How To Play Where Corn Don't Grow In Drop D Tuning

How To Play Where Corn Don't Grow In Drop D Tuning
Edward R. Forte November 24, 2021


How To Play Where Corn Don't Grow In Drop D Tuning

And BB King learned to play on a piece of wire wrapped around twonails.But we ain't him, so for us mortals, we need to use the crutch ofstandard tuning.Tull is sorta known for playing the flute a, his daughter was trying to decide which band instrument to play for.She wanted the sax, but Ian (being the rockstar, rolling in dough).one night he's at home and hears her struggling to get some piece of music.for school that he recognizes and he sticks his head in and asks if she.player of 30 years for Jethro Tull, realizes that he doesn't actually know.beginners flute book waiting for him at the hotel.easier to play since he understands how the damn thing works. .

Guitar & Banjo Tunings

Banjo Family Tunings.5 String Banjo.Stu Jamieson, Pretty Polly (fretless banjo) (” Banjos, Lamas & Bagpipes”).Mostly for tunes in the key of D or F. More common in bluegrass than old-time playing.Peggy Seeger, Lonesome Road Blues.Art Rosenbaum suggests it for Pretty Little Miss or Little Rabbit, using the 5th string for melody notes (in “Old Time Mountain Banjo”).Ken Perlman, Devil’s Dream (tab in “Clawhammer Style Banjo”.Open-G, lowered 5th string.Indian Creek Delta Boys, Wolfe Creek (“Indian Creek Delta Boys”).Mark Rader, from Joe Mullins, The Blues Are Still the Blues, key of B (Tab, BNL, Feb 1994).A Rufus Crisp tuning, according to Pete Seeger ( “How to Play…”).The same principle of tuning several strings to the same note & playing on one string against the drone of the others can be applied in various combinations & keys.I don’t believe Frank George has recorded this tune, but versions of it may be found on: “The Fuzzy Mountain String Band”; The Bing Brothers, “Just For the Sake of It”; The Ill-Mo Boys, “Fine As Frog’s Hair”.4th string tuned an octave below 3rd string.Bob Carlin lowered it to open-E for his version of Chilly Winds (“Fiddle Tunes for Clawhammer Banjo”).The G-bass tuned up to the key of A.Tommy Jarrell, John Brown’s Dream (“More Clawhammer Banjo”).Art Rosenbaum, John Henry (“Five String Banjo”).John Herrmann, Polly Grant; Brushy Fork of John’s Creek (“Dirk Powell & John Herrmann”).G-bass variant gGA#CD.Rufus Crisp G-bass variant gGDAD.Pete Seeger ( “How to Play…”) mentions this as among the tunings Rufus Crisp used.Also sometimes used for D-centered tunes: e.g. Dock Boggs, Sugar Baby (“Dock Boggs: 12 Original Recordings”; “Dock Boggs, Vol 2”).Art Rosenbaum, Frankie Was a Good Girl, key of F (Tab in “Old Time Mountain Banjo”).Rosenbaum suggests trying Cumberland Gap or Buck Creek Girls in this tuning or the variant fDGCD.Equivalent, for the key of F, of gEADE.Bob Carlin, Trouble (“Fiddle Tunes for Clawhammer Banjo”).George Gibson likes to play Shady Grove and Cumberland Gap in this tuning.John gives his source for this as Banjo Bill Cornett’s performance on ‘Mountain Music of Kentucky’ CD version.G-modal variant fFGCD.This produces a cross between a G-chord (DGBD) and a D-chord (DF#AD).I don’t know if it is traditionally called the “Willie Moore” tuning; Art Rosenbaum (in “Old-Time Mountain Banjo”) suggested that this song falls into it naturally.Gaither Carlton, Pretty Saro (“The Watson Family Tradition”).(Although the liner notes say Sexton is playing this in fCFCD, key of F, I’m 99 & 44/100% sure he’s in gDGAD; and certainly in the key of G.

