GARY SMITH: A fuzzy forecast

Reliance on caterpillar’s prognostication peculiar

The beauty of the modern Information Age is it provides us so much access to valuable data that can make our lives better. For example, thanks to apps and my cellphone, I have up-to-the-minute reporting on both the current and future state of the weather, including charts, visual displays, diagrams and other vital metrics that will help me understand what I can expect.

Or I can rely on a bug.

Because, these being the times we live in and weather being the conversational topic we all can settle on that won't trigger anyone, someone invariably mentions their reliance on the physical attributes of a particular caterpillar to determine what the next few months are going to be like. And someone scoffs. And the fight is on. Because, again, today.

Of course, it's not just any caterpillar folks rely on (though naysayers may contend it might as well be), but the woolly bear caterpillar, which, in addition to being the gawky adolescent version of the Isabella tiger moth, is reported to be a harbinger of the coming winter. Or something like that.

Folklore has it that the severity of the coming winter can be determined by the size of the red and black bands on the woolly bear. Apparently, the larger the red band, the harder things are going to be, weather-wise. There is also some thought about the overall size of the caterpillars, but that sounds like we're venturing into bug body-shaming, and no one wants to be a part of that.

Not sure exactly when people started attributing meteorological abilities to the woolly bear, but the first sighting of the creature by Europeans -- specifically a British botanist named James Edward Smith -- was in 1797. So, apparently it didn't count that for all those years previous, Native Americans had been referencing woolly bears as an indicator it was time to get the snow blower serviced.

Or, potentially, the whole woolly bear thing could have been invented by Native Americans just to see how dumb white people could be. As in, "You're not going to believe this, but I told them the more red on that bug over there, the harder winter was going to be. And then they gave me all these cool beads for that island we don't even own."

Then they started talking about border security and the need to build a wall and the whole thing went to pieces and the holiday they had just invented with the Pilgrims got ruined. Again, or something like that.

Now I have a confession to make regarding the woolly bear caterpillar. I have spent some time in nature, and even in the woods and I really have no idea what our little weatherman actually looks like. Or didn't until I Googled it. I am, however, pretty sure I've never seen one in person, particularly since most of my time in the woods has been spent looking for real bears or snakes or anything else that might bite and/or just plain eat me.

People who study these sorts of things indicate that the woolly bear caterpillar is not poisonous, so I don't have anything to worry about there. They do, however, say you shouldn't handle them for very long, because the little hairs can get under your skin and cause an infection. Sort of like lead pencils or BB's. Except you probably can't put your eye out with a woolly bear caterpillar.

People who study these things (and should probably consider broadening their horizons a little) also indicate that studies of woolly bear groups show there are differences in the widths of the bands even in caterpillars born and living in the same place. Which means the weather has nothing to do with it.

So before we place too much stock in the coloration of a caterpillar who really is only on its way to becoming a beautiful ... fairly average-looking brownish moth that won't tell you how cold it's going to be but will eat your sweaters, remember this.

Every February, folks line up all over Pennsylvania to determine whether a groundhog sees its shadow, therefore establishing how many more weeks of winter we're going to have. It's a practice based on the belief that groundhogs can actually see their shadows and aren't just totally freaked out by all the people and cameras and such.

Compared to that, checking the stripes on a woolly bear caterpillar is positively cold fusion.

Commentary on 10/26/2018

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