Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

On first view of the canyon from my favorite point. I had forgotten how startlingly beautiful this spot was; it was like a revelation to me. Wintergreen & pigeon berries; trailing arbutus. Art amused himself rolling rocks down the cliff. He could not understand why he could not throw a stone to make it land in the stream below.
Thru the woods along the canyons [sic] edge to the point where I painted “March Sunlight”. When I asked Art whether we should go down into the bottom, he answered by starting out at once. We had a hilarious time scrambling and sliding down.
Skipping stones; then around the base of the cliff on a narrow ledge—a precarious venture, for one mis-step would mean a dunking. Safely at the flat sandbars. The high cliffs overtowering above us, in full sunlight. Great masses of ice hanging. At times large chunks let go, falling with a crash, shattering, and rolling down to our feet in small pieces.
Once a hawk carrying a snake flew along the tops of the cliff. The sky beyond was a deep blue; scraggly hemlocks crowning the top.
Butter ball trees against the sunlit sky—
Summer cottages at the juncture of the east & west Forks. A wild beautiful spot; so as to be agonizing.
Start up the steep hill—opposite the beautiful cataract falling amid masses of ice—I said that Yosemite Falls was only better in size—Then I told Art I used to call it “Yoze-might”—which amazed him so, he could hardly climb up for laughing “Yoh’s might fall if you aren’t careful” he punned. By the time we attained the top we were exhausted.