Anyway, a very beautiful performance.).Bob Clayton, Bill Cheatham (Tab, BNL, Jan 1980).Though there are more recorded examples of this tuning in the Dock Boggs canon than I’ve found elsewhere, Dock clearly didn’t “invent” it.Dock Boggs, Pretty Polly (“His 12 Original Recordings”; “Dock Boggs”).Dock Boggs, Country Blues (“His 12 Original Recordings”; “Dock Boggs”).John Cohen, John Johanna (“Old Time Banjo Project”).Dock Boggs, Little Black Train (“Dock Boggs Vol 2”).Mike Seeger’s liner notes say Dock usually plays this “with 5th string tuned to F#.Known both as “Wade Ward’s Fox Chase Tuning” and “Rufus Crisp’s Brighter Day Tuning”.Art Rosenbaum, Got a Little Home to Go To (“5 String Banjo”).Good, among other things, for accompanying fiddle tunes in G (e.g. if your banjo is already tuned up, sans capo, to A or D).Often heard in this tuning: Cumberland Gap; Sandy River Belles; Stoney Point.Art Rosenbaum, Stoney Point; Buck Creek Gals; Harlan County Farewell Tune ( Tabs & also LP, “The Art of the Mountain Banjo”).Bob Carlin, Trouble (“Fiddle Tunes for Clawhammer Banjo”).Molly Tenenbaum, Sail Away Ladies (on Mark Simos, “Race the River Jordan”).Mike Seeger, Shady Grove, fretless bjo tuned down to d#CFA#C; with Tracy Schwarz’s fiddle tuned to FCDG (‘New Lost City Ramblers: There Ain’t No Way Out’).Variant of gEADE.Ron Mullennex, Dead Man’s Piece (“Old Five String”).Bob Carlin, with John Hartford, Shortnin’ Bread (“The Fun of Open Discussion”).Bill Mansfield, Wild Horse (Stoney Point) (“Root Hog or Die”).DGDE variant, lowered 5th string.Pete Seeger, All the Pretty Little Horses ( “How to Play…”).Dick Weissman, The Parting Song (“Old-Time Banjo Modern Style”).Tunes often played in Mountain Minor tuning (e.g. Shady Grove) can be effective in the open G-minor.Seeger plays this on a gourd banjo, tuned down.Fred Cockerham, Roustabout (“Clawhammer Banjo vol 2”).(There will be many more examples on recent minstrel-style recordings.).Standard-C, lowered 5th string.Also see his tab in “The Art of the Mountain Banjo”).A Tony Trischka C-tuning, lowered 5th string.Now one of the commonest tunings in clawhammer style, above all for playing with “D” fiddle tunes.Double-C, lowered 5th string: Wade Ward’s “High Atmosphere” tuning.Wade Ward, Half Shaved (“High Atmosphere”).Double-C, lowered 5th string.Miles, Greensleeves (Tab, BNL, Feb 1985).Ken Perlman, Reuben’s Train (Tab, BNL, Mar 1984).B.F.

Shelton, Darling Cora, 1927 (“Music of Kentucky Vol 1″;”Old Time Mountain Ballads”).Some frailers/clawhammerers and old-time finger-pickers (e.g. Tom Paley) consistently use Open-C rather than Double-C.

Ray Stewart says it makes far better sense for The 8th of January and Turkey in the Straw than Double C. Tuned up to D, this becomes aDADF#, and as such has the name of “Quince Dillon’s High D”.At any rate, it sounds to me as if Dock is using the Open-C on these songs).Ken Perlman, Billy in the Lowground (tab in in “Clawhammer Style Banjo”).String Band, Quince Dillon’s High D (“Summer Oaks & Porch”) Tom Paley, Wolves Howling (Tab, BNL, Nov 1984).Stu Jamieson, The Cumberland Mountain Deer Chase (capo-2) ( “Banjos, Lamas & Bagpipes”).Old Ruben or Reuben’s Train is traditionally played in this tuning.Fred Cockerham, Little Satchel (“High Atmosphere”, on CD reissue, not on original LP.Fred Cockerham, Frankie Baker (“High Atmosphere”, CD reissue only.Snuffy Jenkins, Lonesome Road Blues (“American Banjo, Scruggs Style”).Earl Scruggs, Mama Blues (“Carnegie Hall Album”; tabs, BNL, Nov, Dec 1989).J.

D. Crowe, Reuben (“Lonesome Rubin: Tony Rice, Guitar”; tab, BNL, Jan 1988).Jack Bunch, Shortnin’ Bread (“Old Time Banjo Pieces”).Open-D, lowered 5th string.John Hermmann, Rosalee McFall, also tuned up to E, with Dirk Powell’s fiddle tuned BEBE (“One Eyed Dog”).Dick Weissman, Blues for Dock Boggs (“Old-Time Banjo Modern Style”).D variant: “John Henry”, “Dead Man’s” tuning.Dwight Diller, John Henry Blues ;Washington’s March (“Piney Woods”).Va.

