The Great Weather Diviner: The Untold Origin of Punxsutawney Phil

By Rob Long and Andrew Dolberg

• A thought-provoking retelling of the classic American myth about Punxsutawney Phil
• Features themes of self-discovery, generational change, responsibility, and environmental protection.
• Introduces readers to fantastical animal characters and a pseudo-magical world, but magic is less important than nature and willpower
• Targets young adult readers, but readers of all ages will enjoy
• Balances action and adventure with an emotional journey and thematic growth
• Will appeal to readers of the Guardians of Ga-Hoole, Redwall, His Dark Materials, and Percy Jackson

• Language: English
• Publisher: Morgan James Kids
• Release date: Nov 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781636981635

Rob Long

Rob Long is a writer and producer in Hollywood. He began his career writing on TV's long-running 'Cheers', and served as co-executive producer in its final season. He has co-written several feature film scripts, including Just a Shot Away, currently in pre-production with a France-based production company. He is a contributing editor of National Review and Newsweek International, and writes occasionally for the Wall Street Journal. His book, Conversations with My Agent, chronicled his early career in television. He serves on the Board of Directors of My Friend's Place, an agency for homeless teens in Hollywood and the American Cinema Foundation.

Book preview

DOCTRINES OF THE GREAT ORDER

Philip Weathersby Rodington IX, or Junior as he was affectionately known, was the only Groundhog in his class. He sat directly behind the obstructive coal furnace in the center of the classroom, which was the width of his desk and extended upward to a chimney. He hoped this strategy would allow him to stare out the narrow window on the far side of the room unchallenged by his pesky teacher.

Junior had spent countless hours in this classroom since he was old enough to walk. This was a room optimized for essential instruction. On its otherwise barren walls were a few scattered placards with mining schematics, posters illustrating smiling miners, and pictures of the Halwe Forest covered by a red X. The small room was filled with children, and heat radiated from the coal furnace—but the room still felt cold and empty.

Junior was small for his age, looking more like a Squirrel than a Groundhog. He would have been the runt of the litter if he had any siblings. His body was long and lean, with stubby legs and curved claws. He was entirely covered with a coat of light reddish-brown fur, save the black patches around his shiny black nose and round, dark-brown eyes. Junior’s two ivory-white incisors, the pride of every Groundhog, were almost completely hidden when his mouth was closed.

He stared longingly at the thin edge of the forest that bordered the swathe of abounding fields. The dark green frontier beckoned to him.

Philip? His teacher, Ms. Leod, tried to get his attention. She was a red Fox who was dedicated to her charge of educating all of Punxsutawney’s children. She never missed an opportunity to challenge her students.

I’ll repeat the question. What is the name of the great coal seam that Punxsutawney’s mine is built upon?

Um, pass, Junior responded. He tended to tune out during mining-related discussions, which occurred often.

Are you sure you don’t know? Ms. Leod asked, standing taller on her haunches. It’s a name you’re very familiar with.

Several classmates seated among the two rows of desks on either side of him snickered. Junior’s fur stood on end.

"It’s the Rodington Coal Seam, moron," a Badger next to Junior jabbed.

The whole class erupted in laughter.

"No name-calling, Mel. That is correct, though. The Rodington Coal Seam was first discovered by Philip Rodington the 1st—our distracted young Groundhog’s ancestor. He came upon it while digging a burrow for his family, and what followed completely changed the history of our realm. Before Philip the 1st’s discovery, Punxsutawney was mostly just farmland and a few residents living in underground dens and warrens. The discovery of coal allowed us to move above ground, build heated homes, and stop hibernating. Punxsutawney’s example led to a proliferation of coal mines throughout the Halwe Realm. Later, Philip the 7th transformed their modest family mine into the largest coal producer in all of Erda—isn’t that right, Philip?"

Junior nodded his head awkwardly.

That reminds me. Ms. Leod’s tone shifted from upbeat to saddened. Her bushy tail lowered., You all surely noticed the empty desks in the back of the room. Three of our friends have left us to begin their lives in the mine. Remember the sacrifice they make for our way of life.

Several muffled snickers came from the back of the room, and someone muttered Good riddance, dirty Delvers under their breath.

