Charles Burchfield, Journals, August 31, 1913

Inconsistent as the statement may seem, I can only describe today in contradictory terms, as bright and cloudy. There are days when the clouds, however dense, have a certain vague lumin­osity, which did we not look upwards towards the sky, would make us think the sun were shining. Clouds today went by in allotments a clear space coming at noon, of which the sun took advantage and beat down mercilessly.

I took a walk around thru the garden early in the morning. Morning glory vines are in a sad condition - leaves yellowed and curling -  but the flowers themselves are a splendid contrast, for they are diminished somewhat in size they have lost none of their divine color and texture. The portulaea bed is still a source of wonder to me. From thee arose the vibrant humming of honey-bees, whose life task, it seems to me, must be one of the most pleasant imaginable. To human beings, the fruit of ones chosen work is honey. It is a pity that all of us cannot gather honey. And it is a still greater pity that some must gather the honey for others, for then it is lost to both the gatherers and the one for whom it is gathered, who loses the joy of the gathering.

I concluded my “stroll” in the grape arbor where I sampled the grapes which are just commencing to ripen. After tasting all the varieties, I am minded to compare them to the different castes of society. The white-grapes are the aristocracy; they look nice but the taste of them is somewhat disappointing, for it seems empty. Pink grapes are the middle class - a strong satisfying lasting taste, a strong healthy ruddy color. Then there is the lower class, which is represented by a poor variety of blue grapes which we have. Their color is a dingey blue; the taste is practically non-existent; they ripen fast and rot quickly. Per­haps best of all is a variety of blue grape which smacks of the wild, it has just enough of aboriginal pucker to make them interesting.

At noon I noticed how far south the sun has already receded; shadows are retreating farther northward. Everything is getting to have a scrawny look.

Late in the afternoon, the air became filled with thousands of whirling + swarming tiny insects, which seemed to be advancing eastward.

A riotous day was this socially. The folks from Rochester (whose full names I will here insert-Elizabeth Zimmerman, Elma Graham, John Ambrose + John Zink) have turned out to be as “crazy” as we are. In the afternoon Bill, Bobby, Wright, Joe Householder + Kate Spencer swelled our numbers. The day was one continual round of nonsense and escapades. Among the latter are the sewing-up of the Rochester girls nightgowns and hiding them under my trunk; The Hunt and Maneuverings that ensued on the girls discovery of This; The Marooning of Joe Burchfield, The Rescue of Joe; Bill and Joe climbing up on the back roof and into my room, to be discovered by the girls; Bobby, who didn’t know someone was waiting, climbing in the east window of my room; Bobby tying a rope onto the springs of the Rochester girls bed, while Joe, the Two Rochester fellows and I, stood in the bath­room giving unsolicited advice; Bobby’s discovery by the girls and his exasperation, The Stroll to the Encampment near Bentley’s Woods.

In the evening Pear Stitt, Russel Gibbs and his two sisters Jeannette + Myra, came up. In comparison to the day, the evening was rather quiet. The chief event was the lunch at which we made plans for a picnic in Pinehollow tomorrow.

Charles E. Burchfield, August 31, 1913