Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

After I had gone over five miles into unknown country I realized I again was on the wrong road (but the road & country were delightful & I intended coming back unless my little vale proved far superior). I returned my course and took the next road from the center of the village. This proved to be the right one.The little spot proved to be disappointing—probably because it was shut in by the hills & therefore very hot and moist. I dove back to the first road, and parked under a maple tree, and decided to spend the day there.It was very delightful—while flat, it was nevertheless high enough to afford views in most directions to lower country. The fields were mostly [CD]. It was pleasant in the shade. A slight breeze from off of the [CD]. To the south distant rolling hills & meadows almost lost in a steaming blue haze. A blue bird sang from a wire overhead.After lunch a brief survey of a lower field along the road. This was my subject & I soon had my apparatus set up.A glorious afternoon—the breeze lifted the rich clover scent until I was enveloped in it—the hot sun beating down, the glare of light on the fields, the sense of earth & sky being fused by the sun’s rays. I felt as a child again, lost in the wonder of God’s creation.A pair of bobolinks scolded me all the while I was painting.Shortly after I had started, I suddenly heard “Why, hello there” in the exaggerated cordial tone of society people. I trembled: Someone I know!—But it was the two ladies in the car were completely unknown to me—“How is it going?” was the next question. “I have just started. I replied shortly. “Would you mind telling me your name” (!!!) I mumbled something unintelligibly—Then “Do you have any pictures in Hamburg?”—“No, I do not”—A slight pause, then as that started the