By Michael Davis

Bridgton History Columnist

Howdy neighbor!

Well now, it’s official. No doubt you’ve heard the news; the greatest breaking story of our age, sure as Saul and twice as likely, and issued from as unimpeachable a source as any man could credit, and whom none dare oppose. Yes, dear readers that wise old gentleman of Pennsylvania, Punxsutawney Phil, Seer of Seers, Prognosticator of Prognosticators, has duly decreed this past February 2nd as Groundhog Day, to be widely observed throughout the country, and thereon issued the following proclamation; there shall henceforth be observed in this land a further six more weeks of winter! Rejoice! Lament! It matters not, for it shall come to pass regardless. So sayeth the groundhog.

So, for all of us, what does this mean? Well, buckle up for colder temperatures, which admittedly this winter’s not been at all shy about delivering. I would observe it does seem that until lately, we haven’t had as much snow as we ought to, but unlike last year, that rainy year, it’s not on account of warm rain eating up all the snow. It just seems that, through January at least, very little precipitation came at all. But the cold was here in abundance; many sequential nights of 10, 15, and 20 below zero temperatures freezing water mains into businesses on Main Street, freezing drain pipes up on High Street, and no doubt bursting many others elsewhere throughout town. Have you ever fought with a frozen drain pipe? If so, you’ll know the struggles. If not, picture scenes of boiling antifreeze and saltwater on the stove, and you’ll have an idea how hard it is to thaw an ice core in a black iron pipe some five feet underground beyond the granite wall of a frozen basement. If we’d have had a decent snowpack on the ground this wouldn’t have happened.

I, for one, welcome the oracular rodent’s forecast, if it means we’ll get the snow we should have for this time of year. I’m comforted to see the last days of January open into February with storms of snow more typical to the season. Honestly, by any metric, I can fathom, this winter has been a more than creditable one. We had a white Thanksgiving. We had a white Christmas. Snowmobiles are running. There’s good skiing on Pleasant Mountain. Excellent pond skating from here to Conway. And even old Sebago’s thick enough to host its annual ice fishing derby which, lately, hasn’t always been held on Sebago. We’ve had our requisite subzero deep freezes, a handful of snow days sprinkled in for the kids at school, and February’s already opened in good stead, cold and clear, which augurs well for our upcoming Winter Carnival. Stay tuned next week for a special look at our annual Ice Queen competition.

I am optimistic for the future, despite the recent forecast remanding us into the custody of old Winter for another six weeks, and really dear readers this news shouldn’t have come as any surprise to you at all — the old Farmer’s Almanac already called a long winter for this year back in September! It’s gratifying to know the centuries old celestial formulas for weather prognostication employed by the Philomaths down in Massachusetts can manage to pick up on and accurately divine the subtle shifts in weather signs, whose proper detection otherwise comes naturally to groundhogs alone. In case anyone’s wondering about the longevity of old Phil, don’t worry — I rejoice to hear that in 2024 he and his wife Phyllis became the happy parents of two baby groundhogs, which inheriting their father’s natural knack for weather prediction will someday bear the mantle passed down to Phil from his own forebears, and thus ensure our nation will continue to enjoy this tradition, and reap the benefits of their prophetic bloodline, for all our winters yet to come. Truly, these things are prodigious.

If you’re not like me and don’t welcome more winter (or if you otherwise subscribe to that new heresy of doubting the mighty powers of the hog) then be advised in this; that regardless of Phil’s prediction, be it foul or fair, it always pays at this returning season to harken to the old adage, “By Groundhog Day, Half the Wood and Half the Hay.” This is to say that by the time we cross the midpoint of winter, it’s best practice to still have half your hay put up in the barn for your cows and horses, and half your wood still laid away for your own hearth. If you have at least half of your supplies left by now, you will survive the rest of winter to climb up March Hill with no more than the usual difficulties. But if not, you’d better prepare to start breaking up spare chairs for kindling and maybe think about taking old Bessie out behind your empty woodshed. At least you’ll have spare roasts set aside for Easter in your icebox – because surely Ice is the only natural resource still in excess this season! It’s everywhere, and this past week I’ve seen icicles grow that’ll be worth memorializing when they finally fall come spring!

On that note, if ice you lack for any reason, come Winter Carnival we’ll be taking a leaf from the ice harvesting manuals of old and cutting out several large blocks of ice at the foot of Highland Lake to clear a hole for the annual Freezin’ for a Reason dip. Even if you don’t jump in, the ice I reckon is free for the taking. No one’s ever stopped me anyway, and I usually carry home a large piece for the freezer each year, and so can well attest the old claims from the dawn of our refrigeration age, disparaging modern freezers against natural ice making, that in the midst of summer there’s no colder, clearer, or longer lasting ice to chip up into drinks than our pure highland waters naturally frozen in the depths of winter. Modern flash-freezer ice can’t hold a candle to the deep-frozen solidity of Maine winter ice. If you try it for yourself, you’ll see I’m right. It literally melts slower.

Which brings me to a short news story from the old ice harvesting days. This year, I’d like to share one from the true olden yimrd, far earlier than those 1930s when Stanley Kramer and his crew kept the ice house down at Kramer’s Landing near the foot of the Highland Lake. Today, in honor of Sebago’s proper freezing up, we’re going back to its frozen shores over a century and a half ago with the following notice from the Portland Press Herald of Jan. 12, 1853: “Sebago Ice. The Sebago Pond Ice Company are likely to do a fine business this winter. They are cutting ice twelve inches thick, clear as crystal, and storing it in their warehouses. The ponds in Massachusetts are not frozen over, so that, from present appearances, our enterprising company will monopolize the trade to a great extent this coming summer. Our ancestors never dreamed that the freezing over of Sebago Pond would ever have a pecuniary value.”

While of course today there is little value in cut ice, there is still — and possibly I would say there is even more — value in our ice today, as regards our annual winter tourist season. We might not be cutting it to eat in summer anymore, but the myriad benefits of fishing, skating, skiing, snowmobiling, dogsledding and more which it provides, are all great attractions to our region from which we benefit immensely. Each year, those from more southern locales come to vacation up in Maine just to take in the all brilliant, frigid beauties of winter in this place that we, each and every day, are lucky enough to call home. Long may it last. So I say: bring on the cold! See you at Winter Carnival!

Till next time!