Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

66. Eighteen Mile Creek, I felt the nearness to my Creator, and often during the day, I felt humble, and thankful that the superlative gift of a little son to trot at my side, had been accorded me. I tried to do all the things that I used to delight in as a boy. First we explored, thru the little hollows, crossing the little stream on logs, sinking into mud, finding flowers, and listening to the bird-calls. At a quarter to twelve Arthur declared he was famished, so we went to the car, and got our lunch-basket, and the basket for plants, and flowers. We ate out lunch sitting on a log where the hollow ends and the little brook empties into the creek. The brook kept up a continual chattering which amused Arthur.

     After lunch, we built a little dam. This was huge fun for both of us. After we tired of this, we set out for flowers. Arthur was delighted with the Dog-tooth Violets. He knew instinctively how to pick them – a slow firm pull, and long stems resulted. Blue Cohosh interested him, and we dug a plant. There followed hepaticas and spring-beauties; we found quite a lot of red trilliums out – Once a pheasant startled him by whining up suddenly from almost beneath our feet.

     By mid–afternoon the warm drowsy day, and our exertions had fagged us out, and