Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 8, 1948

July 8, (Thurs).

To the country east + S.E. of Springville, painting.

A fresh morning with scattered wind-blown clouds, - a promise of heat later on.

Park first under a maple on the Genesee Rd., opposite the Erie County Re-forestation area, ate lunch here – Consider stopping here for the day but decide against it and go on to Savage Rd., south through Sardinia a mile or so then turned left on a gravel road. – Came to a low secluded valley where was a deserted house, + parked under a large Elm tree – A delightful spot, the Cattaraugus Creek close by with its gleaming white bars of sand and pebbles.

I spent a little while wandering about – found some ripe but stunted black raspberries by the house; a little lane going towards the creek revealed a cottage “retreat” in the woods. A burdock bush by the elm literally covered with plant lice [aphids]. Cutting the bush down, I laid it in the hot sun to see the effects on the insects. In a few moments they had all retreated to under sides of the stems.

I now [seriously?] considered the subject for a painting. I had in mind a [throng?] of hay, with an overarching bough. Nothing here seemed to quite fit my perceived subject, and I was on the point of leaving when something about the sky above a grassy hill, + the heat-laden elm branches drooping above attracted me; I soon set up my easel + was at work –

I had not progressed far when the (as it turned out) owner of the cabin drove by. He returned a few moments later, stopped to the [unintelligible], with fishing pole + line. He seemed mildly interested but not impressed with my subject – “I tell you, if you want to see really fine scenery you should… etc.” –

He must [needs?] to show me his cottage too (as I was waiting for the sun to come out from behind a huge cloud I was not too annoyed). He then announced he was going down to catch a fish and I returned to my easel relieved.

A cicada once or twice.

The interruption seemed to be good because for I went at it more wholly in my improvisations. Finished about 5:00 and after putting everything in the car + locking it, I set out to walk up a crude roadway, which my cottage acquaintance said led to the top of the hill.

This was a pleasant excursion – more for physical reasons than anything else. The sun, high in the western sky, flooded the hillside with terrific heat; the white dirt road reflected the sunlight up brilliantly. I walked upward enveloped in heat + light – invigorated by the intense heat. My whole being felt attune, a deep sense of physical rightness + energy.

I followed the roads curves as it entered the upland woods, stinging flies circled my head with irritating but nevertheless, nostalgic buzzing.

Where the road encountered surrounding tracts (so precise on a high hill), it [words unintelligible]. Eventually the road seemed to disintegrate into a vague trail then thick underbrush and I turned back.

I stopped a moment in a meadow to savor its rich smells and infinite variety of plant life. Small-flowered cinquefoil, with its maze of red eternal wing runners, + small yellow flowers – always associated in my mind with the dainty “copper” butterflies. Beautiful clumps of blue-eyed grass. All nature seemed to smile on me, every leaf and grass blade full of meaning.

Back to the car – I now drove on, and took a road which my enthusiastic acquaintance had told me, would reveal a real view on the valley (which appeared to be true) I was looking for a place to spend the evening – and now followed on aimless wandering over various roads; - a glimpse now + then of beautiful sights, such as a large colony of orange day-lilies merging with a colony of dusty pink milk-weed, - Eventually, I came out on route 219 several miles below Springville. I now determined to find a spot on the hill road north of Springville – north on Vaughn St. to Genesee Rd., west on it to the hill road, south + parked under one of a row of maples.

A lovely spot – a field of wheat adjacent to the road and beyond that rolling fields + trees, all bathed in the mellow light of the declining sun. – I set my picture up against the car where I might look at it now + then, + ate my lunch after which I lay flat on my back and looked up into the tree.

When the sun was almost at the horizon I took a short walk down the road. By the side of the road I saw about 5 or six “coppers” gone to sleep on the hay stems. They perched with their heads down; while one lone white cabbage butterfly hung with its head up. Crossed the hayfield to explore a little woods, but it was too full of thick tangles of berry bushes. When I returned to the field, I saw a family of deer grazing at the far end of the field, a buck with (I think) six pointed antlers, a doe, and a fawn a beautiful group. Altho the wind was in my favor they had already spied me + were gazing at me motionless. I started in their direction, and at once they all faced me squarely, stomped their feet, and then, as one, turned about with tails erect, bounded away.

I returned to the car, - and drove southward. I parked long enough to make studies of the butterflies, then went on, and finding a wide “shoulder” I turned the car around and parked again. A fine moment high above the sun’s afterglow, a thin sliver of moon -  in a woods nearby, several wood-thrush started signing, making a melody of bell-like [unintelligible] tones that was ravishingly beautiful. An unknown old friend, kept singing his rollicking “whickity-whickity-whickity” – I hated to have the day end.

Home in a mellow glow. B thought the sketch a “humdinger” and so did C later on.

Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 8, 1948