When it comes to predicting weather, Beau knows

GRIS: Where are you, Beau? Are you in there? 

BEAU: Go away. I’m sleeping in today.

GRIS: C’mon, man. You sleep 364 days a year. Could you please step outside for a few minutes? I’m here to interview you.

BEAU: You will have to go through my press agent. I’m Georgia’s celebrity groundhog and official weather prognosticator for the Southeast.

GRIS: Pardon me.

BEAU: Who are you, anyway? I don’t have a peephole, and I’m still waiting for my Ring doorbell to be installed. 

GRIS: My name is Gris. I hope you remember me. I came to your home at the Yellow River Ranch in Lilburn on a cold day in 2008 to write a story about you.

BEAU: Oh, yeah. You’re the guy who drives the old, red truck, still uses a dictionary and cannot stand to be in the same room with fruitcake.

GRIS: That’s me. I have a few questions for you, buddy. Now that you have moved down here to Dauset Trails Nature Center in Indian Springs, we’re practically neighbors.

BEAU: I’m feeling a little lazy today. Can we just chill and do a Zoom call?

GRIS: No. I prefer to talk to you in the flesh, fur … or whatever. For gosh sake, I’m standing right outside your chain-link fence. Groundhog Day is Sunday, so I’m on deadline. Folks will be wanting to know if there is going to be an early spring or six more weeks of winter.

BEAU: You believe that old wives tale, Gris?

GRIS: It’s all in good fun. But we do put a lot of pressure on a rodent. Sorry. What’s the over/under?

BEAU: OK, I’ll be out in a minute. I’m in hibernation, and I’ve got a bad case of morning breath, so I need to brush my teeth and roll up my sleeves like Ben Jones. He’s my hero.

GRIS: Nice little playhouse you have there.

BEAU: Thank you. Four bedrooms, two baths. It would make a great Airbnb except that I never go anywhere. I’m quite the homebody. We have a wonderful neighborhood watch program. A red-tailed hawk lives next door and a gopher tortoise (the state reptile) is on the other side of me. Across the road is a bald eagle, so our block parties are always patriotic. 

GRIS: What is that street sign over there?

BEAU: It’s my address. 101 Whistle Pig Way.

GRIS: What is a whistle pig?

BEAU: It’s another name for a groundhog. We make high-pitched noises. We sound like a bunch of teenage girls at a Taylor Swift
concert.

GRIS: I remember your “mansion” up at Yellow River was called “Weathering Heights.’’ That was a clever name. Why did you change it?

BEAU: I’m not going down that groundhog hole.

GRIS: Your legal name is General Beauregard Lee. What is the origin of that?

BEAU: It’s a combination of General P.G.T. Beauregard and General Robert E Lee (not Spike Lee.)

GRIS: Do people ever ask how old you are?

BEAU: All the time. I’ve been around more years than some of those guys in the Old Testament. The folks who work here at Dauset Trails just tell everyone I’m as old as Santa Claus … and that usually satisfies their curiosity.

GRIS: Your northern rival, Punxsutawney Phil, has a wife named Phyllis. Are you
married?

BEAU: No lady friends. I’m still an eligible bachelor. I have thought about creating a dating profile on one of those apps. How does this sound? Male. Twelve pounds. Chubby, silent type. Short ears. Tiny tail. Whiskers. Gray fur. Looks like a speed bump in the parking lot. Loves to snooze. Takes one breath every six minutes during hibernation. Can’t tolerate loud music or the smell of Irish Spring soap. Addicted to Cheetos. Has all his rabies shots. Not much of a conversationalist about religion, politics or sports. (The weather, however, is a different story.)  Honorary doctorates from the University of Georgia (“Doctor of Weather Prognostication”) and Georgia State University (“Doctor of Southern Groundology”). Damn Good Hog.

GRIS: The lady in the gift shop told me about your obsession with Cheetos.

BEAU: They mostly feed me fresh fruits and veggies. I like peanuts, too. It’s a delicate balance. They try not to give me too much junk food, but they also want to keep me fat and happy.

GRIS: A couple of the maintenance guys mentioned your weakness for hash browns.

BEAU: That’s about the only way to get me out of bed at 7:30 a.m. on Groundhog Day. The local district manager from Waffle House brings me hashbrowns, and they lure me out the front door like a carrot on a stick. 

GRIS: How do you like them? Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped or topped? 

BEAU: Battered, bothered and confused.

GRIS: Anything to drink?

BEAU: Of course. Indian Springs is right around the corner, so they keep me hydrated with some of that “healing water.’’ It’s good for longevity and is rich in minerals. 

GRIS: What are some other ways they get you to stir on Feb. 2?

BEAU: They play reveille. And they’ve started throwing a little NIL (Name. Image. Likeness.) money at me.

GRIS: It’s probably royalties from those novelty T-shirts.

BEAU:  You’re right. “Dark Side of the Groundhog,’’ “Beau Knows” and “General Beauregard Lee is My Spirit Animal.’’ I wish we could sell them at Buc-ees but that beaver has a non compete clause.

GRIS: About how many folks will show up for your sunrise service on Sunday?

BEAU: Usually a couple of hundred. For everybody who would rather stay home in bed, we’re going to livestream it from the middle of the woods. How cool is that?  

GRIS: You’re pretty good at prognosticating the weather. You’ve been correct for five straight years by predicting an early spring. You have a higher accuracy rate (60%) than Punxsutawney Phil (30%).

BEAU: The shadow thing is overrated. I use AI.

GRIS: Artificial Intelligence?

BEAU: No, Animal Intelligence.

GRIS: Who do you see as your main competition?

BEAU: Often imitated, seldom duplicated. Punxsutawney (Pennsylvania) Phil, of course, as well as Chattanooga (Tennessee) Chuck, Woodstock (New York) Willie, Chilly Charlie (Ontario) and French Creek (West Virginia) Freddie, to name a few. 

GRIS: I was told there is now competition from other species, too.

BEAU: There’s no monopoly on the weather, so you can find pop-up forecasters everywhere. There’s Benny the Bass and Poppy the Skunk in Ohio, Lucy the Lobster in Nova Scotia, Bee Cave Bob (armadillo) in Texas, Sand Mountain Sam (possum) in Alabama and Cluxatawney Henrietta (chicken) in New York. 

GRIS: I don’t want to typecast you, but you seem to be an “early spring” kind of hog. You’ve called it that way 90% of the time. And, for most of those years, you’ve been right.

BEAU: Weather prognosticating is the most inexact science on the planet. Forecasts in the South are like chameleons. If you don’t like the weather, just wait 15 minutes.

Ed Grisamore loves the movie “Groundhog Day” and has been a local columnist for as long as Beau has been a groundhog.