Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

113. a black long-unused fireplace on one wall, another wall was given over to cup-boards, all empty, and with the shelves all overgrown with rich moss and lichen; luxuriant ferns grew out of the fire-place mantel, and in some of the corners.

     I had reached the conclusion that I was in the wrong house, when a door at the opposite corner to where I had come in opened and a short, stout man, whom I knew to be the sheriff by reason of a tin star on his vest, came bustling up to me. I explained the reason for my intrusion. He did not seem much interested in my story, and I could see he thought I was foolish to get myself mixed up in the affair, that I had better let well enough alone. While we were standing looking hostilely at each other, I awoke.[i]

                   Sept. 15 - (Tues.)

     All day on a water color started long ago (1935) in the Buffalo Creek Flats, when I was working on Black Iron. I whipped it into pretty good shape, and felt good that I had, as it were, saved the picture from oblivion.[ii]

                   Oct. 16 - (Friday)

     A month of intense activity and confusion arising from the finishing of my pictures and framing them - On the 4th - I sent away the first group (10) and have since tried hard to get started on the second group, without much success; due to a black fit of depression that overtook me last week, which was probably