Charles Burchfield, Journals, December 7, 1938

Dreamed all night– waking after each dream.  These dreams were all fascinating & delightful, but to my regret only one stays in my memory.

I was making a visit (which was in the nature of a pilgrimage) to a Farm Colony in Western Canada – Due to a current of warm air similar to the Gulf Stream on the Atlantic Ocean, it was still warm here, tho it was December – the trees were still in full leaf, some of them even green as in summer.  To the north of the settlement lay the enchanted North Country, with dreamy fields, and half-sun deep woods shrouded in the twilight that always exists in my dreams.  The architecture of the town, particularly of a town-hall was very odd, tho I cannot now describe it.

As I made my way thru the streets, it seemed as if this colony had been founded for some great Ideal.  I entered a house – there were several uncouth swarthy people about, who scarcely noticed me.  I thought that their indifference was only assumed, and had been instilled in them by their more intelligent leaders, on the supposition that it would put strangers more at their ease.  However I felt a vague hostility in their attitude.

The leader himself came to greet me – my feeling toward him was one of reverence and awe – he seemed a fine intelligent being, slender with ascetic living.  He was cordial, and invited me to have refreshments while we talked (One article of food was a thicky (sic) creamy cheese served on a crisp rhubarb leaf) – when I sat down, I found the chair to be ready to fall apart.  By half-leaning on a table, I was able to support myself, tho precariously.

I eagerly looked forward to talking about Sibelius.  I opened the conversation with the following:

“Do you consider yourselves still Finns or Canadians – now Sibelius would be considered a Finn would he not”- He smiled pityingly and said “Of course; what else would he be?”

I remarked upon the greatness of Sibelius, to which he agreed in glowing terms, with a subtle inference that I must not think I could tell him anything of the genius of Sibelius he did not already know.

I awoke at this point.

I now recall a portion of another dream – Spotty and Skippy were in a lovely field, by a road, pursued by a flock of stinging moths (tho it was December) – I found a huge beautiful moth (dead) on the ground, but it was in perfect conditions.  As I picked it up, it assumed the structure & texture of a leaf, but retained the colors & design of a moth.

Worked on “November Bloom” all day. Rain, snow and sleet all day.

Charles E. Burchfield, December 7, 1938