Don Yorty
Writing Daddy Long Legs Blues

When I was in my early twenties, I took a tent and camped out for a month along Walnut
Run, a swift waterfall-filled stream, that splashes down the South Mountain where I grew
up in Pennsylvania. I wanted to fast, meditate, read the Gospels, play the harmonica and
learn the tarot, although I gave up on the cards pretty quickly (it’s hard for me to take a
deck of cards that seriously).
Every few days I’d soak some brown rice in water, let that soften up and eat a handful. I
never cooked although I made a fire to brew the mint leaves I picked. I’d brought along a
jar of honey and sometimes had a spoon of that. I also picked wild berries from time to
time. And then I would lay myself out naked on the rocks in the sun like any other snake
or lizard. While picking berries one day, I was bitten by many chiggers in my groin, armpits
and around my waist where my pants at the belt surrounded it, and though the developing
sores really bothered me itching and burning and driving me crazy, I had to live with them,
and learned to forget by concentrating on other things like the silhouette patterns the
leaves and branches made in the sunlight against the canvas tent.
One night I heard what seemed like men walking through the woods coming toward the
tent, grunting, rustling up the leaves, and turning over stones and logs as they came; then
suddenly right outside the tent the commotion stopped, so I lit a candle, pulled back the
flap, for better or worse, and saw at the edges of the quivering light a pack of skunks had
stopped in their tracks looking up at me deciding if I was too big to eat or not; I was nor
was it much of a pause for them to decide before they continued on through woods,
leaving me to go back in my tent, while they overturned more logs. Every now and then a
mouse or mole cried out.
One day while I was washing my clothes, it began to rain and continued for about a week,
very wet outside and very damp within. I composed Daddy Long Legs Blues, wanting to
play the harmonica like Sonny Boy Williamson and sing like Big Mama Thornton. The
spiders passed through the tent all day long and especially liked to stay and hang upside
down at the entrance waiting for prey to come in, which is how the song begins. Rather
than put on wet clothes I stayed naked throughout that rainy week. Those were the days.
Daddy long legs hanging upside down my door Daddy long legs hanging upside down my door Came to tell me you won’t be back anymore
Floating floating like a drowned man on the sea Floating floating like a drowned man on the sea Now it doesn’t matter if all the waves come cover me
Don’t leave me, baby, I don’t know what I’ll do Don’t leave me, baby, I don’t know what I’ll do I can’t leave this place, there’s not one door to walk through
When you’ve filled your teacup one tear overflows And all your joys rise past their brims spilling you to sorrow Ah but you just wipe as you weep as you wipe up the mess, lay your head upon the table
Daddy long legs go away from door Daddy long legs go away from door Once you know what the truth is, you don’t have to hear it anymore
(Photo above by Pat Sheehy taken in Philly circa 1972.)