Oh, Stranger, ponder well what breed of men were these cruisers, fallers, skinners, ox, horse and “cat, chokersetters and the rest who used these tools. No
summer’s searing dust could parch their souls, Nor bitter breath of winter chill their hearts.’Twas never said “They worked for pay alone,” tho it was good
and always freely spent. Tough jobs to lick they welcomed with each day. “We’ll bury that old mill in logs,” their boast. Such men as they have made this country great,
beyond the grasp of smaller, meaner men. Pray God, Oh Stranger, other yet be born worthy as they to wear a logger’s boots.
Ode to a Logger’s Boots, By Nelson Reed