Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

B-A & I to church—it seemed good to be going again (we have missed so much this Fall.).; Our birthday dinner for B—roast chicken etc. Mart & Hank [were] already here, Mart had hung their present (gay white curtains with red cherry design for the kitchen) and also a watercolor. A nice time.; After dinner Hank brought up the subject of flying and then asked B to go up with him. At first I demurred but she seemed to want to go so bad, that I agreed and we went up to the field. A plane was available, and in a few moments they were sailing off into the S.W. sky.; When they returned and landed B was all flushed and smiling and obviously had enjoyed it. Hank then asked me to go, to which I eagerly agreed. (My excitement was not as keen as it was back in 1919 when I first went up).; There was scarcely any sensation of leaving the ground. Rather the earth dropped away. It was delightful to see all the familiar scenes from such a radically different point of view. The creek, and the village were fascinating—the houses like toys. All went well until he made the first turn—as he did so, I felt a slight squeamishness in my stomach—however, when we straightened up, it left me. We went over Ebenezer and east over Transit road. I noted how farm houses seemed so isolated with their little groups of trees or orchards clustered so closely about them.; However each time we made a turn, my stomach “turned over” and each time recovered more slowly, until I realized that if we continued much longer I would either be sick or faint. So I told Hank he’d better head back to the field. I finally had to close my eyes, open the little window for fresh air, and grit my teeth.