Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 5, 1947

To country S.E. of E. Aurora sketching—

(South on Olean Rd. (16) to Warner Hill Rd—thence to Vermont Hill Rd. South on latter several miles.) A deserted house seems a good place to eat lunch, and I park here.

Flat farm country. The day is cloudy, but with a feeling of sunshine—light rain at times. Spread blanket under maple tree.

 Pleasant mellow feeling to the air. Rain-moist breeze off the meadows. A farmer & his three sons with a load of field-stones—He greeted me cordially with “Taking a rest?” There was no hint of envy in the question, it was entirely friendly—He had been talking volubly to the boys before, and now he resumed what seemed to me to be a talk to interest the boys, to keep them interested “There was a man down at the store….”—one of the boys “Look, there’s a woodchuck!”

I tried in vain to find a subject on the spot—I had in mind doing something dark and mysterious, like a solemn Bach figure—something to do with the dark interior of a tree on a cloudy day.

(North on the Vermont Hill Rd—right on Goodleberg Rd.—where a huge black dog crouched ready for the game of chasing a car). To Hunter’s Creek Rd & south for a couple miles, but the country proved uninteresting so north again, to the Goodleberg Rd, to Vermont Hill Rd, right on Weed Hill Rd—) and almost at once saw a promising maple.—Parked under some roadside maples, and found on second look, the tall maple, with an elm behind it, to be very good.

All afternoon on the sketch—exaggerating the darkness of sky & tree—Blue birds, orioles, red-bird (?)—

Afterwards for short stroll thru daisy-filled hayfield, and little wooded ravine—the wood-cock.

Lunch, leaning against a high tension pole—The calm beauty of the declining day—clouds thinned out, sun at times—The little valley when I am reminded a little of the Dutchman’s—and I tried to put myself back in my boyhood when with Jim & Joe, we used to fish for bass & sunfish. A feeling North, and of North-west sun-down,—I lay a long time afterwards.

Put my lunch basket in car, and walk down into the valley—a delightful spot, with winding creek, dark woods, old dead trees and willow swamps—

On bridge—spider in its web—I blew on it, and after a few angry jerks, he gives up and drops rapidly—I thought he would surely fall into the water, but about an inch or so from the creek’s surface he stopped abruptly. A moment or two of swaying on the bridge, and then he started climbing back—he did it in sections, going rapidly for a foot or two, then pausing to rest. When he arrived at the bridge apartment, he was carrying a little white ball of web.

On the return, on the warmer Hill Road, I stopped to look at some deep ravines I had noticed on the trip up. Very dark in here,—the trees so dense little grows on the floor of the woods—merely dead leaves, the light coming in thru small openings in the top, had a warm gold quality—my blurred shadow on the ground - - - - woodthrush.

Home—B thinks the sketch better than the clover field of last week.

 Charles E. Burchfield, July 5, 1947