Winter's halfway over. In my book, that means: holiday.
Whatever you call it.
Imbolc (various spellings).What, you didn't grow up speaking Irish?
Despite what you've heard, Imbolc probably doesn't mean “In the Belly” (which, when you think about it, is a pretty stupid name for a holiday anyway). What does it mean then?
Nobody knows. Possibly it's a pre-Keltic name. Anyway, it's exotic (pagans like that) and really, really old.
Oimelc (various spellings). What, you didn't grow up speaking Scots Gaelic?
Despite what you've heard, Oimelc probably doesn't mean “Ewe's Milk.” Yes, it's lambing time, and yes, our much-diminished larders are (gratefully) being replenished by a welcome freshet of new milk right now. But “Ewe's Milk” is probably best regarded as folk etymology.
What does it mean then?
Nobody knows. Possibly it's a pre-Keltic name. Anyway, it's exotic (pagans like that) and really, really old.
Candlemas. This is how they name the holiday in Cowan. (That telltale -mas on the end gives it away every time.) Some Old Craft purists, who wouldn't be caught dead using a neo-peg name like Imbolc or Oimelc, still call it this: a habit of protective coloration left over from the Bad Old Days, I guess.
Well, la-de-da-da.
Brigid. Come February, the Pagan Channel these days seems to be All-Brigid-All-the-Time, and frankly, I'm over it. (Besides being ecologically unsustainable, monocultures are boring.) Even people who don't “do” Brigid at any other time of year tend to pull her out and dust her off for the occasion. That's no way to treat a goddess.
Well, whatever floats your coracle.
Ewesmilk (or Ewe's Milk). I've heard some heathens call the holiday this. Me, I don't have a problem with using Keltic names—the tribe of Witches first arose out of a union of Kelt and Saxon, anyway; we've always been a mixed people, both ethnically and culturally—but personally, I find “Ewesmilk” charming. That it's folk etymology, who cares? Whether it will catch on or not, who knows? For the time being, I say: the more names, the richer.
February Eve. This descriptor at least has the advantage of being clear and non-culturally-specific. (Well, not counting the ancient Romans. For the purist, how pure is pure?) Colorful, it ain't, though.
Groundhog's Day. This is the traditional American name for the holiday, which is good enough for me. That this seemingly throwaway “holiday” has managed to preserve a memory of the old pre-Reformation Candlemas (if not, judging from the orientation of certain megalithic monuments, an ancient pre-Keltic festival) is, by any standard, a pretty impressive feat of folk-memory.
Also, you've got to love the naturalization to the New Land and its fauna. How much ground would a groundhog hog, if a groundhog did hog ground?
Grannog. In Marvin Kaye and Parke Godwin's Masters of Solitude novels, America's post-collapse Circle (i.e. witches) know the February cross-quarter by this charmingly-elided name. I use it sometimes myself, usually with a glint in the eye.
Yeaning. In the old Witch language, a yean was a lamb (or kid), and, sure enough, now is the time of the lambing. Like it or don't, you have to admit: as a holiday name, it sure beats In-the-Belly.
Anyway, here's wishing you and yours a fine, warm Imbolc-Oimelc-Candlemas-Brigid-Ewesmilk-In-the-Belly-February Eve-Groundhog's Day-Grannog-Yeaning.
By whatever name you call it.
Groundhog, groundhog, What makes your back so brown?
I been livin' in the ground fer so dern long,
I'm lucky I don't drown, drown, lucky I don't drown.
(Appalachian Traditional)