Jefferson Weaver

By JEFFERSON WEAVER
Staff writer

It was a particularly pretty morning after a particularly trying week, and the day promised to be just as trying as its predecessors.

I briefly considered shrugging my shoulders and whistling along, feeling sorry for myself, or just being angry. As is too often the case, I opted for the latter, and retired to the greatest porch in southeastern North Carolina (my own) to contemplate my foul mood.

I should have known better. Nothing spoils a perfectly nasty mood like sitting on a front porch. Try as I might, I couldn’t stay angry.

When Ricky and Stevie from the state park drove past, I tried not to wave, but old habits die hard, even when you’re trying to get every mile out of a bad morning. Ricky’s a good neighbor, almost the best one I could have, and it would be rude not to wave. Stevie just got married to a young lady whom I dearly love. I can’t help but be happy for them, even when I’m determined not to be happy about one danged thing.

Same thing for when James, Erica and Samantha went by in the opposite direction. They are one of my favorite families, and I can’t help but smile when I see them. To not wave as they drove by my house would be inexcusable.

Not even a bite from a yellow fly could reinforce my grumpiness, since my aim was successful, the fly crushed, and the goslings hysterical when a tasty bug came dropping into their midst. Bugs from Heaven make my goslings happy, and their reactions could make a statue smile.

For that matter, nothing beats comedy like that created, written, produced and directed by our thrown-together family of geese. Since they broke out of their pen, every day has been a series of half-hour comedies.

Mother Goose, Father (formerly Brother) Goose, the Terrible Teens and the Other Four spend most of their days running from one crisis to another, rarely learning the morals to the stories in which they play such a loud, occasionally messy part. Fences, feed bags, and furious cats make it easy to spend the better part of an hour just watching the geese. Once in a while the ducks or a rogue chicken will join the cast, doing their best to ruin a perfectly bad mood.

Eventually the geese moved on around the house, and the front porch was quiet. For a good while, I had the whole world to myself, which was a good thing, since I didn’t even like myself right then. Dealing with other people would have resulted in hurt feelings.

But the morning was too blissfully cool and non-humid to be grumpy, and coffee just tastes better on a morning like that. If one of the coffee-bean companies ever comes up with a way to assault the customer with the sights and sounds of a soft summer morning as the sun is breaking the trees and a cool breeze promises to keep the day from scorching, that coffee-bean company will be rich as Croesus.

I would have liked to remain grumpy and snarling, wallowing in my bad attitude, had not two of this spring’s kittens toddled across the porch, climbed my jeans and settled purring in my lap. Grizzly the dog did his part, too, panting and smiling in that ludicrously reassuring way of toothless old dogs and wise old men.

My blackberries were surviving the free-range chickens, deer, songbirds and possums, so I allowed myself to think of a handful of the messy dark fruit eaten fresh from a thorn-protected vine.

Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stay grumpy. Sure, the problems and the worries were still there, but they were far out there past the highway.

A few feet from my comfortable spot on the greatest front porch in Carolina, I had a good cup of coffee, demanding cats, a comfortable old dog, hysterical geese, and the honk and wave of friends driving past early on a Saturday morning. Somehow, for a little while, the concerns about money and deadlines and other problems didn’t matter anymore.

There’s nothing I hate like having a perfectly bad mood ruined by a perfectly beautiful day, but sometimes, the nicest things happen to the grumpiest people, whether they deserve it or not.

Don’t you hate it when that happens?

Weaver is a staff writer at The News Reporter. He can be reached at 642-4104, ext. 227, or via email at jeffweaver@newsreporter.biz.