I found an old axe with a broken handle. I was so excited about the find and about bringing the axe back to good use. I placed it carefully in the corner of the shed where I could still see it often and be reminded to fix it. There it sat for a year and a half. Sometimes procrastination is the rule.

A new friend offered help with some odds and ends projects. The axe had not been forgotten and out it finally came from the shed. Never having replaced an axe handle before, Tim took on the project, and between the two of us; it was done in a mere two hours (lifetimes)

I found my old notes on How to Sharpen Hand Tools. I set myself up nice and pretty to take care of this old axe.  I was in my own strange heaven of sorts with a deep sense of satisfaction creeping in as I began this new project. Various files and sharpening stones were scattered around me as I settled into the circular rhythm and sound of steel against steel, honing in on the imperfect edges.

Tim watched me and appeared to be equally vested in the outcome of our shared project, smart with its brand new Hickory handle.

I felt so proud of the newly resurrected axe, receiving the attention and love it deserved.

I will love it and squeeze it and hold it closely for the rest of my life... so I thought.

This city dweller wanted to try it out. I took a deep breath, a very deep breath, and reluctantly passed him the axe. Off Tim went to the wood pile.

My heart sank and a bitter tear rolled down my cheek when he eventually handed the axe back to me. His eyes turned away in shame. He had broken in the handle, so to speak. Ol’ Hickory had been damaged and it was not ok!

I tried to not show my disappointment because     I am an awake person and awake people know that accidents do happen... Right?!? My mind would travel back to only a few hours earlier when Ol’ Hickory was pristine and I would curse myself for letting the city boy touch my baby! I should have known better!

I took the axe out of circulation and swore I would listen to the advice of those that taught me how to sharpen the thing and to never lend out my axe again. It’s personal, they said. Only I should handle my axe.

Fast-forward, to two months later…

A man from NY wants to come for a 100-day solo meditation retreat. Naturally, I asked him to bring his own axe, since lending out Ol’ Hickory was simply out of the question, obviously.

Well, NY man forgot and I didn’t have the guts to ask him to get his own and I watched myself, as I slowly handed him Ol’ Hickory. “Maybe it will be different this time,” I thought to myself. Oh my...

Every day he split wood for an hour to help out with chores on the land. How sweet and generous... what a kind, kind NY man.

My axe attachment syndrome would occasionally slip into my thoughts. Coveting a $15 handle was apparently more important than my own peace of mind. I thought I needed to know the status of Ol’ Hickory. Sometimes, I would watch, peering from behind a tree, to see how he went about splitting the wood. He would line up the axe to the chopping block, checking for alignment and thwwaaack… right on target, he would hit it square.

I was so happy. I could breathe.

I couldn’t help myself… I just had to be sure… I checked out the axe after the first week of his stay to see how it was all going. There was even more damage than city dweller #1. I did nothing but watch more chipping and splitting happen as the weeks went by. I did my best to accept the damage that had been done to Ol’ Hickory, though bitterness still had a home in me.

One afternoon I took my precious axe to go and chop wood correctly and I noticed as soon as I saw the handle again thoughts began... “ I shouldn’t have lent him the axe,” “I should have made him get his own damn axe.” (All of this happening while I was cutting wood.) Then WHAMMM, I missed the target and hit the handle against the wood with a thud. Ok, a one-time mistake. I am still better than those city boys. Then I missed the target multiple times. It began to become rather amusing and very humbling. I would hear myself laugh out loud, shaking my head at the silliness and stress found in attachment to the seemingly smallest of things. It was as if I needed to miss my target in order to see not only how silly my attachment was but also to see I am no better than the city boys.

When I see the handle now, I smile and remember just how easy it is to be a bit off the mark and yet it all still works out. How missing the apparent target is sometimes perfect.

Until its last swing and with each miss, I will continue on, experiencing life with and without my attachments.

Scott has gone back to Manhattan now. I am left with my axe and my thinking and what’s left of the hickory handle.

Meanwhile, is there anybody out there who will get me a replacement handle??

Jen Deraspe, is the founder of Nurture Through Nature, an eco-retreat center in Denmark, Maine. Jen is a certified yoga instructor, a licensed Maine guide, and a certified coach and facilitator of The Work of Byron Katie. She has been leading holistic nature retreats since 1999. www.ntnretreats.com, (207) 452-2929.