Mountain Music”).Reed notes that the banjo on which he recorded the tune “belonged to the ‘Cox’ family of Hillsville VA…It was tuned to dADAD when found so it stays in that tuning.” (Communicated to Banjo-L by Jeff Chumley, 23 March 97).Dick Weissman, Country Blues (“New Directions in Folk Music”).Dick Weissman, Snowbird (“Old Time Banjo Modern Style”).Ray Andrews, Meadowlands, in Bm (Tab, Ken Perlman’s in “Clawhammer Style Banjo”).Bob Clayton, Reuben’s Train (Tab, BNL, Jan 1980).Tommy Jarrell’s open D-minor “Reuben” tuning.“Nashville Blues” D-minor variant.Open D-minor variant.George Landers, Cumberland Gap (“High Atmosphere”).Gaither Carlton, Rambling Hobo (“The Watson Family Tradition”).Dock Boggs, Davenport, tuned dADAB; i.e. fCFCD – 3 (“Dock Boggs Vol 3”.Bob Carlin, Ladies on the Steamboat; The Last Time (“Where Did You Get That Hat?”).Bob Carlin, Big Scioty ,tuned down to eBEBC# (“Fiddle Tunes for Clawhammer Banjo”).“Last Chance” F-tuning variant.However Art Rosenbaum has said that Chancey was playing in fCFCD (Tab, BNL, Dec 1982).An F-bass tuning.No recording.).John Cohen’s notes for “High Atmosphere” state that “Amongst many old time banjo players from widespread parts of the mountains, this is the “Cumberland Gap” tuning – which can only be used for this tune.Frank Proffitt, Cumberland Gap (“High Atmosphere”).Dock Boggs, Cumberland Gap (“Dock Boggs Vol 3”).Jont Blevins, Cumberland Gap; Sugar Babe (mentioned in notes for “Old Originals Vol 2”).Bob Carlin & Bruce Molsky, Cumberland Gap (“Take Me As I Am”).Larry Unger, Two Rivers (Tab, BNL, Nov 1988).f#BEAD, raised 5th string.f#BEAD, raised 5th string.A “Cumberland Gap” variant.f#BEAD, lowered 5th string.Variant of f#BEAD or f#DF#AD.Fred Cockerham, Frankie Baker, tuned up to E (“High Atmosphere”, CD reissue only.Although John Cohen claims that FC is using f#BEAD here, I think he’s either tuned to f#DEAD or to the open D, f#DF#AD.For Wade Ward’s “Half Shaved” tuning, see under eCGCD ).George Gibson, considering this a variant of the open-D tuning, mentions that his father used it for Frankie and Albert, holding down the 2nd string at the 2nd fret and the 3rd string at the 3rd fret.f#DEAD, raised 5th string.f#DEAD, lowered 5th string.“There ain’t no tune played in this tuning except Little Birdie” said Pete Steele.The equivalent tuning for the key of D is f#DABE.Gaither Carlton, Little Birdie (“Clawhammer Banjo”).Willie Chapman, Little Birdie (“Mountain Music of Kentucky”).Art Rosenbaum, Little Birdie (“Art of the Mountain Banjo” and tab).“Little Birdie” variant.If you change the “Little Birdie” eCGAD tuning up one whole step, except for the 1st string, this is what you get.Here, “Little Birdie” is played out of the D-chord made by holding the 1st string down at the 4th fret and the 2nd string down at the 3rd fret.String Band”.I think ‘Turkey’, played in the key of E, sounds great in this tuning.“Dead Man’s” variant.“Dead Man’s” variant.Hammons family “Sugar Babe” E-minor tuning.Another E-minor tuning.Mike Seeger, Sugar Baby, tuned down to f#DGCD (“Mike Seeger & Alice Gerrard”).An E-minor tuning.1st string fretted at 2 gives the Em chord.Equivalent tuning is aCGCE (“Open-C”, raised 5th string).Music from the Cumberland Plateau, vol 1″).5th string used for melody notes.A B-flat tuning.A-minor tuning.But see his tab for How High the Moon (BNL, Oct 1985; recorded source, “Fascinating 5-String”).


