Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, July 21, 1954

Breakfast on schedule, pleasant comparing of family notes with the Martz’s –

On our way by 10:30. The air misty, sky overcast with low-hanging formless clouds, thru which the sun was trying to break. Instead of taking our usual route thru Canfield + Niles, we decided to go north on the Ellsworth Rd, (45) until we came to Route 5 –

At the Beaver Creek, a fine “stand” of arrowheads made us decide to stop a moment to take in the scene. A fine moment – The sun making more headway against the mists – Altho some sort of chemical refuse has polluted the water here, (making it blackish in appearance) still it gave a mysterious depth to the water it might not otherwise have had. The stream seemed incredibly small to us. The arrowhead flowers were just in the early blooming stage, and were unusually large and beautiful – The creek wound in a leisurely fashion through the wooded banks, disappearing in haze to the east – In the north, a row of young elms.

From a meadow to the immediate north there came one of the most enchanting sounds in all nature – the call of a Bob-white, full and clear. Altho it is impossible to achieve the full-rounded out power of the bird’s call, I nevertheless answered him. And this seemed to arouse others to the east – perhaps they could tell that I was a false alien imitator; a cause for alarm – In all, there were four birds calling, of as many degrees of loudness, from the first one to call, to one far to the east which was barely audible. We listened almost breathlessly, until almost breathlessly, until gradually the chorus died down again.

I felt a strong desire to once again paint in an Ohio country-side – more mellow than Western New York country.

Charles E. Burchfield, July 21, 1954