Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, October 15, 1936

A day of great peace and happiness. Out in the car, on dirt road south east of Attica.

First stop at the little hemlock grove east of Marilla to get decayed needles for my wild flower gardens. It was pleasant here in the dusky gloom; sunlight, sifting thru, and a gentle cool breeze blowing. I enjoyed digging with my hands into the yielding pungent decayed vegetation.

Eat lunch by the four maples and old house, in full sunlight - afterwards in the field adjoining the road to look for mushrooms. In one area that had had manure spread over it I found them growing in profusion. The pleasure of mushrooming in the fall is partly sight and partly “feel” - That sense of firm lusciousness conveyed to the brain thru the fingers as we pick them is hard to describe. And in all nature there is no pink quite like that of the underside of a “young” mushroom - a warm sensuous color that exerts its influence all the way thru the brown pinks of older specimens to the deep blacks of fully ripe ones. The white topped ones can be seen for some distance and are unmistakable in their character. To [these] sensations may added that of sound - the strident call of blue jays, that come from undetermined sources over the hard windswept pastures.

I went back, over the road to explore a little lake that I had earlier seen to the north - gleaming a heavenly blue thru the colored trees. In the first pastures I entered I found mushrooms growing in such profusion that I could not resist them. I filled my cap with them, and carried them back to the car, after which I again set out on my quest.

The lake was reached by crossing a series of pastures, each one receding gradually downward to a low flat valley or depression in the earth. The head of the lake, which I approached was fed by a sluggish but clean stream winding thru lush green grass, which was in brilliant contrast to the surrounding colorless pasture turf of autumn. The stumps of hundreds of trees clustered around the edge of the lake, and many were jutting up out of the water, giving it a wild fantastic appearance. In fact the whole winding eastern shore of the lake was fringed with these gnarled stumps, which tho plainly created by man, were so old and decayed that you forgot their origin, and thought of them as completely natural. A number of killdeer flew up at my approach uttering plaintive cries.

The walk (I had by now determined to walk completely around the lake) – the walk along the eastern shore was delightful. There was evidence that the lake was much lower now than it was usually - that is, while it would not amount to much in feet, the bed of the lake was so flat, that a matter of inches in recession would expose several feet of shore. There was a strip of lakebed lying exposed about 15 or 20 feet wide; it was soft and spongy, and overgrown in many places with grass, smartweed and yellow-flowered Spanish needles. The latter tormented me by sticking to my socks and the lower edge of my trousers. I had to stop frequently and remove them. To do so, I sat on a convenient stump, and after the job was done, I would sit awhile and watch the dancing reflections of the [low lying] sun in the water.

I had not gone far, when I scared up a half-dozen or so wild ducks and almost at the same time I became conscious of a low murmuring clamor at the northern end of the lake, which I soon saw came from little blobs of white & black dancing on the surface of the water. A thrill went thru me as I realized I was beholding a flock of wild duck at rest - a common sight to most hunters, but no matter how often or how long before a natural phenomenon has been seen by “other” beings, each one’s first sight is just as wonderful as tho he were the original discoverer. The glimmer of the lake was suddenly increased. I seemed transported to some far north country, such as I used to dream of when I was a boy, but never experienced. Not long after this, two great blue herons flew up with their heavy floppy flight, seeming incredibly large, adding to my sense of elation.

There were many more twists and tiny bays or lagoons as I went on, than were apparent from a distance - in other words, the length of my stroll increased with each turn, and I was carried more & more out of what I first imagined my course would be. The woods gradually became denser and closer to the water as I proceeded, its dark mysterious depths inviting to future exploration. I kept wondering how near I could get to the ducks before they would sense my approach and become alarmed. When that moment came I was unprepared for it, however. A muffled roar, like that of distant rapids tumbling over rocks came across the water - and I looked, but not quickly enough. They were already in the air, their wings flashing with a myriad highlights; and their mouths emitting a strange medley of rapid cries - sight & sound inextricably interwoven. They did not sound so much like ducks, as I was accustomed to think of them, judging from the notes that drift down from the wedge shaped flocks flying high overhead remote & mysterious. These sounded like animals somewhat. Long ago, when I was at art school, the way between my room & the school led thru Wade Park, where at that time some of the zoo animals were quartered. Among them were some coyotes, and when they were fed, or about to be, they would set up a horrible clamor, of undesirable cries. The ducks reminded me of them. They wheeled and circled thru the air, going thru certain [geometrical] figures, as dancers do, executing the various movements as one creature, so perfect was their unified action. Now they would be directly against the sunlight, black as crows, and again in full light, gleaming as black and silver, a beautiful sight. There was one albino among them, a snowy white creature that seemed by reason of its being white, larger than the rest. After several minutes of flying around they settled down on the southern end of the lake.

The shore now took a sharp turn northeastward and revealed a long tapered arm or bay. As I came around I surprised the herons again, one flying up quite close to me.

There was nothing special to note in the walk around the north end of the lake, except an unforeseen long arm where there were a few old fallen trees. At the extreme northwest “corner” I came upon the dam, betraying that the lake was artificial in origin. The western shore along which I now was walking was free of any trees. Here there were a few small killdeer, and one killdeer like bird, much larger. He had an odd way of jogging his head up and down that was wholly ridiculous. Half way down the lake I could see the wild duck flock floating on the water. I determined this time to see them take off from the water, so I walked along with my eyes riveted steadily on them, which made walking a little difficult. It was not long until they sensed my approach, and took off with a great clatter & splashing. They flew low at first, northward, in front of the varicolored woods, and then wheeled back and forth again & again, going higher & higher. At one stage, their shadows were cast on the tree-tops below - a secondary elusive flock! Gradually they settled down again at the north end of the water, and the resulting silence was profound. There were three ducks left along the shore that allowed me to approach very near before they became alarmed.

The rest of the walk was more or less uneventful. On the return from the lake I found more mushrooms which I couldn’t resist picking. I was amused at the antics of a farmer in a distant field, who was chasing a herd of cattle out of his winter wheat. In a frenzy of rage he threw rocks and vile curses indiscriminately.

When I got up to the car, I was in that mellow state that the right combination of fatigue & contentment produce. Long sullen bars of clouds parted long enough to permit the golden light of the dying sun to stream out over the brown earth. I had reached that state of happiness that is also pain.

Charles E. Burchfield, October 15, 1936