Jimmy Crack Corn

"Jimmy Crack Corn" or "Blue Tail Fly" is an American song which first became popular during the rise of blackface minstrelsy in the 1840s through performances by the Virginia Minstrels.It regained currency as a folk song in the 1940s at the beginning of the American folk music revival and has since become a popular children's song.On the surface, the song is a black slave's lament over his white master's death in a horseriding accident.The song, however, is also interpreted as having a subtext of celebration about that death[3][4] and of the slave's having contributed to it through deliberate negligence[5][6] or even deniable action.Jim Crack Corn or the Blue tail Fly.De debble take dat blu tail fly.I nebber forget till de day I die,.Ole massa an' dat blue tail fly.Dar's many kind ob dese here tings,.But August fotches de blue tail fly,.Den arter dinner massa sleep,.De debble take dat blue tail fly.I neber shall forget till de day I die,.Ole Massa an de blue tail fly.I follow arter wid a hickory broom,.Kase he bitten by de blue tail fly.De pony run dar jump an pitch,.Ole massa and de blue tail fly.Den arter dinner massa sleep,.I neber forget till de day I die,.Dar's many kind ob curious tings,.But Augus fotches de blue tail fly.Den brush away de blue tail fly.I neber shall forget till de day I die,.Ole massa an' dat blue tail fly.Jim, crack corn, I doan' keer,.Jim, crack corn, I doan' keer,.Jim, crack corn, I doan' keer,.The melody is similar to "Miss Lucy Long" and was originally set for piano accompaniment,[3] although "De Blue Tail Fly" was marketed in Boston as one of "Emmett's Banjo Melodies".[22] The four-part chorus favors a single bass and three tenors: the first and third tenors harmonize in thirds with the second completes the triads or doubles the root, sometimes crossing the melody line.[3] The versions published in 1846 differed rather markedly: "De Blue Tail Fly" is modal (although Lhamar emends its B♭ notation to C minor) and hexatonic; "Jim Crack Corn", meanwhile, is in G major and more easily singable.[3] Its simplicity has made it a common beginner's tune for acoustic guitar.The first verses usually establish that the singer was initially a house slave.This is possibly the blue bottle fly[26] (Calliphora vomitoria[27] or Protophormia terraenovae), but probably the mourning horsefly (Tabanus atratus), a bloodsucking pest with a blue-black abdomen[28] found throughout the American South.[29][30] In this, the singer, ultimately, is unsuccessful; the horse begins to buck, and the master is thrown and killed.A coroner's jury is convened to investigate the master's death, or the singer is criminally charged with that death[citation needed], but owing to the "blue-tail fly," the slave escapes culpability.The chorus can be mystifying to modern listeners, but its straightforward meaning is that someone is roughly milling ("cracking") the old master's corn in preparation for turning it into hominy[33] or liquor.In the 19th century, the singer was often considered mournful and despondent at his master's death; in the 20th, celebratory: "Jimmy Crack Corn" has been called "the baldest, most loving account of the master's demise" in American song.Throughout the 19th century, the lines referred to "Jim",[2] "Jim Crack",[12] or "Jim Crack Corn"[37] and lacked any conjunction across the line's caesura; following the rise of highly-syncopated musical genres such as ragtime and jazz, anaptyxis converted the name to "Jimmy" or "Jimmie" and the "and" appeared, both putting more stress on their measures' backbeat.This has obscured some of the possible original meanings: some have argued that—as "Jim" was a generic name for slaves in minstrel songs—the song's "Jim" was the same person as its blackface narrator: Speaking about himself in the 3rd person or repeating his new masters' commands in apostrophe, he has no concern with his demotion to a field hand now that his old master is dead.Another now-obscured possible meaning derives from jim crack being eye dialect[40] for gimcrack ("worthless"[38][41]):[43] The narrator is so overcome with emotion (be it pleasure or sorrow) that he has no concern at all about his gimcrack cracked corn, his substandard rations.[3] Since "corn" was also a common rural American ellipsis and euphemism for "corn whiskey",[45] it could also refer to the slave being so overcome that he has no concern about his rotgut alcohol.[46] The 1811 Dictionary of Vulgar Tongue by Francis Grose defines a jimcrack as a "spruce woman", so perhaps the lyric refers to the slave being so sad he doesn't have interest in an approaching beautiful woman.Other suppositions include that "cracking" or "cracking corn" referred to the now-obsolete English and Appalachian slang meaning "to gossip" or "to sit around chitchatting";[47] that the singer is resting from his oversight duties and allowing Jim to steal corn or corn liquor; that "Jim Crack" is simply a synonym for "Jim Crow" by means of the dialectical "crack" to reference the crake; or that it is all code for the old master "Jim" cracking his "corn" (skull) open during his fall.The 1847 version of the song published in London singularly has the lyrics "Jim Crack com'", which could refer to a poor Southern cracker[48] (presumably an overseer or new owner) or a minced oath for Jesus Christ (thus referencing indifference at the Judgment Day); the same version explicitly makes the fly's name a wordplay on the earlier minstrel hit "Long Tail Blue", about a horse.A number of racehorses have been named "Jim Crack" or "Blue Tail Fly" and, in at least one early-20th century variant of the song, it's given as the name of the horse that killed the master,[49] but that is not a common element of the song.(Another uncommon variant appeared in the 1847 Songs of Ireland published in New York: it has the slave being given away by the master.Explanations of the song based upon "jimmy" or "jimmie" being slaves' slang for crows or mules (here being allowed into the old master's corn fields instead of being chased away) or deriving "jimmy" from "gimme" are unsupported by the existing records.Pete Seeger, for instance, is said to have maintained that the original lyrics were "gimme cracked corn" and referred to a punishment in which a slave's bacon rations were curtailed, leaving him chickenfeed;[50][53] the same lines could also just be asking for the whiskey jug to be passed around.The idea that Jim or Jimmy is "cracking open" a jug of whiskey is similarly unsupported: that phrasal verb is attested at least as early as 1803[54] but initially applied to literal ruptures; its application to opening the cap or cork of a bottle of alcohol was a later development.The present song is generally credited to Dan Emmett's Virginia Minstrels,[10] whose shows in New York City in the mid-1840s helped raise minstrelsy to national attention.[55] Along with "Old Dan Tucker", the tune was one of the breakout hits of the genre[56] and continued to headline Emmett's acts with Bryant's Minstrels into the 1860s.[57] The song was first published (with two distinct sets of lyrics) in Baltimore and Boston in 1846, although it is sometimes mistakenly dated to 1844.[1] However, as with later rockabilly hits, it is quite possible Emmett simply received credit for arranging and publishing an existing African-American song.[11] The song was certainly picked up by slaves and became widely popular among them.[59] The song differed from other minstrel tunes in long remaining popular among African Americans: it was recorded by both Big Bill Broonzy and Lead Belly after World War II.Abraham Lincoln was an admirer of the tune, calling it "that buzzing song".Throughout the 19th century, it was usually accompanied by the harmonica or by humming which mimicked the buzzing of the fly (which on at least one occasion was noted disrupting the parliament of Victoria, Australia.[60]).Following World War II, the "Blue Tail Fly" was repopularized by the Andrews Sisters' 1947 recording with the folk singer Burl Ives.It then became part of the general Folk Revival through the '50s and early '60s before losing favor to more politically-charged fare, as parodied by Tom Lehrer's "Folk Song Army".A 1963 Time article averred that "instead of ... chronicling the life cycle of the blue-tailed fly", the "most sought-after folk singers in the business"—including Pete Seeger, Theodore Bikel, and Bob Dylan—were "singing with hot-eyed fervor about police dogs and racial murder".[63] All the same, Seeger claimed to have been present when Alan Lomax[65] first taught the song to Burl Ives for a CBS radio show[64] and their duet at the 92nd Street Y in New York City in 1993 was Ives' last public performance.Seeger maintained that the song's subtext gave it a social justice element[50] but began (with 1953's American Folksongs for Children) to perform and market the work as a children's sing-along.Usually under the name "Jimmy Crack Corn", it remains common at campfires and summer camps.[57] It is also sampled in a number of rap songs—including Tuff Crew and Eminem's compositions (both titled "Jimmy Crack Corn")—playing on the present usage of "crack".Fiction Children of Destiny (1893) by Molly Seawell: black laborers on a Virginian plantation sing and dance to the song as they harvest.Cingular Wireless: A commercial in December 2006, raised some controversy when a character having a conversation with "Jim" begins referring to him by every nickname he can think of ("Jimbo ...

