Outlaw Groundhog Day

Punxsutawney Phil must be stopped. The lovable little groundhog must be stopped. You know the routine. Every Feb. 2, Groundhog Day, Phil is yanked from a tree stump in Punxsutawney, Pa. If he sees his shadow, his organizers allege, there will be six more weeks of winter. If he doesn't, spring will be just around the corner. Millions have loved this primitive ritual for years, but now there's a problem. Groundhog Day evolved out of Candlemas Day, you see, a Christian tradition commemorating the purification of the Virgin Mary. As this tradition evolved in Germany, it got ever more colorful. Germans soon believed that Candlemas Day could also predict the weather. Somewhere along the line they began yanking a hedgehog out of a tree stump, and soon the peculiar tradition took root. When German immigrants began settling in Punxsutawney in 1887, they brought the tradition with them. Now we have a problem. How, in this day and age, can any government body impose on our diverse society any celebration or event that has its roots in religion? ...

Pig is king of 'Groundhawg Day'
By Kirsten Valle
Salisbury Post

Lumbering in the Lents' living room: Tommy Lent hangs out with his pot-bellied pig, Lil' Bit, who is this year's official 'groundhawg' for the Uptown Lexington Groundhawg Day. Photo by Brett Clark, Salisbury Post

Lexington's official groundhog just happens to live in Salisbury in a cozy set-up off Kelly Drive where she can munch on oatmeal cookies all day long and run free — inside the house, even — with her 8-year-old human friend, Tommy Lent.

She also happens to be a pig.

"We figured that with our connection to barbecue, what the heck, we'd use a pot-bellied pig," says Frank Stoner, executive director of Uptown Lexington Inc. "We termed it Groundhawg Day ... so that worked out quite well."

Groundhog Day comes from an old European tradition where, halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, people used just about any animal to predict the weather, Stoner explains.

It was Pennsylvania's Punxsutawney Phil — a bit of a media hog himself, wouldn't you say? — who popularized the American tradition of using a groundhog.

Which brings us to Lil' Bit, the 2-foot-high, 100-pound porker who, on a particular Monday afternoon, is lumbering around the Lents' living room, snorting excitedly and, pardon the pun, hamming it up for a few visitors.

Tommy Lent, a third-grader at Knollwood Elementary who's wearing a T-shirt with the pig's picture that reads, "Is spring on the way?" is rolling around the floor and squealing each time the pig kisses him on the nose or gobbles a cookie from his hand.

Mug for the camera: Lil' Bit even has a mug with her name on it proclaiming that she will be the official 'groundhawg' on Thursday. Photo by Brett Clark, Salisbury Post

His mother, Nancy, meanwhile, is apologizing for the mess — the family moved to Rowan County from Lexington over Christmas. Then she recounts the history of Lil' Bit.

The Lents — Nancy, her husband, Bob, and their sons Tommy and Bryan, 15 — got their first pot-bellied pig, Blossom, about three years ago.

A year later, a friend asked Nancy if she knew anyone who wanted Lil' Bit, a black-and-white, year-old pig.

She didn't at first, but at the thought of sending the animal to the pig equivalent of the dog pound, decided to adopt her.

Now Lil' Bit is almost 3 years old and fully grown. She lives outside, mostly, with Blossom and a third pig, Sallie Mae, but is partially litter-box trained and is "my sociable one of the bunch," Nancy says.

Lil' Bit's first brush with fame was during show-and-tell at Tommy's old elementary school. After that, a Lexington television show did a feature on her and, eventually, the city board approached the family and asked if Lil' Bit would be its official "groundhawg."

"Lil' Bit was just a word-of-mouth thing, just kind of a spur-of-the-moment type thing," Stoner says. "Lil' Bit is Lexington's official weather prognosticator."

And, boy, was Lil' Bit a hit. A huge crowd, including local newspaper and television reporters, came last year to see her strut out of the BBQ Alley restaurant.

Perfect poser: Lil' Bit, who has made several appearances at events around town, is about 2 feet tall and weighs 100 pounds. He'll be on display again in Lexington on Thursday. Photo by Brett Clark, Salisbury Post

A local politician's wife got down on her hands and knees — in her fur coat — to get a kiss from the pig. And a news clip of the whole thing made cameos on the Tonight Show with Jay Leno, the Weather Channel and ESPN, as one of its top 10 picks of the week.

