Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 4, 1949

To the country south of Wethersfield Springs (via Cowlesville & Attica) painting.

A sultry, windy day—although it is so dry the country nevertheless has the fresh delicate spring look.

A short distance past Wethersfield Springs I saw a small tree with red bloom on it and stopped to investigate. In this manner I discovered a beautiful spot: Swamp & pasture and with many hemlocks and elms. A large hemlock by the road suggested an ideal spot to eat my lunch.

At once it showed further possibilities; N.E. a charming landscape using a long horizontal slope such as I have been wanting to try. I set up my easel before I ate.

It was pleasant here in the shade of the hemlock, eating my simple meal of ham sandwiches, celery & rhubarb pie, all my worries of the past week or so slipped away.

All afternoon on the painting. The wind as hot and dry as in midsummer. When finished & I had everything in the car, I took a walk eastward—three large hemlocks together & beyond a low swampy tract with many elms. I picked here a large bouquet of marsh marigolds.

I spread a blanket under the three hemlocks and ate my lunch here. Many birds—a songs sparrow, robin, crows, and two sparrowhawks. I stayed until the sun was almost down. Picking spring beauties.

Then northward on 238 towards Attica (hoping to find a certain plant by a cemetery). A delightful road between Route 20 & Attica.

A beautiful woods by a cemetery made me stop. A fine spot. The sound of a waterfall attracted me. It proved to be the overflow of a small dammed up pond. A sign “No hunting fishing (etc) State property. I assumed it to be a fish nursery or tree reserve.        

I set out to explore the woods. Mostly maples, and all the underbrush cleared out. A beautiful place, hosts of trilliums and white violets, & a few squirrel corn.

The feeling of coming into a North woods, at twilight. It recalled some vague elusive memory of my boyhood; across it a dream or a pre-natal memory even? I wish I could grasp the feeling better. A stream thru the woods, as it turned northward a group of trilliums running down a bank, the woods to the north with its lynx-like openings; twilight—the unknown; did I experience it, or is it the result of a [lifelong] desire for a dream woods? It seemed as if it could be a magic woods; as if crossing a certain invisible line, I would be in a land of enchantment where would be growing in profusion all the flowers I love, mysterious glades, and dark caves with ice still inside. Once in its level of enchantment, I would be forever a boy, enjoying only boyish delights. 

When I emerged from the woods the half-moon at the zenith was already glowing brightly. I now noticed that the stones in the cemetery on the knoll were all exactly alike, and in the precise rows: [doodle of gravestone] I thought perhaps it was a soldiers’ graveyards and went up to look. The only inscriptions on the stones were numbers, and I was puzzled. Gradually then, it dawned on me that prisoners from the Attica State prison were buried here. The whole aspect of the place changed swiftly. It seemed horrible and sinister that men were buried here, and were only designated by impersonal numbers. The cold moon high above, sending down a warm light on the stones only seemed to make it more lonely and broken. I left the spot, greatly disturbed.

A seemingly long monotonous ride home.

B. liked the picture and its odd slope.

She said Art had called from Camping that he was going to the South Pacific & graduation would be on Wednesday (May 18).

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, May 4, 1949