Hatchet v. Saw - A Local Story

The other day was a windy and delightful day, one befitting of the end of February, and lending proof that March, does indeed, come in like a lion, though it is also said it goes out like a lamb. Time will tell on the latter. At any rate, being a windy and delightful day, as it was, I decided to give my kites a test, only to discover that they both had broken spars which I had not replaced since I last flew them with my grandaughters, Aliyah and Trinity. So off to Lowes I went, in search of some 5/16" dowel rods, preferably 48" long and made of oak.

Having secured the necessary timbers, I headed back out to the car, the trunk of which plays host to my kites, an inflatable 4 man raft, some ropes, cables, tools, machetes, survey equipment, and a varied assortment of other things. Opening the trunk I took the kites out and began to measure the spans necessary to make the required repairs.

After carefully determining the amount of wood to be eliminated by using my thumb as a ruler (this is, after all, an exact science) I was about to make the necessary adjustments by simply "snapping" the dowels between my foot and the pavement. I was squatting behind my car at the time, trunk open, all of the aforementioned bric a brac plainly in sight, when I heard a voice with a distinctly southern drawl saying, "If you wasn't a Yankee, you'd have a saw with you!"

I looked up at the slack jawed one, our eyes locking, and without hesitation reached into the trunk as I replied, "Well, up North we use hatchets", and lopped off the required amount of dowel, burying the hatchet in the asphalt for emphasis. And then, as I pulled the hatchet free, I said, "Yep, that's how we do it in Brooklyn." But it was too late for the slack jawed one to hear me - he'd already gone.