I had in my hand today a hammer that has been in my toolbox for as long as I can remember having a toolbox. And before my toolbox, it was in my father’s toolbox. And, given the hammer’s appearance, I have little doubt that it also once resided in my grandfather’s toolbox as well.
For someone who struggled to pass Wood Shop in 7th grade, I strangely have an appreciation for good tools. Over the years of home ownership, I have accumulated quite a few. I didn’t realize until lately that my tools are like little time capsules. Each has a story or more to tell. For many, I can trace back to their origins, often recalling the project I was working on that led to their purchase.
I’ve also accumulated a collection of drills, all different sizes. Most are the newer battery-charged models which are handy to use without having to hassle with a cord. Nevertheless, I regularly go back to my 1960’s vintage plug-in-the-wall Craftsman power drill when it comes to the tougher jobs that easily wear down the newer drills. It turns faster and has a lot more torque, perfect for making holes in a dense piece of wood. That reminds me of something I learned from my father. He taught me that a good tool will always make the job easier and the results so much better. Accordingly, I often splurge on tools abiding by the assumption that you usually get what you pay for.
One of my prized tools is actually a paint brush. Ironically, I don’t think a drop of paint has ever touched it. It’s a very thick brush as you can see in the picture. I believe the bristles are made of horsehair. It’s very old too, perhaps one hundred years plus. It’s mostly been used as a brush for cleaning who-knows-what. My father used to cut my hair when I was a kid. When he was finished, he would brush the hair off me with this brush.
I have only a few other old tools that have been handed down through the family. Most of their value is sentimental. I am sure my grandfather probably wouldn’t even remember his hammer or paint brush. No, they had to survive a good number of years to rank the level of appreciation I give them. Perhaps they will rattle around in the bottom of a toolbox belonging to someone in my immediate or nearby family…or perhaps not. I sense the same for me!
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below is a comment that goes above and beyond…fact is, I almost worked PP&M’s song into my posting on old tools…but the extension of the song in your comment hammers the point much better..thank you!
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Ever since I read this engaging story, I can’t get Peter, Paul, and Mary out of my head.
If Mary were still with us, I could just hear them crooning:
“If Marc had his hammer
He’d hammer on the screened porch
He’d hammer in the basement
And out in the yard
He’d hammer out rough spots
He’d hammer out wrinkles
He’d hammer out seams and gaps
And things disconnected
With his crusty hand
“If he’d just use Dad’s brush
He could brush on some pigment
And brush in paint thinner
With that same grizzled hand
“Well, he’s got a hammer
And he’s got that brush
And he’s got Dad’s bits to drill
Whenever he can
“They’re the tools of of his childhood
Screws, wrenches and awls
They’ll split the five nails now
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand
On his gnarly hand.
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