Okay, class, tomorrow we’ll discuss soil compaction and mining tools, Ms. Leod continued. Before we adjourn, what’s our motto, children?

Junior grumbled as the class recited in unison, Everything we need is here, enter the forest, and we’ll disappear.

Very good, children. See you tomorrow. And remember, your reports on tribal responsibilities are due.

The students all got up to leave, and Junior packed up his books as quickly as possible so he could rush out to the schoolyard.

Philip, I need to speak with you.

Junior nervously stood at Ms. Leod’s desk while she cleared the chalkboard. He could hear students whisper his name to each other as they filed out of the cramped, wooden schoolhouse.

Junior waited for the room to clear, shifting back and forth on his stubby legs. So, is this the part where you tell me ‘School just isn’t for everyone, I’m recommending you for the mine.’

Ms. Leod turned around and faced Junior, clearly unamused. You know that’s not how it works. Philip, I’ve never once seen you pay attention in class, yet you get perfect marks on every assignment. You clearly need to be challenged. So, tell me, what inspires you?

Junior looked down at his forepaws. Mining, of course, he said meekly.

Try again, Philip. Ms. Leod put her paws on her hips.

Junior sighed. Everyone here knows exactly who they want to be. And they’re just walking in a straight line until they get there. I’m not inspired by anything here, every day feels exactly the same, and I don’t know which direction to walk. Sometimes I go to the edge of the forest—I can feel something calling to me. There must be so much more beyond this village. That’s all I think about. You never teach us about what’s out there. Do people really disappear when they leave this village or do they just find somewhere better?

Ms. Leod stared down at Junior in silence for a moment. He couldn’t tell if she was furious or deep in contemplation. Finally, she sighed and opened her bottom desk drawer. She fumbled around briefly before producing a small, leather-bound book. She handed it to Junior and said, Don’t make me regret this.

Junior’s snout twitched as he wiped dust from the tattered leather cover, gripping well-worn raised bands on the book’s spine. It creaked when he opened it as if warning him. He flipped through the slightly moldered end pages. The title page read Doctrines of the Great Order by Morrigan.

Ms. Leod let him look through the first few pages. Now put that away and run along. We’ll discuss it when you finish. Junior excitedly stowed the book away in his canvas knapsack and replaced it on his back. Philip, she called, just before he scampered out of the room, this is our little secret.

Junior bounded outside and took a deep breath of fresh air. The hairs on his back rose, and his feeling of relief quickly vanished. A cluster of students huddled near an oak tree at the edge of the schoolyard drew his attention. The wind carried the sounds of their howls and laughter as Junior crept closer. He could hear insults spew from a group of about eight, made up of several Gray Squirrels, Red Foxes, Hares, and Chipmunks. They surrounded a small Skunk named Ollie, who hissed and growled on all fours. His black and white tail was raised high in a defensive position, and he panted hard, tears matting the fur on his face. Ollie tried to shield himself from pinecones thrown by his tormentors.

Go live in the mine where you belong!

What are you gonna do, spray us! DISGUSTING!

Ew, I can smell him! Gross!

Several assailants plugged their noses dramatically while the others laughed and kicked dirt at the frantic Skunk.

Junior wedged his way between a Hare and a Squirrel and scurried to Ollie’s aid.

Another dirty Delver! Take the smelly Skunk with you back into the mine!

A Hare was about to chuck a pinecone at Junior when the Fox beside him grabbed his arm.

Wait! The Fox said, pointing at Junior. Do you know who he is? Then the Fox whispered in the Hare’s ear.

My parents would kill me—okay, let’s get out of here, the Hare said. You’re lucky, weirdo, the Hare sneered at Junior. Several less pleasant insults were hurled at the Skunk and the Groundhog as the group dispersed and walked away.

Junior turned to Ollie, who was still trembling, Are you okay?

G-get away from me, the Skunk answered.

Mel, the large Badger from Junior’s class, stepped out from behind the oak tree. You’re not one of us, Mel said. No one asked for your help. Delvers take care of their own. Now git! he snarled.

Junior ran towards the tree line, eager to escape.

THE RODINGTONS

For a thousand generations of darkness, Discordia reigned.

