Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

31. That I was seeing and visiting in the “old home” for the last time did not affect me as much as I thought it would. It seemed so definitely to belong to the past. Played over some records one afternoon, which brought up nostalgic reflections for a time.

     One of the outstanding impressions experiences of being at the Coy place, was hearing the calls of the Bob-whites in the morning. I never heard so many – I find it hard to put into words just how the call of these birds affects me – it seems to soften the landscape, to add a feeling of brave warm companionableness, like one boy calling to another.

     One night there was heat-lightning to the north. I stayed out a long time watching it – nowhere but in my childhood scenes in Ohio, do I feel the great vastness of the sky, and that each direction is authentically itself.

     The mild beauty of Ohio cast its spell over me again, but now I am back home again, it has faded, and this country seems to be more mine now. Just before we came back, I took a walk out from town