Jimmy boy ... Jimmy crack corn ...").Following "a half dozen complaints", Cingular edited out the sequence.


360 Yield Center: Try These 5 Steps To Fine Tune Nitrogen

There is no one-size-fits-all approach to nitrogen management.The reality is that an effective nitrogen management plan needs to focus on how much N a particular field and corn crop needs, as well as how to properly manage N throughout the growing season — with adjustments along the way, according to a news release from 360 Yield Center.“Now is the time to take control and make even smarter N management plans that focus on applying N when and where corn needs it most.”.Fortunately, today farmers can know, in real time, N levels in their fields.Split-nitrogen application allows farmers to apply N throughout the growing season.It’s about maximizing N inputs so it’s available when the corn needs it.Now, farmers can anticipate the potential for big rain totals in June and push N application back, if needed, so it’s not at risk to Mother Nature.Nitrogen needs change not only throughout the season but also throughout fields.Different management zones in fields use nitrogen differently — a 3.5 inch rain on a hill makes a different impact on N levels than a 3.5 inch rain in a valley.So now farmers don’t have to worry and have the control to hold some N back for a late-season application.With smarter N management, farmers can make the most of inputs by applying N when it’s needed most, instead of putting it out early when it’s vulnerable to loss from rain and environment. .

SONG OF MYSELF. ( Leaves of Grass (1891–1892))

