Inquire of baggage men if there is a hotel in Beech Creek and they say there is.
     A ten minute ride to the village – When I get off the train and see only a small station shed I wondered if a joke was played on me – a man with an old Ford to get mail.  He tells me there really is a village, about 1 ½ miles away.  I arrange with him to take me over.  A narrow road down over a creek –
     First to Dunkel’s for room – all full – sends me next door to Mrs. Schwartz – she accepts me – a widow living with a son about 25 yrs. Old –
    Evidences all around of a long dry summer, a fact which everyone proclaimed.  Supper at5:00– On front porch which faced open fields, (part of which was ball diamond).  Beyond there the town sprawled  away with nondescript houses and churches; to the south along low lying mountain range – walk out after supper and find big farm.
     The first evening – the August insect chorus in full swing, pulsating in the dark dry air – to the north beautiful display of heat lightening seeming to come from thousands of miles away over the dark hills –
     My room large with wooden bed lying diagonally from a corner between two windows – Cool in the night by morning I get extra cover –
     Tues. A.M. a walk to east end of village before breakfast – the sun tho having its fresh morning look yet, is already warm – The majesty of the day progressing from morning to full powerful day something I have not felt for a long time –
     All that I try to write about this trip which filled me with so much pleasure seems trite and banal – how to express my liking and admiration for Mrs. Schwartz – a real American woman – a farm woman who has born 10 children, refined, intelligent, unassuming – real aristocrat of the soil –
     At 9:00Tom Cook, the mail-man, comes to take me to the barn –
     This man had a real individuality – his Ford a very old one over which he exercised loving care – on the various trips that he took me, every time we stopped he would take his red bandana handkerchief and carefully