Got me thinking about the difference between "gym" muscles and work muscles. There werent any loggers around Detroit but we had foundry guys, sass one of those guys in a bar and you might find your head in the next room. Those guys were hard.
That reminds me of great story about two timber fallers I worked with that were shooting dice after work at the Ice House Resort with three construction workers when one of them made a crack about the young faller's earring. The story ends with the three construction workers laying in the parking lot and the fallers heading back to camp to get some rest for the next day's work.
Every July between 1954 and 1966 my family drove up to Seattle from Marin on Highway 101, all through Mendo World and Humboldt and Del Norte, EVEN when not yet even two years old, I marveled over the big logs on the big trucks, and the people everywhere we stopped. The smell from the mills. The rumbling noises. It all felt like home to me.
I had to quit my job in San Francisco, notwithstanding making more money there than any of my friends, because, sorry, white collars, I kept hollering about wanting to marry a genius logger. One of those white collars made up my mind for me by reminding me the nearest one was at least a hundred miles off. I fixed that problem or it fixed me.
Thanks for that great video, Elmo and Kenny, I'm here pumping my fist to the music and remembering those men with all the love in my cosmos.
I've done three of those jobs. Been on the end of a cross cut many times, hooked pulp onto a loader and hooked tongs at landings. A cross cut ya only pull ya never push. Of course swung an ax many hours. As a kid I had breakfast once at one of the few remaining Lumberjack camps. Flapjacks the size of a plate.
Back in a lumberjack camp a Frenchman was bragging to a bunch of fellas about his brother in Canada. My brother, he da big shot. One ol fella got sick of it and said if your brothers such a big shot, what's he do. The Frenchman said, I don't know how you say in English. My brother he like da horse with the two assholes. They all looked at one another and finally one fella says, I think he's talking about a mare. The Frenchman said, yeah yeah that's it. My brother he da mayor of Montreal.
Just one hundred years ago and humanity has forgotten what hard is!
ReplyDeleteGot me thinking about the difference between "gym" muscles and work muscles. There werent any loggers around Detroit but we had foundry guys, sass one of those guys in a bar and you might find your head in the next room. Those guys were hard.
ReplyDeleteThat reminds me of great story about two timber fallers I worked with that were shooting dice after work at the Ice House Resort with three construction workers when one of them made a crack about the young faller's earring.
DeleteThe story ends with the three construction workers laying in the parking lot and the fallers heading back to camp to get some rest for the next day's work.
I approve of this video.
ReplyDeleteWhy link the same video once a month?
ReplyDeleteI haven't posted this one before.
DeletePerhaps the tightness of his skinny jeans has restricted the flow of blood to his brain.
DeleteKind of like what's happened to Gavie.
Great vid Ken, thank you. Those men make diamonds look soft. Glad I got to see the log rafts going downstream.
ReplyDeleteEvery July between 1954 and 1966 my family drove up to Seattle from Marin on Highway 101, all through Mendo World and Humboldt and Del Norte, EVEN when not yet even two years old, I marveled over the big logs on the big trucks, and the people everywhere we stopped. The smell from the mills. The rumbling noises. It all felt like home to me.
ReplyDeleteI had to quit my job in San Francisco, notwithstanding making more money there than any of my friends, because, sorry, white collars, I kept hollering about wanting to marry a genius logger. One of those white collars made up my mind for me by reminding me the nearest one was at least a hundred miles off. I fixed that problem or it fixed me.
Thanks for that great video, Elmo and Kenny, I'm here pumping my fist to the music and remembering those men with all the love in my cosmos.
I've done three of those jobs. Been on the end of a cross cut many times, hooked pulp onto a loader and hooked tongs at landings. A cross cut ya only pull ya never push. Of course swung an ax many hours. As a kid I had breakfast once at one of the few remaining Lumberjack camps. Flapjacks the size of a plate.
ReplyDeleteBack in a lumberjack camp a Frenchman was bragging to a bunch of fellas about his brother in Canada. My brother, he da big shot. One ol fella got sick of it and said if your brothers such a big shot, what's he do. The Frenchman said, I don't know how you say in English. My brother he like da horse with the two assholes. They all looked at one another and finally one fella says, I think he's talking about a mare. The Frenchman said, yeah yeah that's it. My brother he da mayor of Montreal.
ReplyDeleteyou know what you don't see. black people. the next time you hear a moron talking about how black people built America remember this video.
ReplyDelete