Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

Nov. 29 –To feel the exuberance of boyhood at never failing intervals is indeed a gift from God. Last night going home in the lowering gloom of the pre-storm wind of December, I felt an intoxication in the simple elements of nature that I have not felt for some time. A far away whistle from a train somewhere made me think of the wide stretching plains of Ohio and of my rambles on winter nights along the shinning tracks from Garfield to the BO tower, or along the black shores of the Ohio river. For a man to marry at thirty, if he has not been accustomed to headlong plunges, is something of a courageous adventure, no matter how much he may be in love. A man marries at twenty the same as if he were just going out for a short walk, but at thirty, all sorts of doubts beset him. He feels perhaps he must henceforth be a prosaic adult human being and leave his boyish caprices behind him. So did I get twenty-nine but last night walking along thinking of the primitive railroad life along the Ohio River — I realized that nothing has changed – the old love of the primitive wastes stirred in me — I thought of the music of “Prince Igor” and went