Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Long, flat wide-stretching, brown fields and swamps extended in  every direction; at a short distance from the road was a long row of willow–trees, with light brown tops, lining the edge of a long pool; far to the east was the “Dutchman’s Hill,”  dim in grey mists.  The “Dutchman’s” really, in full, is “The Dutchman’s Picnic Grounds.”  Farther down from where I was, used to be a Picnic ground with a real pavilion, and was owned by a Dutchman, from whom it got its name.  This was to long a name to say, so we shortened it to merely the “Dutchman’s,” and applied the name to the whole valley and hill along the “Little Beaver Creek”.

     Along the Egypt Road we went until we came to the “Covered Bridge.”  This bridge looks like a barn laid across the creek, with both ends open.  The fields lying to the south are flat and over grown with tall dry weeds, bushes and willows.  To the north is a dense little woods – one of the choicest places for wild flowers.  As I turned in the little road leading into the bridge, the same kind of bird that had sung in Pine-hollow, now began to sing.  What kind was it?  I almost angrily asked myself and almost lost the beauty of his song in my eagerness to know what kind he was.  He was a little