The sun is shining. The snow is melting. The birds are back. And my driveway now looks like something Monster Jam should be ticketing.

Every February 2nd, a group of bundled-up humans gather in a small town in Pennsylvania to yank a rodent from his cozy burrow, thrust him into the cold, and ask him to forecast the weather. Yes, I’m talking about Groundhog Day. A tradition that somehow still exists in the 21st century. Why? I have questions. Many.