Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

a very delightful whimsy about a boy who had a caterpillar that danced to the tune of “Yes sir, that’s my baby,” which the boy played on a mouth organ.
Aug. 11—Friday—
Another white-hot, windy day. The trees drying up and rattling in the wind. Many grass fires.
B & I to Bailey Market for peaches. Too early yet for “free-stones”—buy blackberries, corn & potatoes.
First tomatoes from our garden.
Mid-morning B & I to Seneca Street for provisions.
P.M. preliminary work on Carlisles’ House picture (a reconstructed 1917 sketch)—
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An evening meal.
I thought “We have much to be thankful for”. Fine food on the table. Breaded veal, fresh corn on the cob, fried potatoes, fresh blackberries. A soft gloom in the room; outside all the trees immediately surrounding the house in shadow, but beyond them and seeming to reach out to infinity, the world a glare of brilliant white hot light—Surely life could not be better (unless it might be that the two missing members should be at the table too).
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After supper, Art & I dust Pal with flea powder. He seems to know it is for his good; he lies motionless on his back and allows us to dust him thoroughly.
Later B & I for walk around the town. A beautiful sunset.