While harvesting my newly ripened peppers,
from the corner of my eye, I catch some motion
and sure enough, he is back ? Jefferson ­­
who was here in late Spring to pilfer peas,
and we had a quite lively discussion about his line
in the Declaration, the "Pursuit of Happiness.”
He left with his pockets full and in some
disagreement with my interpretation of that phrase,
my contention being he had made it seem that
happiness was a "commodity," a thing that could
be "found" if someone chased after it long enough.
It is something, I countered, that comes from within.
A feeling that comes from an association with another,
human or beast, an accomplishment done well.
Now I am sure he is here for peppers
since previously he had sputtered about eggplant,
"a most horrific taste and texture," and he held
the Colonial belief that tomatoes "are a poison
to the heart, red nightshade."
As he wandered over to me, his pockets beginning
to bulge with stolen peppers, he opined that "perhaps" I
did have a point in my happiness argument. That "pursuit"
had a connotation he had not thought of (although he had told me
previously that "Adams" thought it sounded “like a damn fox hunt."
"Remember" he said, "the Declaration was finalized by John, Ben, and me
in a tavern late in the day, and words are just words after a few mugs."
While admiring a plump New Mexico Anaheim he reminded me
that what was done in the Declaration is done, and History, including
his own dalliances, cannot be changed, it is Final.
Nonetheless, he went on, if he had to do it again perhaps
he would use "the prospect of” or "the chance of" or maybe even
"the setting in which one can foster Happiness" (although this last
he felt "while right, was too lengthy for the eloquence needed.”)
At this point he was having trouble finding space in his frock
for more peppers and I think he was even contemplating whether
he had room for a melon.
I turned away for a moment, and when I turned back to thank him
for his considerations, he had started to walk away, his pockets
stuffed with purloined peppers, a bulge under his coat.
"Mr. President, will I see you again"?
"Perhaps, my friend," he replied, "Spring always comes and your peas
make a tasty dish."

© by Robert Manchester.
Used with the author’s permission.