloved wife and daughter he had lost so many years ago. New Year's Eve, Uriah sailed for England and Peacock left for...well...wherever Peacock goes when he wasn't in Savannah. So many possibilities and so few obligations left even him often wondering where he would wind up next. But he would always have a home in Savannah, so long as a Meigs family member owned the house on Madison Square. It is Christmastime in the Peach State and, as we Southerners are known for our hospitality, we've invited some holiday company over to share some thoughts on Christmas, friends, and family. Jennifer Perren has been following ABG from the beginning and is herself a gifted writer. We're thankful to have her share her thoughts here as she celebrates her first Georgia Christmas in a long time. Home for ChristmasBy Jennifer Perren
When we all think back on Christmas as children growing up here in Georgia, or anywhere in the US really, chances are we have similar scenarios. Visiting with family, church, food, Sears catalogs on the floor with your brothers circling the toys you want, all that. I want to tell you a small bit of my Christmas story though: My Grandmother would shop all year, it was her main event. Her house on Christmas Eve was decked out with every possible Christmas anything you could imagine. She was decked out herself. Christmas sweaters, jingle bell earrings, you name it. She made candy of all sort, red velvet cake, pies, every other kind of food you can name. And she was downright jolly. I can still see her crooked grin and her face light up when we would all be there in her house laughing and eating. My family has a great love for and loyalty to each other, forged in these times spent all together. I can recall this scene like it just happened yesterday and it was always the same every year, we only grew taller. On Christmas Day I would go to my Dad's parents house and my Ma was much the same. She cooked decorated, shopped, dressed the occasion. At the Perren family Christmas, there was always talk of football, work, history, family. One thing I recall and it still happens to this day. No one walks into any room unnoticed. When you come in the door, everyone gets up and greets you with an embrace. "It is so good to see you, I have missed you". It's the same when anyone leaves. Every single person is greatly loved. It has been this way my whole life. This will be my first Georgia Christmas in nearly 20 years. I have spent the better part of my adult life moving around the country with my now former husband and the US Submarine Navy. I have spent Christmas in every region of the country. I have had a warm Hawaiian Christmas, with all of my neighbors out on the street in our "slippahs" and shorts. I've seen the snow pile on the evergreens in Washington state and thought to myself I wish all of the people I love could just see this, it would be my gift to them. I've had New England Christmases with friends and family there with warm drinks and firelight, hospitality that could most definitely rival anything here in the south. I have also celebrated with those of many races and creeds. Been welcomed to homes of friends while they were celebrating Yule and Hanukkah and they have wished me a Merry Christmas in my home, with no offense. I've spent the holidays with only my babies and no friends or family around, and at times, completely by myself. My memories of home, friends, family and Christmases past to both help me appreciate my home and bring me comfort in a big world. Having these times with my family gave me a strong sense of who I am, and I have developed traditions of my own with my children. No matter where we've been in the world, on Christmas Eve they all line up to open their only gift under the tree, it's always jammies. Then we drink cocoa while we watch The Polar Express. I read them the Nativity story, after which one of my children - they take turns every year - will put the baby Jesus in the manger, which is empty until Christmas Eve. While His actual birth date is a topic of debate, I explain to them, all of the holidays observed at this time of year are celebrating light overcoming the darkness. He is and has always been the Light to a dark world. I still look for Santa. Even though my family has changed and we don't have those gatherings any more. My children are growing up. I still believe in the magic of Christmas. My memories and traditions, family, friends, my faith carry me through the transitions. I'm excited to see what the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come will show me. This year, I'm thankful to be here on red clay at Christmastime, with the Georgia pines over my head, that is the greatest gift I could ever have. "No peace (on earth) I find." Merry Christmas. |
Sam B.Historian, self-proclaimed gentleman, agrarian-at-heart, & curator extraordinaire Social MediaCategories
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