Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

from nearby farms were sporting among the trees, and gave me a friendly wag of their tails as I passed. Presently I saw that the lane was barred by a sprawling group of farm buildings – old weather beaten house, sheds, corn cribs barn etc, but that beyond, it extended thru [sic] open country again – lined on both sides for a considerable distance with wintry forests, and then seeming to extend out to infinity, thru stump - dotted swamp tracts.; I was debating the problem of passing thru the farm-yard without seeming rude, when I caught sight of an elderly farmer with a pail on his arm, on his way to the barn. I hailed him, and asked him if it was all right to pass thru his farm. He replied that he had turned over the farm to his son, that I would have to ask him. He seemed unfriendly and curt, and I hesitated a bit before knocking on the door.; However, when I did knock, the door was opened at once by (presumably) the old farmer’s wife, a motherly sort of woman, obviously of German or northern middle-European descent. She invited me in very cordially. Inside, a spirit of gayety filled the house; people of various ages were constantly coming in, greeting the old lady, and chattering excitedly. They were, I thought, her children and numbered about fifteen or twenty; some of them were married and the added wives and husbands, made a considerable group. It seemed as if this were a weekly “get-together” – I felt as tho [sic] I were intruding, but as the son, whose permission I must get to pass thru his farm, had not yet put in an appearance, I lingered on, attracted by the general good feeling that pre-