The Children of Erda ruled only by chaos.

Nature watched dispassionately until redemption was bared.

—Doctrines of the Great Order by Morrigan

It was an unusually warm afternoon for February 1st. Junior lay in the last pile of wet snow he could find, attempting to make a crude snow angel. He lay in the slush, trying to clear his mind from the slog of the school day and the cruelty of his classmates, and a butterfly landed on his nose. Junior was frozen, fascinated. He began to still, feeling at peace.

The butterfly floated up towards the clouds, along with Junior’s agitation. He listened to the wind whistle through the barren trees, carrying the scent of the coming spring. Even against the melting snow, he felt the spring’s warmth deep in his bones.

Junior wove in and out of the forest’s edge, gradually making his way home. Like most of his classmates, Junior routinely ignored his teacher’s warnings about the Halwe, although he dared to venture farther into its depths than most. Junior meandered along a hidden path through the woods along the Mahoning Creek. He stopped to look for fish just under the surface of the rushing water. Usually, he could see plenty of multi-colored fish in the stream, but today, there were none. He noticed that the water was higher than normal, and he could barely find enough exposed stones to cross the swollen stream.

He hiked to a small clearing on the edge of the Halwe Forest, near the bounds of his family’s sprawling estate. Junior arrived at his favorite hideout and was met by a warm greeting from his best friend.

You look like a wet rat. Why are you soaked? Lyra asked, lying cross-legged on a mossy tree root, fiddling with a stick between her long black claws.

Lyra was one of the few classmates who didn’t tower over Junior. She had round, brown eyes surrounded by black patches and accented with white eyebrows that matched her snout. Her tail was striped black and brown that matched the fur peeking out above a dark green canvas work vest, likely a hand-me-down.

Um, let’s talk about why you skipped the first day of school, Junior said, wringing out his Punxsutawney Academy jersey. I really could’ve used your help.

I’ll tell you why if you can catch me, the Raccoon said as she darted down from the arcing root and scampered along the forest floor, Junior in pursuit. The two friends scurried among the barren trees, tackling each other and rolling around the mossy ground cover. Their yips, yells, and laughter echoed through the ancient forest and floated down to the village below.

Junior pointed a stick toward the sky and proclaimed, I am the Great Weather Diviner! I summon lightning—Kapow!

Lyra rolled over and snatched up a small branch covered with dry leaves. Shield! I’m Vulpia!

No! No! No! Junior exclaimed, You’re Horg. He was the Boar Guardian that could summon shields.

Whatever, these characters are bogus anyway, Lyra replied. Besides, you pick the same one every time.

I can’t help it that my grandfather just happened to be the coolest Guardian, Junior replied.

If you say so, dork.

I do say so, Revenant! Junior lunged toward Lyra with his stick. Their fur shimmered in the failing sunlight.

She parried with her branch. The two playfully battled until they were holding tiny broken nubs. They lay on their backs laughing and panting, watching the shifting clouds through the empty branches.

So, are you gonna tell me what’s going on? Junior asked.

Lyra rolled onto her side, facing Junior, her face suddenly serious, ears folded back against her head.

You really are clueless about how things work in Punxsutawney, aren’t you? The Raccoon Tribe are Delvers. We all eventually go to the mine. My parents did like their parents did when they had their own rites of passage. My Nemeton ceremony is tomorrow.

Thanks for the invite, Junior responded.

Raccoons only, Lyra said. "This is my destiny, I guess. I’ll miss school, but I’ll get to spend more time with my kind. My family. It’s a new adventure! I can’t wait to start my apprenticeship. I’ll tell you all about it after the ceremony tomorrow night."

So, congratulations? Junior said.

Have you even been to the mine? Have you? Just try to be happy for me, Lyra said, throwing an acorn at Junior.

Junior ducked. I am! I am! I’m just worried it’ll be dangerous.

"My brother, Cygnus, says there hasn’t been an accident in years. Just ask your dad, it’s his mine, right?" Lyra replied.

So, someday I’ll be your boss, Junior chaffed.

Ha, that’s rich, Lyra laughed.

Junior’s tone changed. I just don’t want you to disappear down there. You’re like the only person I like up here.

