Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

103.               December 17, 1935-

     I held Arthur on my lap tonight so he could toast his feet over the furnace; Sally & Catherine joined us, and I regaled them with little tales of what I could remember of the Ashtabula days; of being lost, & found finally in a stable sitting under a horse; of running away to the beach, and falling down in the water; of seeing Jim & a companion (far out, as I thot) (sic) swimming, only their heads visible; of the Lymch boys, of whom we were mortally afraid and how one of them stole some colored cardboards I had; of the time some older girls threw dust & sand in my eyes; and of finding wild sweet peas. These seem like some fabulous sort of flower to me now; I have never found anything like my memory of them – even then they were something special.

Lying in bed- the high shrill freight whistles from the Pennsy (Pennsylvania Railroad)- recalls quiet winter days on the Ohio, around Liverpool, & Steubenville - a quietness that has something ominous about it.