Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

and often a yellow winged grasshopper clippered up from our feet a tree trunk once we noted a strange thing which I can only compare to the swarming of bees. Our attention was attracted by a wine-colored mass on the grey bark. I thought it merely a fungus but went to investigate nevertheless. A closer view showed it to be a living mass of caterpillars. They hung like a bag, the large end sagging down at the bottom. A touch and they all frantically started to jerking their heads rapidly up and down, an amusing sight.

A brisk hot wind was blowing, the roar of it in the tree tops accompanied us always. I presently tired of fishing as I thought I would - I believe I cast in twice - and so I pulled my rod apart and put my hook away. I usually preceded Jim and Fred waiting for them at times to catch up. Their fishing spirit was already drooping, since they had had no luck.

     And so we “worked along” towards our intended camping place, which was the same as our all-night fishing trip. Once we heard a Bob-white give