Charles Burchfield, Journals, May 11, 1934

A.M. to Chestnut Ridge Park – the general public does not think of going to a park until it is fairly summer + all the trees are in leaf, a condition that pleased me immensely today, as I had the place practically to myself.

The day was one of those when I suddenly find myself completely in tune with Nature; when each moment is a delight, an unceasing succession of happy events. I spent practically the whole time in exploring the large hollow that skirts the west + south edge of the Park, starting at the lower end, to the N.W. The cold north wind, and the brilliant sunshine that flashed at times thru the blanket of gray cold “layer” clouds, combined to produce a feeling of late March or early April and down in the hollow, whose banks are still solidly matted with dead leaves, the feeling was increased. Once a crow flew past overhead, cawing noisily.

There are few delights more engrossing than following the course of an unknown ravine in early spring. As I proceeded, the vista kept changing rapidly seeming to grow more interesting – fallen trees, great masses of roots torn up, sprawling on the hillside like fantastic octopi – in some places the slender stream disappeared, and traveled underground-

The hollow finally dwindled out in a dense woods of young trees thru which I could see an impromptu lumber “mill” – consisting of a buzz-saw, + a truck – I resented it’s [sic] banality and turned aside into the woods.

Here I found a colony of painted trillium. I eat ate my lunch on the roots of a large maple, in the sunlight, after which I dug a number of the trillium and a few Indian cucumber. I then retraced my way down the hollow.

In that brief times, the whole aspect of the place had changed; the sun shone more or less steadily, it was warmer. I came upon a little pool that lay between slabs of rock – an angular patch of crystal clear water that lay in full sunlight, on which were a number of skippers. The air-bubbles on which they float made relatively enormous shadows on the floor of the pool, - dark, rimmed with an intense light – their bodies were clearly shadowed but had no rim of light – I sat here some time, gazing into the pool, almost with out thoughts at all, except to sense the wonder of this little world of water among the rocks, sun-shot, the skippers, breeding, idiling to +  fro on its invisible surface, with the wide hollow all around, broken up by patches of intense sunlight and deep shadow under pine trees.

I often wonder why I cannot stay longer at such places, but it must be some instinct that drives me away from before the wonder of it becomes tarnished, before familiarity makes it common.

The change from the hollow to the upper world was more marked than usual – the wind was warmer and I suddenly became conscious that the trees are most of them [sic] covered with green – looking back, I could scarcely see beyond the edge of the woods, and my experience in the hollow seemed unreal. I had stepped backwards a month or more.

When I got home, I spent a pleasant hour preparing a place for, and planting the trilliums and cucumber–root under the pine trees with the other trilliums.

Charles E. Burchfield,  Friday, May 11, 1934