The Lents also received e-mails from as far away as China and Germany.

"It does draw a lot of attention to uptown Lexington," Stoner says. "It was great. We appreciated it."

Since last year, Lil' Bit has made other appearances at schools, most recently at North Rowan High's homecoming, where she kissed the vice principal at halftime.

On Thursday, she'll resume her role as Lexington's weather pig; she plans to wear a pink harness. Bob and Tommy Lent, who will both wear tuxedos, will lead her out of BBQ Alley.

Trumpets will sound as city leaders announce her forecast, and a local band, the Whistle Pigs, will perform the original ballad, "The Legend of Lil' Bit."

The pig didn't see her shadow last year, but things could turn out differently this year.

"I have no idea, with the way Mother Nature's been acting," Nancy Lent says. "But Lil' Bit doesn't like the cold."

Lexington leaders don't care what Lil' Bit decides Thursday, as long as she shows up at all, Stoner says.

"Although we can't predict what Lil' Bit's prognosis for the weather will be, we feel comfortable in predicting that the event will draw a lot of attention and visitors to our city, and that's the purpose," he says. "It's a fun thing, a promotional thing. It's just one of the many ways we try to promote the city."

Has all the attention affected Lil' Bit? Well, she seems fascinated by the camera that afternoon, waddling toward it and sniffing it. She appears comfortable around strangers, too, giving away slobbery pig kisses in exchange for cookies or tortilla shells.

Lil' Bit has made several appearances at events around town already. Photo by Brett Clark, Salisbury Post

"She's getting better with each public appearance," Nancy Lent says. "She's less skittish. But she's still not a big fan of music."

She's learned to ride in cars surprisingly well, too — as long as she can sit on Nancy Lent's lap with her wet nose nestled against Nancy's neck.

In general, the family says, a pot-bellied pig is easy to own.

"They make a wonderful pet," Nancy Lent says. "They'll get into stuff just like a kid or a dog, but they follow you everywhere."

Lil' Bit eats pot-bellied pig food, though really, she'll eat whatever you give her.

"She has that part of a pig in her," Nancy Lent says. "She'll eat anything."

Tommy scampers into the kitchen and studies the fridge, finally pulling out cold cuts and four slices of bread.

"Lil' Bit, what do you want on your sandwich? Cheese and ham?"

"Tommy, ham comes from pigs," Nancy says, laughing, as he returns. Lil' Bit eats the sandwich, anyway.

She might be a big eater, but Lil' Bit isn't exactly like your typical farm pig.

For one thing, she doesn't have a curly tail. Also, "they make horrible barbecue," Bob Lent says.

"It's all grease," Nancy adds. "Yeah, pot-bellied pigs are not good eatin', thank God."

The Lent family knows a little bit — a lil' bit? — about pigs.

"I had a pet pig once," Bob Lent says. "I called it Herman. It weighed 800 pounds and followed me everywhere. They're a whole lot of fun."

Even Nancy Lent has become an unlikely pig-lover.

"I'm a city girl," she says. "If anybody ever told me I'd have loved pigs, I'd have told them they were nuts. But now, I would not trade my girls for anything in the world."

The Lents' oldest son, Bryan, stays away from all the hoopla. "He's embarrassed," Nancy Lent says. "He would not come anywhere near me at North Rowan's homecoming."

Pot-bellied pigs will live up to 30 years and are very intelligent, she says.

Sallie Mae watches cartoons, and Nancy Lent swears Blossom can talk, but that's something you'd probably have to see to believe.

"It's like a bird," she says. "Sometimes pigs can mimic human words if they're around people enough. She says 'mama,' 'hungry,' 'feed me' and 'love you.' And we swear she said a cuss word once."

Lil' Bit hasn't talked yet, but her other tricks, like kissing and rolling over — "you don't have to do much more than touch her belly and she'll flop right over," Bob Lent says — have gotten her far enough.

The pig waddles over to Tommy and gives him another kiss as he scrunches his nose and giggles. Then she scarfs down a cookie, snorts, and walks out of the room.

Until her masquerade as a groundhog Thursday, looks like Lil' Bit is just another hog.

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