Hammer Handle from Bus Huxley on Vimeo.

Handling cord after cord of firewood year after year, I find gems hidden among the piles of split cherry, maple, oak and — in this case — ash. After felling a 50-year-old white ash tree on my woodlot in Maine, I split, then stack and dry the whole thing for months. It’s here that I find the perfect chunk of wood for handle making.

This comes from the butt log, which is the bottom of the tree. It spent its life flexing and supporting the great tree in the wind and weather of five decades. It came from the outside of the trunk, as evidenced by clearly-defined layers, starting with the outer bark. The phloem, or inner bark, leads to the cambium layer, thin yet integral to new growth. Sapwood will make up the bulk of this handle, with a grain straight enough for an arrow shaft.

My carpenter’s hatchet produces a roughly square piece of stock. I then spend time spinning it in my hand. Whereas some formulate a design and stick to it from first cut to final polish, I respond to imperfections in the wood and mistakes I make. This can result in a finished product — or kindling for the woodstove. For me, this is the fun, the reason I can stand out in my cold shop for hours on end.

Having formed a reasonable outline of the final product by shaving it with ancient drawknife and timber framing chisel, I’m ready to start sanding. The one power-tool is older than most of my hand tools, a derelict belt sander, turned upside-down like a stranded turtle. Hand sanding through the levels of grit until I’m polishing, takes time but results in a marble smooth finish. I pound in the handmade wedge to secure the hammer head into place, and a couple coats of mineral oil bring out the growth rings, each line, a year.