Charles E. Burchfield, Journals, February 22, 1912

To-day is Washington’s Birthday, but my only impression of the fact was that it was not a holiday for me. This is the way it is generally coming to be regarded — a cause for a holiday, not a cause for recalling the greatness of the man. One might as well say Birthington’s Washday; and no doubt that means as much to some as the correct and more respectful form.

But I didn’t start out to moralize on the so-called ill-usage of the day; — when a person commences to moralize he becomes demoralized and demoralizes everyone who chances to hear him. [Let’s] let George Washington and troubles go.

Winter has come back. I believe I am the only one in the state who can say that with any feeling of gladness. Such a wild blizzard that has raged all day! Last night, H.W. Weisgerber, voluntary weather observer, had it in the News that a real blizzard was coming, for the barometer had dropped 1½ inches, which, he said was an unusual thing in this part of the country. Unusual or otherwise, the blizzard came. The dark clouds that drove away daylight yesterday afternoon were the advance guards. Close on their heels came the wind. This morning, the storm was holding full sway; and thru all to-day, the wind has never abated tho the snow did. Gutters everywhere had overflowed to the meeting point, and at the decisive point, had frozen solid, becoming a glare of ice, over which the snow swept in rapid streaks. Shrieking around corners, and sweeping across open places came the wind, whirling the fallen snow up in the air in [a] blinding cloud to make the storm seem twice as bad.

Everyone is complaining about it. “Is it cold enough for you?” (most common) “This is the worst yet”; “I hoped we wouldn’t have any more of it” “Hope it don’t last long” etc, are among the common deprecatory remarks. I love it; I love [a] blizzard more than a calm cold winter day. I love nature in her wildest mood. A blizzard, a windy day, or a thunderstorm of all of them I love. To experience any one of them is a veritable house cleaning of the mind; some of the dash and spirit of the wind enters into us; on such days we could conquer the world were it necessary. Perhaps a calm quiet day has the same effect on someone else. For me, let me have a wild ragged sky, an icy wind, and some snow, and I am content.

What would I not give to be out in the woods on days like this! The roaring of the wind thru some dense copse would be the most enjoyable thing imaginable. Will I never be able to study nature as I would, until, by a partial isolation or complete isolation from her, the keenness of my interest will have been dulled? I hope not, and I think not. I have just finished Burrough’s “Locust’s and Wild Honey.” Evidently he had most of his time to give over to his study. I envy him. Writing as he did, fifty years ago, he has a nature which is wilder than ours of to-day, perhaps more lovable, but broader. I find that so many of his impressions coincide with my own.

Charles E. Burchfield, February 22, 1912