Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

-stantly croaking in the marsh. ; Early afternoon, a sudden shower – drives me to the car – barely time to put my water-color out of danger. After the shower I drove northward a short distance, turned around and returned, so I could watch the storm to the south, across the wide valley. After lunch, I discovered peppermint growing in a ditch by the roadside, and picked a large quantity for tea – which I enjoyed. ; As I drove on, a farmer came out and stopped me - and started to scold me for my mint-picking.; “Least you could have done was to ask permission”; I assured him it had occurred to me to ask permission to pick anything on public property – to which he replied that the fact that he paid $295 tax on his property – entitled him to some control of the land adjoining. After much futile arguing, it turned out he thought I was picking berries, which his daughter just out of the hospital had been hopefully watching – (I am sure there were no berries of any kind there) ; Tho [sic] I felt I was in the right, the encounter destroyed the idyllic quality of the day. ; The balance of the afternoon I spent in driving around a bit. Once I stopped along a dirt road that went thru a young woods. It was very quiet here, and dark. At another place I stopped and sat awhile under a large wild-cherry tree which was in full bloom. It was a fine moment – the hot westering sun lit up the lush meadows with brilliance – the air, which seemed pollen-saturated, throbbed with the hum of countless insects. I myself felt physically strong, and at