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Previous Article: RUTHERFORD COUNTY, TN (WGNS) - “Will he or won’t he?” That’s really all anyone in Middle Tennessee wants to know as we stumble out of a week filled with snow, ice, Arctic wind, and the kind of cold that makes you rethink every life choice that led you to step outside. The million‑dollar question now rests squarely on the tiny, furry shoulders of Rutherford Ralph—our own homegrown, locally sourced, regionally respected groundhog. And no, we’re not talking about that celebrity rodent up in Pennsylvania. This is Rutherford County. We have our own traditions, our own weather patterns, and apparently, our own meteorological marmot.

You never hear university scholars debating whether one groundhog can forecast for an entire nation. Probably because they already know the answer: of course he can’t. How could one rodent possibly speak for a country that ranges from desert heat to lake‑effect snow? That’s why WGNS wisely sticks with Rutherford Ralph and lets Punxsutawney Phil handle his own fan club up north.

Now, somewhere out there, someone is probably placing a friendly wager on Ralph’s big moment. I’m not saying that’s right or wrong—I’m just acknowledging human nature. If people can bet on how long the national anthem lasts at the Super Bowl, surely someone has created a spreadsheet for “shadow vs. no shadow” odds. Strictly for research purposes, of course.

Meanwhile, the weather itself seems to be dropping hints. Monday’s high is expected to hit 48, and Tuesday may flirt with 50. That’s practically beach weather after what we’ve endured. Are these early signals? Is Ralph being pre‑teased by Mother Nature? We’ll know soon enough.

For anyone new to the tradition, the rules are simple. If Ralph sees his shadow, he panics, bolts back into his burrow, and we’re stuck with six more weeks of winter. If he doesn’t see it, spring is supposedly on the way. So what do we want in Rutherford County? Clouds. Thick, glorious, shadow‑blocking clouds. Sunshine is lovely—just not at dawn on February 2.

Our forefathers have been checking with this furry vagabond’s ancestors for centuries. The whole idea started in Europe, traveled with German immigrants, and eventually landed in Pennsylvania in 1887. And while the folklore is charming, the accuracy is… well, about 40 percent. But accuracy isn’t really the point. It’s tradition. It’s community. It’s a mid‑winter morale boost wrapped in fur.

As for timing, Ralph typically makes his grand appearance right around sunrise. So if you’re a county official, a curious citizen, or simply someone desperate for spring, you’ll want to be paying attention between 6:45 and 7:00 a.m. Central Time. That’s when Rutherford Ralph steps into the spotlight—literally—and gives us his annual verdict.

So how do we get an accurate “Ralph Reading”? Easy. We show up, we watch, we cheer, and we accept that this is more about hope than science. After the winter we’ve had, hope sounds pretty good. And an early spring sounds even better.