Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

63. wind, with occasional spatters of rain; my easel was not well anchored; the legs sank in the sand, loosening the ropes, and the spikes I used ordinarily were too short to be much good in the soft ground. Nothing seemed to matter on this first day. I ate my lunch in the car (I had come in by way of Tifft St., and had parked southwest of the bridge by a freight station. It was raining a little at the time, and I was chilled thru – I enjoyed this little meal thoroughly. It settled in to rain in earnest by the middle of the afternoon, and I had to quit – but I had the main lines all blocked in, and the immense black counter–weights, practically painted –

     There followed another trip when I worked on the grassy bank. So many fair days had intervened that it was already changing, green was beginning to show. (On all the rest of my trips I found it more convenient to come in by way of Smith St, parking my car between the creek and a high railroad embankment.)

     Then a misguided friend sent me a magazine containing an article letter written by X