Go For Gopher
Lillian Kruzsely
©
Copyright 2026 by Lillian Kruzsely
|
Photo courtesy of the author. |
Remember
the Kenny Loggins song from the movie Caddyshack? How did it go
again? Something along the lines of... I'm alright, nobody needs to
worry about me. Why do you have to give me a fight? Can't you just
let it be?
So
you were not expecting me to start this article by paraphrasing Kenny
Loggins, but here we are.
It’s
refreshing, isn’t it?
Technically,
the rodents in the film are groundhogs. In most of North America
actually, what people colloquially call "gophers" are
usually groundhogs (woodchucks).
Nonetheless,
the reason the little groundhogs stay with us long after the film
ends is because of what they represent; the little guy outsmarting
the furious humans who just want a pristine golf course. We cheer
them on because in many ways, rooting for them instead of the
exterminator is a little rallying cry for the underdog, or I
guess in this case, the undergroundhog.
I
can't be alone in this. Whenever I see a groundhog or a gopher in
real life, I am overcome with sheer joy. They frolic around without
any particular meaning that we can see, living only in the present
without a care in the world. Their butts move from side to side in
such a way that is so warm to the human eye. If you’ve ever
seen a skunk waddling through the street under a lamppost in the
middle of the night, you know exactly the waddle I am describing.
When I look at these little critters, and the way that their anatomy
seems to be biologically engineered for us to perceive them as
lighthearted, it's easy to imagine a better world… At least
for me it is, and perhaps you can spend a moment there with me too.
I
see the groundhogs and the gophers chewing away on grass - or
appearing to perfectly hide behind a blade of it - and I can’t
help but think to myself; how did God make these creatures so
goshdarn carefree? What is it about human biology that keeps us so
far removed from frolicking around in the grass without a care in the
world?
Without
a doubt, it’s safe to say that on the days that I see a gopher
or a groundhog, it's almost like a good omen for me. I always have a
great remainder of my day after seeing them.
It
turns out, the groundhog is also a meaningful good omen for many
indigenous First Nations.
In
the folklore of the Wabanaki Confederacy (which includes Indigenous
peoples in Eastern Canada and the Northeastern US), the groundhog is
deeply respected. She is often characterized as Grandmother
Woodchuck, a wise elder who advises Gluskap, a great cultural hero.
Gluskap once tried to capture all the animals in a magic bag to make
life "easier" and more controlled. But Grandmother
Woodchuck scolded him, explaining that if you try to control, hoard,
or pave over nature, you destroy the balance of the world. In this
Indigenous story, she represents ancient wisdom, patience, and a
deep, maternal connection to Mother Earth.
She
isn't a nuisance; she is a counselor.
Because
groundhogs are burrowers and profound hibernators, many Indigenous
traditions associate them with the earth's cycles, the unconscious
mind, and the dream world. When they go underground to sleep through
the winter, it is seen as entering the spirit realm or a state of
deep meditation, representing the cycle of death (winter) and rebirth
(spring). They are teachers of rest. To put it in layman terms, they
teach us that retreating, resting, and grounding ourselves is
necessary part of not only survival but also the ability to
thrive.
Plus,
if we are talking about gophers or prairie dogs specifically, Plains
Indigenous cultures often view them as symbols of tight-knit
community, communication, and alertness. This is because they
build intricate underground towns and stand on their hind legs to
call out warnings to their neighbors.
They
represent looking out for your family and the importance of an
interconnected society.
Perhaps
that is why it hurt so much when the large colony near my apartment
in the city of Ottawa was exterminated. They were the ones I would
see most frequently, driving onto the highway’s onramp, seeing
them as I passed by. The city of Ottawa tore their habitat up and
destroyed it.
The
flat patch of land around the onramp’s reason for getting torn
up? There were some type of water pipes in that patch of land that
needed to be used in an expansion project. They did not even build
over it, they just dug up all the land, re-worked the pipes, and got
rid of the groundhogs.
It
was the last time I saw any groundhog there. Inadvertently, the city
of Ottawa took away not only their home, but my good omens from that
patch of land. In many ways, it is not solely about the groundhogs,
but how I reacted to them just as well, and how the warmth in my soul
that made it possible to also elevate the days of the people around
me.
No
subtle hill anymore.
No
groundhogs.
No
gophers.
Just
a perfectly manicured patch of grass.
I
still remember the day they used big excavators to move the earth and
destroy the homes they worked hard to burrow over the years. The
feeling in my chest; intense, tight, sinking. A piece of my soul, my
happiness, gone in an instant. It left me questioning: why is a
perfectly flat, manicured piece of city grass considered more
valuable than a thriving colony of living, breathing animals? Now
centuries later, I witness the city planners in Ottawa acting a lot
like Gluskap, digging up the earth and trying to control the
landscape for their own convenience.
This
time, there was no Grandmother Woodchuck left to scold them.
Taking
a page out of my therapist's book, she tells me “Lillian,
remember your hula hoop.” The hula hoop analogy is a technique
used to help manage control issues by visualizing a hoop around
yourself, and only things within our own control belong inside the
hoop. For example, things like thoughts, acts, and emotions. Others'
behaviors remain outside, helping to reduce stress and codependency.
So
I tell myself, there is not much I can do for ‘em.
Or
was there?
I
could write an article about them and share their good omens with the
power of words.
I
can keep rooting for them, too.
Standing
up for the little guy.
Letting
a patch of my lawn grow wild with clover instead of drowning it in
pesticides. Speaking up at city council meetings when an 'expansion
project' threatens the only bit of habitat left in a concrete grid.
Driving a little slower near the highway onramps.
Remembering
that we share this land; we do not own it.
So…In
a world where you can choose to do anything, this is Lillian,
encouraging you to….
Go
for gopher.
Lillian
was born in Windsor, Ontario, and relocated to the Canadian capital
of Ottawa at eighteen to study at the University of Ottawa. She holds
a Joint Honours BA in Political Science and History. From 2016 to
2021, Lillian worked as an Executive Assistant at the Senate of
Canada, during which time she also furthered her academic studies,
completing a Master’s diploma in International Relations and
World Order from the University of Leicester. In 2026, she began
sharing her writing on Medium. She continues her journey as an
aspiring author and is currently preparing her debut
manuscript, The
Canny Peak, for publication in the summer of 2026.
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