Axe Dull
Here is one of my essays from my book, “A Sportsman’s Fireside Reader,” available at a future date. I will be posting others as we get closer to a publication.. – Capt. Dave
Axe Dull
By Capt. David Bitters
One of Rural Bitters’ most prized possessions is his ax. It was given to him a few years back by his father, Yankee Carl. One thing Yankee Carl always told Rural was that you don’t pay for something that grows for free. You cut your own wood. Chop it, split it, stack it, let it dry for a season. Rural was swinging away the other day in the woodpile and inadvertently struck some stones. Needless to say, he dulled his ax pretty bad. He hopped in his truck and took his ax to Vernon Stewart’s place over on Bay Ridge.
Vernon is the best around when it comes to repairing boat trailers, making sign posts, welding deer stands, fixing clam rakes, or sharpening an ax. When you walk into his shop, it’s like going back in time. Life is still lived pretty simply. The big cast iron “inferno” stove in the corner is crackling away and there is so much wood smoke, you’d swear the whole place is on fire. But it isn.t. It’s just they way things use to be. Vernon could always be found at the bench pounding away on something. He’d stop, turn around, flash you his North woods grin and hold you in a trance with his steel-blue eyes. He’d wait for you to make the next move…
“Ax dull”, said Rural, holding it up. Vernon thumped at the hearing aid battery in his shirt pocket and shouted back, “You want it now…?” “Yep”, came the reply. With that, Vernon snapped on his sharpening stone and went to work. Sparks shot into the air mixing with the wood smoke as he skillfully worked the piece of iron in his hands. A few minutes later he handed the ax back to Rural. “There now. It’s sharp enough to cut stones!” Vernon slapped his knee and had a good laugh. Rural blushed. He never mentioned anything about the stones. Vernon just knew.
“What do I owe ya?”, asked Rural. “One dollar”, said Vernon very seriously. Rural handed him a dollar bill and headed for the door. A stern warning bellowed out behind him: “Now don’t cut your leg off!”. Rural turned, took a 10 oz. bottle of coke from his coat pocket and set it on the stump by the door. Vernon flashed his North woods grin, steel blue eyes sparkling, and shouted a hardy, “Thank You!” Rural grinned, nodded, and headed back to his woodpile on the farm.