"Why not cut down the nettles?" [my father] said. I looked down at the short scythe handle and across at the tall nettles. "It will hurt," I said. Then he looked at me with half a smile and a little shake of the head. "You decide for yourself when it will hurt," he said, suddenly
getting serious. He walked over to the nettles and took hold of the
smarting plants with his bare hands and began to pull them up with
perfect calm, one after the other, throwing them into a heap, and did
not stop before he had pulled them all up. Nothing in his face
indicated that it hurt...
-Per Peterson, Out Stealing Horses