Listen, Junior, you’ll make other friends at school. I’ll still be around, and I’ll have better stories to tell you.

Yeah, you’re right, Junior said. Sorry, it’s been a weird day. I’m probably worrying for nothing.

Junior looked down at their lengthening shadows stretching across the meadow towards Rodington Manor.

I better get home before my mom starts to worry. I’ll see you tomorrow after your ceremony.

Junior turned to head toward the imposing manor house tucked into the hills overlooking their imaginary battleground. An acorn bounced off the back of his head.

Never turn your back on the enemy! Lyra shouted.

Vengeance will be mine! Junior yelled and charged toward her. The two best friends toppled and rolled on the ground laughing.

Rodington Manor was easily the most impressive of the noble houses scattered throughout Punxsutawney’s highlands—a symbol of wealth and power passed down through generations of Groundhogs. It stood among the tallest group of hills, built of rough-hewn stone blocks quarried from Black Valley by Junior’s grandfather.

Despite its sturdy bulk, the house boasted a sophisticated elegance with its intersecting rooflines, turrets, bay windows, decorative trim, and firstfloor porches in the front and back. A tall chimney from its center sent up a stream of black smoke at predictable intervals throughout the day, depending on the season.

The Rodington Estate was one of the few Highland Estates that didn’t have fields for crops since the Rodingtons’ were a coal family. Instead, their sprawling property was a patchwork of gardens and orchards. It was all surrounded by a lengthy flagstone wall that transitioned to perfectly manicured hornbeam hedges near the manor’s gated entrance. There was even a pathway from the grounds directly into Black Valley, where all the village’s mining operations occurred.

Phyllis greeted her son as he attempted to sneak in Rodington Manor’s back door, "Took the scenic route home, Phillie-dear? Give me your sweater." She scowled.

Phyllis flaunted the regal barrel shape that adult Groundhogs aspired to. Her shiny dark-brown coat was mostly hidden under her casual yet elegant silk afternoon dress, but her face revealed flecks of light gray. It was her sole responsibility to manage the estate, which she did with the quiet dignity the noble Marmot line was known for while Lord Philip oversaw the mine.

Can Dad make it colder outside? All of the snow is melting, Junior whined, unbuttoning his damp cardigan. His clothes and fur were covered in bits from the forest.

You should have better hobbies than rolling around in the mud. You know, your father began courting me your age, Phillie. A special girl might force you to grow up. It’s a shame all the other Groundhog families migrated. Phyllis shook her head to herself.

Ew, mom! Well, who could blame them for leaving this boring village?

I’ll let your father know you’re bored. I’m sure he can find some work for you in the mine, Phyllis said with a smirk.

Junior tossed the sodden jersey to his mother and twirled around an old cane he found inside. Hmm, maybe I will. It would be better than school.

The jolly Lord Philip burst into the room and declared, Temperatures are falling! as he rushed to the living room to light the coal furnace—the black, cast-iron cylinder quintessential to every home in Punxsutawney. Lord Philip was a truly massive Groundhog, but his short, sturdy limbs moved his wide body with surprising nimbleness.

His once dark-brown fur was dotted with white that converged on his face in fluffy patches around his nose and mouth. He wore a wool, charcoal-gray overcoat and matching top hat, with his hallmark green parasol wedged under his stubby arm. The Groundhog patriarch pulled open the heavy coal oven door. In a well-practiced motion, he struck a file-shaped flint against the tip of his parasol, showering sparks onto the dry kindling inside.

The hearth ignited, and Junior scampered into the room. Dad, I think the streams are rising, I’m worried that—

Lord Philip interrupted, Without fire, we are but savages, m’boy. He placed his paw on Junior’s shoulder.

Dad, the creek was the highest I’ve ever seen.

I’m sure it’s perfectly normal for this time of year, Lord Philip replied. Now look here, son. The two Groundhogs watched the flames rapidly consume the brushwood inside the coal oven.

Lord Philip sermonized, "Our Marmot ancestors brought civilization to these lands, son—from Philip the 1st’s discovery to your grandfather’s coal empire. Your Grandpa Ebsy was a true captain of industry, forged by the flame. The Rodington legacy is vast. It’s our duty to honor and preserve. We’re the last of this realm’s noble Marmot lineage. One day you will be Lord Philip Weathersby Rodington the 9th."

