Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, April 1, 1939

A mild breezy morning, with wispy clouds, and a sprinkle of rain. A songsparrow (sic) sings from somewhere.

Out Clinton road almost to French to make a sketch. Painting of the stream that runs along the road here for a short distance, and then crosses under thru a cement culvert to the flats southward.

Truly a “red-letter” day, my first painting outdoors on anything new since the middle of last November. I painted eagerly and without great effort – a strong rain-tangy wind out of the south – I felt in fine spirits.
The painting done, I packed and drove out French Rd to find a place to eat lunch. At the point where Slate-bottom creek crosses under the road (near Borden Rd) it seemed attractive and here I stopped. My mind, set afire by the sketch, was racing by leaps and bounds, and everwhere (sic) I saw great subjects to paint. The strong wind out of the misty south, blowing over the warm-burnish odne (sic) fields, filed me with a burning desire to run, to leap, to do anything so as to be part of it.

Lunch over, to the Hepatica Swamps near Bowen & Clinton – It was a great physical pleasure to walk with wide steps over the soggy meadows. Peepers were going in full song in the marsh pools. I saw so hepaticas but came upon two spring-beauties staring in wide-eyed innocence up at the sun, which was drmming (sic) in a soft blue-gray cloud bank. The wind was strong & warm.

I was loath to leave, but had promised to be home so the three girls could have the car to go to Bartholemew’s – On the way in Clinton, just beyond Transit, I picked up a half-grown boy. He told me he was going to Gulley’s greenhouse, and French & Clinton, and had walked from Marilla – (which would make his journey over eleven miles!) He was going to buy his mother a plant. I took him all the way. He said he would stop there until 4:00, and then start home.

Yellow crocus in bloom.

Before we left for Bartholemew’s, the rain came up, and soon was coming down in torrents. After I had dropped the girls off, I thought of the boy I had picked up, and wondered how he would get home. The fact that he had walked (or would have walked) 11 miles to get a flower appealed to me, and I determined to take him home.

He was still at the greenhouse, sitting contentedly where the workers were busy. One of the men told me he often came down, was very fond of flowers, and that he gave him bulbs and plants that were to be discarded. He seemed glad of a chance to ride back, (I told him I had an errand near Elma) tho he was very shy.

The Greenhouse had been gotten in readness (sic) for the Easter trade, and there was such a riot of color among the cinerarias that I thought Bertha should see it. So when I came back, I picked Arthur & her up, & we went and “revelled” – we bought three plants – Arthur an easter lily for Bertha, a tulip for me (my birthday) and I a brick-red cineraria for Bertha – 

The rain lasted until late in the evening, when it grew colder, and the moon came out

A dream last night which reflects my agony of longing to paint. I was a street intersection in some town, making a sketch of some tall poplars blown by a strong June wind, with a cloudy sky behind. In my dream, the quality of the picture I was conurering (sic) seemed truly marvelous, and enthusiasm & happiness, such as I only know in 1916, filled me. A truck coming down one of the streets, I quickly sketched it in. Then came a street-car, and all at once I seemed to be in my car, and in the street-car’s path. I drove rapidly backwards to get out of the way, then awoke.– 

An all Berlioz concert, which found me unappreciative.

Charles E. Burchfield, April 1, 1939