Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, January 30, 1946

A thaw day with moist wind from East, and a “spit” of rain at intervals.

P.M. Water color of view from left near bedroom, from back window – thru ailanthus branches & over garage roof. I did not feel well, but nevertheless persisted all afternoon.

Evening – reading in “So Well Remembered” and then made some parched corn. This a pleasant occupation – watching the raw flat yellow kernels slowly swell and then begin to pop like “lady crackers” and finally the gradual taking on of a rich golden brown color, to the accompaniment of a rich heady odor –

Late evening Sally & Red call. Sally had been to answer an ad for a part time stenographer; it turned out to be Evelyn Watson, The blind poet (she who, at the time of my retrospective at the Albright in 1944, wrote such a long incoherent eulogy on my work, much to my embarrassment.) Sally said she almost broke down when she learned she (Sally) was my daughter.

Charles E. Burchfield, January 30, 1946