I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this.I, now thirty-seven years old in perfect health begin,.Houses and rooms are full of perfumes, the shelves are crowded.It is for my mouth forever, I am in love with it,.ing of blood and air through my lungs,.The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore and.The sound of the belch'd words of my voice loos'd to the eddies.A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms,.The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields.The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from.Stop this day and night with me and you shall possess the origin.You shall possess the good of the earth and sun, (there are millions.You shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look.through the eyes of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in.You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things from me,.But I do not talk of the beginning or the end.Till that becomes unseen and receives proof in its turn.Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they.As the hugging and loving bed-fellow sleeps at my side through.the night, and withdraws at the peep of the day with.Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels swelling the house.People I meet, the effect upon me of my early life or the ward.and city I live in, or the nation,.The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love,.These come to me days and nights and go from me again,.Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat,.I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,.How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn'd over.pass all the argument of the earth,.And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own,.And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own,.And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the.women my sisters and lovers,.fetching it to me with full hands;.Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the.Growing among black folks as among white,.It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,.This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,.Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,.I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and.And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken.The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,.And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the.I pass death with the dying and birth with the new-wash'd babe,.The earth good and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good.I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and.For me those that have been boys and that love women,.For me the man that is proud and feels how it stings to be.For me lips that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears,.I lift the gauze and look a long time, and silently brush away flies.The youngster and the red-faced girl turn aside up the bushy hill,.clank of the shod horses on the granite floor,.The flap of the curtain'd litter, a sick man inside borne to the.The meeting of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall,.The excited crowd, the policeman with his star quickly working.The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes,.Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances,.The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready,.The clear light plays on the brown gray and green intertinged,.And roll head over heels and tangle my hair full of wisps.In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,.Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves with my dog and gun by my.My eyes settle the land, I bend at her prow or shout joyously from.smoking, they had moccasins to their feet and large thick.blankets hanging from their shoulders,.She had long eyelashes, her head was bare, her coarse straight.locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to.The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside,.And brought water and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd.And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,.And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;.I had him sit next me at table, my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore,.Twenty-eight young men and all so friendly;.Twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome.She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank,.She hides handsome and richly drest aft the blinds of the window.You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room.The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them.The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their.Little streams pass'd all over their bodies.An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies,.The young men float on their backs, their white bellies bulge to.They do not hasten, each man hits in his place.The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses, the block swags.His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast and loosens over.The sun falls on his crispy hair and mustache, falls on the black.And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me,.The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night,.The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listening close,.Find its purpose and place up there toward the wintry sky.The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections,.Of men that live among cattle or taste of the ocean or woods,.The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanks-.The pilot seizes the king-pin, he heaves down with a strong arm,.The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches,.The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the big.The jour printer with gray head and gaunt jaws works at his case,.The machinist rolls up his sleeves, the policeman travels his beat,.The young fellow drives the express-wagon, (I love him, though.The western turkey-shooting draws old and young, some lean on.Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels.The young sister holds out the skein while the elder sister winds it.The regatta is spread on the bay, the race is begun, (how the.The pedler sweats with his pack on his back, (the purchaser hig-.The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just-open'd lips,.The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink.The President holding a cabinet council is surrounded by the great.Off on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in.The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes.Patriarchs sit at supper with sons and grandsons and great-grand-.The city sleeps and the country sleeps,.The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time,.At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tack-.hands and welcome to drink and meat,.A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons,.Breathe the air but leave plenty after me,.These are really the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands, they.This is the grass that grows wherever the land is and the water is,.Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in.And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes.This is the meal equally set, this the meat for natural hunger,.I will not have a single person slighted or left away,.This is the press of a bashful hand, this the float and odor of hair,.Else it were time lost listening to me.I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut with a burnt.(I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by,.If no other in the world be aware I sit content,.One world is aware and by far the largest to me, and that is my-.And I say it is as great to be a woman as to be a man,.And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men.I am he that walks with the tender and growing night,.I call to the earth and sea half-held by the night.Night of south winds—night of the large few stars!Still nodding night—mad naked summer night.Earth of departed sunset—earth of the mountains misty-topt!Earth of the vitreous pour of the full moon just tinged with blue!Earth of shine and dark mottling the tide of the river!Prodigal, you have given me love—therefore I to you give love!I behold from the beach your crooked inviting fingers,.Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths,.Sea of the brine of life and of unshovell'd yet always-ready graves,.Extoller of amies and those that sleep in each others' arms.(Shall I make my list of things in the house and skip the house.I am not the poet of goodness only, I do not decline to be the.Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and.I find one side a balance and the antipodal side a balance,.Thoughts and deeds of the present our rouse and early start.And mine a word of the modern, the word En-Masse.These mariners put the ship through dangerous unknown seas.And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men.Walt Whitman, a kosmos, of Manhattan the son,.Through me many long dumb voices,.Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,.I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart,.Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me.Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy whatever I touch or.This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds.If I worship one thing more than another it shall be the spread of.Vapors lighting and shading my face it shall be you!Broad muscular fields, branches of live oak, loving lounger in my.Hands I have taken, face I have kiss'd, mortal I have ever.The air tastes good to my palate.Hefts of the moving world at innocent gambols silently rising.Seas of bright juice suffuse heaven.The earth by the sky staid with, the daily close of their junction,.We also ascend dazzling and tremendous as the sun,.We found our own O my soul in the calm and cool of the day-.My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach,.My knowledge my live parts, it keeping tally with the meaning of.I carry the plenum of proof and every thing else in my face,.To accrue what I hear into this song, to let sounds contribute.I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames,.I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice,.The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronoun-.I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint,).I hear the key'd cornet, it glides quickly in through my ears,.A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me,.I hear the train'd soprano (what work with hers is this?).I am cut by bitter and angry hail, I lose my breath,.I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am happy,.My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly.No consideration, no regard for my draining strength or my anger,.Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while,.I talk wildly, I have lost my wits, I and nobody else am the.Blind loving wrestling touch, sheath'd hooded sharp-tooth'd.Rich showering rain, and recompense richer afterward.All truths wait in all things,.The damp of the night drives deeper into my soul.And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery,.But call any thing back again when I desire it.In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach,.In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones,.In vain objects stand leagues off and assume manifold shapes,.In vain the ocean settling in hollows and the great monsters lying.In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods,.In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador,.I stand and look at them long and long.They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins,.They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God,.Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of.So they show their relations to me and I accept them,.They bring me tokens of myself, they evince them plainly in their.Did I pass that way huge times ago and negligently drop them?Picking out here one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly.Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears,.Limbs glossy and supple, tail dusting the ground,.Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, ears finely cut, flexibly moving.Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed,.And again as I walk'd the beach under the paling stars of the.Where the black bear is searching for roots or honey, where the.Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the.Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, holding on by low.Walking the path worn in the grass and beat through the leaves of.Where the brook puts out of the roots of the old tree and flows to.Where cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremulous shud-.Where shells grow to her slimy deck, where the dead are corrupt-.Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments,.Where the bull advances to do his masculine work, where the stud.Where herds of buffalo make a crawling spread of the night and feeds upon small crabs,.Pleas'd with the homely woman as well as the handsome,.Pleas'd with the quakeress as she puts off her bonnet and talks.Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Methodist preach-.flatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate glass,.My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the.Hot toward one I hate, ready in my madness to knife him,.Walking the old hills of Judaea with the beautiful gentle God by.Speeding through space, speeding through heaven and the stars,.Speeding with tail'd meteors, throwing fire-balls like the rest,.Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in.I tread day and night such roads.My messengers continually cruise away or bring their returns to me.I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest,.We sail the arctic sea, it is plenty light enough,.The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the living cities.My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs,.They fetch my man's body up dripping and drown'd.I understand the large hearts of heroes,.How he knuckled tight and gave not back an inch, and was faith.ful of days and faithful of nights,.And chalk'd in large letters on a board, Be of good cheer, we will.All this I swallow, it tastes good, I like it well, it becomes mine,.The mother of old, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood,.The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence,, cover'd with sweat,.I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become.Heat and smoke I inspired, I heard the yelling shouts of my com-.I lie in the night air in my red shirt, the pervading hush is for my.White and beautiful are the faces around me, the heads are bared.The kneeling crowd fades with the light of the torches.They show as the dial or move as the hands of me, I am the clock.The ambulanza slowly passing trailing its red drip,.The fall of grenades through the rent roof, the fan-shaped explo-.The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air.Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general, he furiously waves.Retreating they had form'd in a hollow square with their baggage.Nine hundred lives out of the surrounding enemy's, nine times.seal, gave up their arms and march'd back prisoners of war.Matchless with horse, rifle, song, supper, courtship,.Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hunters,.A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart, the living and dead.A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more.The three were all torn and cover'd with the boy's blood.Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars?We closed with him, the yards entangled, the cannon touch'd,.On our lower-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire,.Ten o'clock at night, the full moon well up, our leaks on the gain,.Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain,.The leaks gain fast on the pumps, the fire eats toward the powder-.He is not hurried, his voice is neither high nor low,.His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lanterns.Our vessel riddled and slowly sinking, preparations to pass to the.The captain on the quarter-deck coldly giving his orders through.Near by the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin,.The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully.The husky voices of the two or three officers yet fit for duty,.Black and impassive guns, litter of powder-parcels, strong scent,.A few large stars overhead, silent and mournful shining,.Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the.Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long,.In at the conquer'd doors they crowd!Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp but I also lie at the last.I project my hat, sit shame-faced, and beg.Stand back!Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams,.I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average.Is he waiting for civilization, or past it and mastering it?Wherever he goes men and women accept and desire him,.They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to them, stay.They are wafted with the odor of his body or breath, they fly out.On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes,.Every room of the house do I fill with an arm'd force,.Sleep—I and they keep guard all night,.And when you rise in the morning you will find what I tell you is so.I am he bringing help for the sick as they pant on their backs,.And for strong upright men I bring yet more needed help.Heard it and heard it of several thousand years;.Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days,.bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see,.Not objecting to special revelations, considering a curl of smoke.or a hair on the back of my hand just as curious as any.Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruction,.Their brawny limbs passing safe over charr'd laths, their white.The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sins past and to.Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his.The supernatural of no account, myself waiting my time to be one.The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as.Come my boys and girls, my women, household and intimates,.My head slues round on my neck,.Ever love, ever the sobbing liquid of life,.Here and there with dimes on the eyes walking,.Not words of routine this song of mine,.The well-taken photographs—but your wife or friend close and.The black ship mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets—.Sermons, creeds, theology—but the fathomless human brain,.I do not despise you priests, all time, the world over,.Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand.Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the gods, saluting the.Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife,.To the mass kneeling or the puritan's prayer rising, or leaving charges before a journey.Be at peace bloody flukes of doubters and sullen mopers,.But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and cannot fail.It cannot fail the young man who died and was buried,.Nor the young woman who died and was put by his side,.Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back.Nor the old man who has lived without purpose, and feels it with.Nor any thing in the earth, or down in the oldest graves of the.Nor any thing in the myriads of spheres, nor the myriads of.It is time to explain myself—let us stand up.I launch all men and women forward with me into the Unknown.That which fills its period and place is equal to any.Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me.The long slow strata piled to rest it on,.Now on this spot I stand with my robust soul.Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin,.Lighting on every moment of my life,.Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts and giving them.I open my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems,.My sun has his sun and round him obediently wheels,.And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them.If I, you, and the worlds, and all beneath or upon their surfaces,.were this moment reduced back to a pallid float, it would.We should surely bring up again where we now stand,.The Lord will be there and wait till I come on perfect terms,.I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured.My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff cut from.No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair,.My left hand hooking you round the waist,.My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents and the public.Shoulder your duds dear son, and I will mine, and let us hasten.Wonderful cities and free nations we shall fetch as we go.If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand.This day before dawn I ascended a hill and look'd at the crowded.orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of every thing in.And my spirit said No, we but level that lift to pass and continue.Long have you timidly waded holding a plank by the shore,.To jump off in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout,.The boy I love, the same becomes a man not through derived.Unrequited love or a slight cutting him worse than sharp steel.First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiff, to.sing a song or play on the banjo,.My words itch at your ears till you understand them.I do not say these things for a dollar or to fill up the time while I.Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd.).I swear I will never again mention love or death inside a house,.The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or motion of waves.The farm-boy ploughing in the field feels good at the sound of my.In vessels that sail my words sail, I go with fishermen and seamen.My face rubs to the hunter's face when he lies down alone in his.The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment and forget where.And to glance with an eye or show a bean in its pod confounds.And there is no trade or employment but the young man following.And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the wheel'd.And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and.(No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God.I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not.Why should I wish to see God better than this day?In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in.I find letters from God dropt in the street, and every one is sign'd.I see the elder-hand pressing receiving supporting,.I reach to the leafy lips, I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons.And as to you Life I reckon you are the leavings of many deaths,.(No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.).I hear you whispering there O stars of heaven,.Toss, sparkles of day and dusk—toss on the black stems that.The past and present wilt—I have fill'd them, emptied them.(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute.Who has done his day's work?I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world.The last scud of day holds back for me,.I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun,.I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,. .



