They call me Crow, Six Crows, and I've been called Late For Dinner.

I'm a third generation logger from God's country, Oregon.

I've logged for 12 loggin' companies, in three states. I've learned that the best loggers in the world, are from Lane County Oregon.

I've held all the jobs on the riggin', including hookin', pullin' riggin', chasin' and settin' chokers. My favorite was always pullin' riggin'. I was pullin' riggin' on a 071 Madill for El Dorado, Butch Price was the hook tender, we got 714 logs in 8 hours, and that is what we call, 'smokin' the wood.' It was probably some kind of world record.

I've had my share of injuries: I've had a log roll over me, hit by the skyline, hit buy the haulback, had my fingers ripped off, hit in the knee by a log, and stung by two different yellow jacket nests, numerous minor injuries. When I was 7 years old, I was burned very badly. I've had 92 surgeries. While pullin' riggin' for El Dorado on March 28, 1988, I was hit behind my legs by the skyline, it through me on my head. While I was out, I came out of my body and looked down at my crew. I was yellin' at them not to cut off my new caulks, at that instant, I awoke. I wondered how the yarder engineer, Harry Wilson, had got there so fast. He said, "you've been in an accident". I got up and walked to the crummy. I was in no pain. We drove right by the hospital in Cottage Grove. It was Friday night and we stopped at the beer stop.

I didn't want the crew to miss the store. I tried to get them to take me to my truck, but my ankles were swollen up like watermelons, and obviously injured. This is only the beginning of the story but I'll end it here.

I learned a valuable lesson in that accident, the purpose of my life is to live. God gave me life, and only God will decide when it is time to move on. It just wasn't my time.

Loggerlove lives.