Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

 clouds that had dimmed the sun, passed away & the sun came for clear and strong; a wonderful day. The various weeds are as yet unflattened [sic] by autumnal snows, and have a beauty that is unusual, especially [goldenrod].After lunch I spent about a quarter hour planning and mentally painting the little scene to the west—a lot of woods, hemlocks with the silvery glint of sunlight on their needles, and golden rod & astir seed heads rimmed with light. But I had to give it up as not being different enough, it seemed I had done it all before. Each time I came to this little spot I think I must make a painting here, but never do. It probably has too much charm. So east on 243 & then north on a secondary road, the one I came home on last summer after a [day’s] painting near Rushford Lake. Almost at once I felt I had come into wonderfully interesting country. I pulled off the road at a convenient place & looked around. A row of nondescript maples with farmhouse & barn beyond & the dirt road running out over the hills to the south seemed suggested a fit subject & I set about putting up my easel. Some men at the farm were putting a roof on a shed and saw me—first one, then another & then a third climb up to the peak of the roof & stood there watching me intently. Presently, as I expected, a young girl & small boy came down the road with their dog to “see”. Altho the girl was rather over-talkative & anxious to impress me with her knowledge of painting—I probably would not have minded too much had I not been finding it a terrific job to get anywhere with what I was doing. Example “Oh you’re painting in water-colors, doing it the hard way I see”—“Do you work mostly in water-color,” etc. I was as patient as could be, because I knew if I flared up, I would regret that & would be just as hampered by regret as this way. I admired & petted the dog, and told them if they came back in