Can I Freeze Corn Fritters

Can I Freeze Corn Fritters.

Fritters are small fried cakes that can be sweet or savory and almost always include chopped vegetables held together by a thick batter.

Corn Black Bean Cilantro Lime Salsa

Corn Black Bean Cilantro Lime Salsa.

Over the years the recipe has evolved, but Black Bean Salsa and I continue to feed people at all the parties that matter.Recipe ingredients.Corn: 12 ounces (1 ½ cups) frozen corn, thawed, may be substituted for the canned corn.12 ounces (1 ½ cups) frozen corn, thawed, may be substituted for the canned corn.In a large bowl, add beans, corn, tomatoes, bell pepper, onion, garlic, and cilantro.Stir to combine, then cover and chill until serving time.Serve with tortilla chips or grilled meats.Make ahead: All the ingredients can be prepped a day in advance and tossed together 1 hour before serving time.All the ingredients can be prepped a day in advance and tossed together 1 hour before serving time.

Beer Can Ear Syndrome Corn

Beer Can Ear Syndrome Corn.

Interestingly, the symptoms of BES appear to be restricted primarily to the development the ear.Interestingly, kernel row number at the butt end of these ears appears to be reasonably normal.Part way up the ear, however, cob and kernel row development simply cease.The half-length size of the cobs suggests that ear development was stopped at approximately leaf stages V8 to V9.Because ear development is arrested or stopped completely and suddenly (normal row numbers, then nothing), the cause of the problem would appear to be a single triggering event, not a lingering stress like nutrient deficiency or soil pH.One possible cause of BES could be the application of certain post-emergence herbicides (growth regulators or ALS-type) during the period of row number determination (V5 – V12).While possible, this cause can be ruled out because of the diversity of herbicide programs encountered in documented cases of BES.Indeed, research reported from Belgium (Bechoux et al., 2000; Lejeune and Bernier, 1996; Lejeune et al., 1998) documented that chilling injury at the time of ear and tassel initiation (about V5) could prevent ear initiation altogether or reduce tassel branch and spikelet formation.Temperatures in the high 40’s to low 50’s may be sufficient to injure meristematic regions of the corn plant, especially if temperatures during the days preceding the chilling injury were warm to excessively warm.The existence of BES is not evident from the road unless or until severely affected (nearly barren) plants turn bright red or purple later in August or early September.Secondly, a new Ph.D.