Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, November 15, 1961

Nov. 15 – Wed.

A heavy white frost – The sky clear; a brilliant sun.

I thought it would be a good day for us to go to the falls, and get lunch at the Sheraton Brock Hotel – and Bertha was all for it.

First she had to take the two pictures to Alberella’s, and while she was doing that, I did a little work in the studio.

We go off about a quarter to twelve.

Up the Canadian side – a warm yellow haze in the air made the American shore distant and beautiful – at first the river had an inexplicable tawny surface, but as we neared Niagara Falls it turned to a vivid blue.

A vast “cloud “ of vapor rising from the Horse-Shoe Falls had the same creamy [unintelligible word] color – as we passed the falls on our way to the hotel, the vapor condensed into rain.

At the hotel many people were milling about in the lobby – The clerk informed us it was some sort of excursion – several ”bus loads” had already gone up to the dining room. He diverted us to some other restaurants not too far away; we chose the first one, at the Niagara Motel – a good family meal, a pleasant waitress and a nice view out over a park – Beyond and above it, the huge cloud-like mass of mist, obscured the sun, which hovered just out of sight below the cloud rim, forming constantly varying sunburst effects, and edge the mass with glowing white.

Crossed over the over to the American side, and took Route 104 eastward. It was good to get away from the artificial vulgarity of the Falls. (What a joy it must have been to see this great wonder in primitive times when it was not clustered with power projects and littered over with souvenir shops. In spite of it all however, the power projects have a rugged beauty of their own.

The outstanding beauty of the trip eastward were the many gigantic oaks returning to their leathery golden-brown, and dark brown leaves – Why do I never paint one of these beautiful trees? – the epitome of November.

We stopped along the way at a farmhouse and bought apples (Roman beauties) Indian Corn and some gourds – I wanted to pick out more of the latter but it was too bitterly cold to stand there very long.

We went some distance east of 78 (Wright’s Corners) but got tired of it, and then, failing to find a road southward we went back to 78 + thence south through Lockport and out to Clinton St. and home – at the later part of the trip the sun turning to a glowing red ball in a heavy bank of city-smog.

In the evening paper Bertha found a little notice on the News art page that my “Little Italy in Spring” had recently been donated to the Lockport Historical Society.

In the mail a nice letter from Irma.

Charles E, Burchfield, Journals, November 15, 1961