Traditionally, between Thanksgiving and Christmas, Northwest loggers come out of the woods. The rainswept camps in the hills close down; over the Jogging railroads that curve through the logged-off land, over the pitted roads, the fallers, buckers, choker setters, whistle punks hurry to the cities or for a visit home. This is the period, long or short, depending on business and weather, of the Christmas shutdown. In many a mill town the rising whine of the headsaw biting into a log dies away; the absence of the pulsing rhythm of a sawmillcompounded...
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