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shyal_malkes wrote:I'm not too sure there, I've had to muck out a few stalls of cow/horse manure (sp?) and if I had to take my choice between going through that muck and pounding metal I'd have taken the metal. it's a lot cleaner and takes almost the same ammount of strength.

and it all it took to get out of helping my mom with the garden was shoveling coal into a furnace I'd take the coal. it's probably gonna take as long and instead of the heat of the sun (which IRL gives me headaches) I'd have the heat of the fire (which for some reason, doesn't)

Until you start getting those metal burns on your forearms.. trust me, those are PAINFUL. As a gunsmith, I'd often work with hot metal, and I still have a faded map of every year I spent in the military scarred onto my arms. I can point to any one scar, and remember where I was when that happened. Dozens of visible scars, hundreds of little pin-head scars from hot sparks.

for some reason I'd find the annoying mental pain of the gardening and herd moving (you try getting an unhaltered cow to move when she doens't even listed to you smacking her hindquarters) to be less annoying and hurtfull then physical pains. while temperature wise it might not compare but I've been burned on multiple occasions at wendy's and I'd take a few grease burnings over a rush of say 50 customers in the drive through any day.

shyal_malkes wrote:for some reason I'd find the annoying mental pain of the gardening and herd moving (you try getting an unhaltered cow to move when she doens't even listed to you smacking her hindquarters) to be less annoying and hurtfull then physical pains. while temperature wise it might not compare but I've been burned on multiple occasions at wendy's and I'd take a few grease burnings over a rush of say 50 customers in the drive through any day.

Other way around, for me. I found riding fence (which I did for a neighbor off and on over a year) to be mindlessly restful.

Of course, it didn't matter if I succeeded or not, so my job really didn't matter, therefore I wasn't stressed. There was no "fail or succeed", just "show up... uhhh... sometime. And try not to fall off the horse 'n break your neck."

For the most part, I've found farm jobs to be something where I could just turn off my head and go on autopilot. Then again, I'm the sort of person who can very EASILY program the autopilot in my head. I'd often bike down the road while reading a book and only watching the road out of the corner of my eyes. And I could do this quite easily with no strain - but ONLY in my home town where I've internalized all the streets.

Really rather restful. Somewhat zombie-like, actually...

EdBecerra wrote:Other way around, for me. I found riding fence (which I did for a neighbor off and on over a year) to be mindlessly restful.

Of course, it didn't matter if I succeeded or not, so my job really didn't matter, therefore I wasn't stressed. There was no "fail or succeed", just "show up... uhhh... sometime. And try not to fall off the horse 'n break your neck."

For the most part, I've found farm jobs to be something where I could just turn off my head and go on autopilot. Then again, I'm the sort of person who can very EASILY program the autopilot in my head. I'd often bike down the road while reading a book and only watching the road out of the corner of my eyes. And I could do this quite easily with no strain - but ONLY in my home town where I've internalized all the streets.

Really rather restful. Somewhat zombie-like, actually...

Like milking is for me, oddly enough. Set me down by a cow's side and I just go to it like a born... hey, what is the male term for "milkmaid"?

First time, I was all of eight years old, and my private school had a farm next door. (So we could learn about animals.) One day, the principal decided to let us all have turns milking the cow.

Oh, that poor cow. The other kids had no talent for milking. They just grabbed and squeezed, yanked, and generally made that poor Jersey's life miserable.

Then I got up to the front of the line, and got the same talk that the others had: That I should gently, using my thumb and forefinger, squeeze down the teat in order to get the milk out. I looked, and it was just like a calf's mouth works; simple. So I reached out and went to work. I squeezed a little too gently at first (I always had a light touch), but I quickly got the hang of it.

The principal just stopped dead in her tracks. The cow turned around to watch me, then turned back around without a sound. And, surprisingly, I enjoyed it immensely. Not so fortunate for the other kids, who did not get to milk the cow; by the time the principal had shaken off her "Good grief, he's doing it right" stupor, all that was left was finishing off the milking.

Later that month, we had homemade butter, made from the milk of that cow. Yummy.:9

<sigh> Ah, to be a milk-... milk-...

<googlegooglegoogle>

Ah. Ah, to be a dairyman.

(I said I was from farm stock. My side of the family didn't own the farm, okay?)

Yours wishing for a cow to milk,

The wolfish,

Wanderer

You all are forgetting - he was working at a forge while covered in flammable fur.

I don't like him at all, nor does his background excuse bullying in the slightest, but I have to respect what he went through (assuming he isn't exaggerating).

TGIF

Ralph basically said he wasn't.

Wanderwolf wrote:
(I said I was from farm stock. My side of the family didn't own the farm, okay?)

Yours wishing for a cow to milk,

The wolfish,

Wanderer

*holds out a picture* That's a pretty outfit you have on too Wander. *snickers*

"It's the laaaaaw o'th'west."

The JAM wrote:"It's the laaaaaw o'th'west."

Though that joke was a little "droopy" by the end. I suppose too much milking might have given me a pain in my calves, though.Still, a little chattel pep me right up.:>

Yours punnily,

The wolfish,

Wanderer

Just watch out for lactose intolerant cows.