Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

grey.

Some chickens near here are making an awful racket.  I suppose one of the hens has laid an egg. The wind is rising and often it makes a whistling sound as it comes thru the air.

     I have had several fine trips to the woods this summer. One was “Frog-leggin’ Trip” which Jim, Fred and I took one Saturday night not long after I came home. An entirely new experience to me, I was wild over it. We started about four o’clock in the afternoon. The frog ponds were about a mile northeast of New Albany. We arrived here about an hour or so, before sundown. After choosing a site for our camp, which was under a beech-tree growing close to the bank of the Little Beaver Creek and which was a half way point between the two ponds to be “worked”. Here we deposited our basket of food and cooking utensils and set out to “go over” the ponds once before dark in order to accustom our­selves to the lay of the land.