Americana author and artist Eric Sloane once said “February has my vote for being the bleakest month of the year.” I think many of us living in New England for any length of time might tend to agree with that sentiment.

February may look like the shortest month on the calendar, but it sure has the potential to make itself feel like the longest.

But Sloane did point out that despite the harsh weather February brings, such conditions do make the inside fireplace all the more inviting. Sloan was quick to report that many of the great works of art and literature have found expression during this bleak winter month. Sloane would find himself retreating to his old Warren, Connecticut, farmhouse fireside to write and paint many of his nostalgic remembrances of America’s past.

With some members of the local historical society, I visited the Eric Sloane Museum not long ago and wondered how many of those great works displayed there could be attributed to a warm February fireside.

So, what exactly did our New England ancestors do when this month rolled around? The cycle of planting, tending and harvesting crops had been completed and perishable foods that came in from the barnyard and fields had all been dried, sealed, hung, salted, pickled, smoked, parched or perhaps buried in sand for family consumption during the winter months ahead.

Rites of Thanksgiving and religious days of Christmas had all been dutifully observed. Now it was just plain dark and bleak outside with most outdoor activities put on hold until spring.

Early East Lyme town historian, Olive Chendali, made the following observations about this time of year.

In many ways, the old-time farmers actually welcomed this weather, she offered, for its solace and the opportunity it provided for rest and reflection. It was a time of warming relationships, with visiting and merriment top priorities. The making of wassail, eggnog, toddies and syllabub (an old English drink made from milk or cream, curdled with wine or spirits) were all in order.

Women’s hands would spin and weave, knit and quilt, while the menfolk would fix things that were broken or perhaps whittle useful tools for the spring. With the exception of some hunting, road packing, ice harvesting, and (of course) those never-ending trips to the woodpile, most of winter would be spent indoors.

Looking out the windows at yet more fallen snow and sharing reflective conversation within, people found February a time to take stock of their lives. Thoughts and concerns were not limited to the immediate family, but also included those neighbors and friends who played such important roles in their everyday lives. Unlike today where people often don’t even know their neighbors, or if they do, can barely manage a polite “hello” when they pass on the way to the mailbox, old-timers knew these were the people who would provide “social security” when hard times came, or tragedy struck.

It was customary in times gone by and after the excitement of the Christmas season had passed, to visit those people to see how they were “gettin’ on.” Particular attention might be paid to the neighbor’s barn. How well stocked was it? Could that neighbor or relative make it through the demanding months ahead? Everyone knew life was precarious. In her book, “East Lyme: Our Town and How it Grew,” Olive Chendali referenced a saying from long ago that had both a philosophical as well as a practical message: “A wise farmer on Candlemas Day, has half his wood and half his hay.”

Now that might just beg the question from a modern reader… what and when was Candlemas Day?

My guess is that most of us have never heard of any such thing or have ever run across that saying. And yet that day once operated as an important yearly marker. Candlemas fell on the second day of February and provided an incremental gauge of winter’s progress. That date was not chosen randomly, as the second of February happens to fall exactly halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox.

Also, it might be noted that the word “Candlemas,” like the word “Christmas,” ends with the root word “mas” or “mass.” Obviously, then, Candlemas was once a religious celebration of some kind. What kind of mass was being celebrated? The prefix in the word suggests much of what we need to know. It must have been about candles, maybe some sort of a “Celebration of Light?”

Candlemas was an important religious holiday in the early Christian church. It referenced an old Jewish tradition whereby a new mother underwent a purification ceremony 40 days after giving birth to her firstborn son. (This also tied in with an earlier Roman goddess who was “the purifier of things.” Her name was Februa.)

In the ceremony, not only was motherhood heralded, but the Hebrew child would be publicly presented in the temple for the first time. And so it was with Mary and her firstborn son, Jesus, as they underwent that ritual on the second day of February more than 2,000 years ago.

Early Christians eagerly made a connection between the teachings of their savior and the simple candle as they both “brought light unto the world.” The clergy blessed wax candles, and parishioners would bring them home not only to be used as lighting, but also to display in windows to keep evil and disaster from their door.

The candle became a symbol, a reminder that vigilance, faith, planning and concern for others were necessary ingredients of life, not to be ignored or forgotten. Like wood and hay, candles were often inventoried by our practical New England forebears on Candlemas Day to determine if there would be enough to last through the winter.

Looking back, that holiday contained such great practical wisdom it seems a shame that it has all but disappeared from public view. In fact, I cannot find Candlemas anywhere on my new 2022 calendar.

Where it is true that Candlemas is still celebrated outside the U.S. in largely Catholic countries, (also in the U.S. among Orthodox Christians) most people in America today are unaware that the second of February once was a sacred and important day. What happened here?

Examining the historical record, it appears that solemn day has been hijacked and replaced by something else. All you have to do is look on your calendar and see what IS written on that February date. It’s still a special day, but it is now a special day for a large burrowing rodent called a woodchuck or groundhog. (Sometimes called a “whistling pig.”)

How could such a major shift have occurred?

A possible clue might be detected in this old English farming proverb:

“If Candlemas be fair and bright, come, winter and have another flight.

But if Candlemas brings clouds and rain, go winter, and come not again.”

There is no date assigned to that saying, but it does appear to have happened “somewhere along the way.” Candlemas, it seems, was starting to become a spring weather predicter rather than a reminder of important personal responsibilities that should mark this time of year.

The first specific reference to a rodent celebration can be found in a simple journey entry made on Feb. 4, 1841. It was entered by storekeeper James Morris of Berks County, Pennsylvania. (Berks County is about 200 miles from Jefferson County, home of “Punxsutawney Phil.”)

“Last Tuesday, the 2nd, was Candlemas Day, the day which, according to the Germans, the groundhog peeps out of his winter quarters and if he sees his shadow, he pops back for another six-week nap, but if the day be cloudy, he remains out, as the weather is then to remain moderate.”

It would be from this German tradition that an official “Groundhog Day” would emerge in 1887 in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania and it has been going strong ever since. As many as 40,000 people visit the town on Feb. 2, and there is mass media coverage of the event. (The movie “Groundhog Day” in 1993 didn’t hurt attendance any.)

How could the wisdom of Candlemas ever hope to compete with the media blitz surrounding an amazing prognosticating woodchuck doing his best Nostradamus imitation? “It’s all about the fun,” one of the organizers of the event was quoted as saying recently.

Should anyone really be surprised by this? If our society can transform Thanksgiving into a National Day of Football, Christmas into flying reindeer driven by a right jolly old elf, and Easter into a rabbit with baskets of colored eggs, how easy would it be to replace the wisdom of Candlemas with a hyped-up media event where a large, supposedly 135-year-old woodchuck makes a bold weather statement about the coming spring with all the cameras rolling? (B/T/W…Phil has a dismal 40% accuracy rate, worse than a flip of a coin.)

But maybe this all does make perfect sense. Why bother taking stock of our lives this month like the old-timers did. Words like “purification” and “personal reflection” may no longer even linger in our vocabulary. Most people do not own a barn (half full of hay or otherwise) or burn wood to heat their homes.

Why light a candle when cursing the darkness is standard fare on social media. In fact, why should we worry about any of these antiquated ideas when there are so many fun things around for us to do. Maybe those Pennsylvania groundhog people were correct after all. Life’s just about the fun, isn’t it?

Jim Littlefield is a retired history teacher in East Lyme who has written two local history books and two historical novels. His columns can also be found in the Post Road Review.