The warm light of the hearth flickered across a row of Groundhog portraits hung above the mantle. They seemed to glare down at Junior. The final portrait was Junior’s grandfather, ‘Ebsy,’ as he was known—shortened from Weathersby.

Was grandfather Ebsy the first of our kind to control the weather? Junior asked.

"No, son. The Groundhogs have been known across Erda as weather predictors since ancient times, but the chosen descendants of Philemon have been granted the powers of weather divination for countless generations.

The lore tells us that Philemon the Redeemer—your ancestor—sacrificed himself so the Nature Gods would bless the peoples of Erda with four predictable seasons. We must simply honor the Nature Gods on the anniversary of that day, which happens to be tomorrow. Before you ask—yes, you will be attending tomorrow’s address.

Junior winced.

To reward Philemon, Lord Philip continued, he and his worthy ancestors were granted communion with the Nature Gods—and through them, the power to influence our weather. Ours is the last bloodline with this power, son. Your grandfather passed it to me, and one day you will be worthy of this glorious purpose. It is your birthright, son—and you will know when the time is right. Phil patted Junior on the head. But only when you’re ready. This power takes great focus to wield.

Lord Philip handed Junior his legendary parasol, the Sacred Gnomon. The crook-handled, hickory staff was wrapped tightly with a dark green canopy that appeared to be made of coated linen and tipped with a sharp brass spike. Junior reveled at the heirloom, feeling its full weight.

The Gnomon you hold in your paws allows me to focus Nature’s energy. I am just its humble conduit for now. It could be stripped from me at any time if I become unworthy to wield it.

Lord Philip playfully snatched the parasol back from Junior and rapped the metal tip against the warming cast-iron tube, eh-hem. The mystified Junior dutifully retrieved a shovelful of coal from the heaping bucket next to the furnace and heaved it atop the glowing remnants of the kindling. He then closed the oven door and opened the flue.

Our heritage is more than just weather divining, son. The Rodingtons built a mighty coal empire. Coal flows through our veins, just as it does these hills.

What’s it like? Junior asked. Working in the mine?

You’ve never asked about the mine before, the flabbergasted Lord Philip responded. It’s the highest honor for members of the Delving Tribes—it’s a calling! Someday you will oversee the entire operation.

Seriously? Junior asked. I’m definitely not ready for all this—

Come on, boys, dinner’s ready! Phyllis called from the kitchen.

Coming, dear. Lord Philip responded and put his arm around Junior’s shoulders. Our boy is finally ready to embrace his destiny! I’m taking him to see the Colliery in the morning.

No, that’s no place for a child, Philip, Phyllis objected.

Um, yeah, I agree with Mom. Thanks, but no thanks. I have school, Junior chimed in.

Nonsense. We’re going on a field trip. You’re a young chuck, and it’s time you see the path in front of you. We’re going.

WEATHER CAPITAL OF THE WORLD

The Redeemer stepped forth and proffered a covenant with Nature.

Foreseeable Seasons and reprieve from the elements.

In exchange, the Laws of Nature must be obeyed by all the Children

of Erda. Thus, the Great Order was born.

—Doctrines of the Great Order by Morrigan

It was a warm and slightly overcast morning on February 2nd. A diverse collection of villagers gathered on Rodington Knob to hear Lord Philip’s address. Everyone from noble estate owners and their fieldhands to healers, builders, teachers, and shopkeepers—all clustered by tribe and class but nonetheless known collectively as Tawnies—anxiously awaited the day’s special forecast.

Junior stood awkwardly among the crowd of adults. Absent from this audience was the Delving Tribes, of course, who rarely interacted with the Tawnies.

For as long as anyone could remember, Lord Philip not only controlled all Punxsutawney’s imports from the outside world and managed the village’s core industry—the coal mine—but he was also the village’s mayor, pastor, judge, and weather prognosticator. All these duties apparently fell under the umbrella of Weather Diviner. Lord Philip often called mandatory village meetings, sometimes with little notice. He was always the only speaker. The addresses varied in length