Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

October 7, 1938-; When I was clearing some of the dead plants out of the garden, the rank odor of dead pumpkin vines brought back in a flash vague memories of my childhood. It is connected some way with the elusive memory of dried bean stalks.October 13, 1938-; South to the Zoar Valley & beyond on a sketching trip. First to Elma to take bicycle to be repaired, then south thru East Aurora, & on [washing paint-box in clear cold stream under a little bridge. The pleasure it gave me was almost a pang-] down “Center Street”, which took me to east of Springville. From Springville to Zoar Valley. On all side spectacular & theatrical patterns of trees on the hillsides. At the “Lace Gable” House, I parked, and ascended the hill to the north; here the view was so enchanting, and it being noon, I got my lunch and ate it leisurely there. The warm sun beat down, and I was in a drowsy state of contentment.; Simple as my lunch was, I amused my self (sic) thinking from what remote parts of the earth the “raw materials” of it came. Cashew butter made from nuts imported from India; Oranges from California, Coffee from Brazil, bananas I know not whence; bread from wheat no doubt from our own middle west; olives from Spain; apples from New York State.; A head of cattle with two horses drowsing, and slowly moving towards & then below me. Some of them looked curiously at me for quite some time, then resumed their grazing. There is something hypnotic in their slow rhythmic progression, and regular cropping of the grass, seemingly in unison. The drowsy sunlight & haze added to the dreaminess of the moment.