Just like a brand new claw hammer. It is just a tool, does the same job as my late grandfather's claw hammer, but has not one bit of character nor sentimental value.
I used to slip my boat in a marina on a beautiful alpine lake and it worked great as my wife and I are both divers. We’d go up on Friday, do a dive, dive a couple more times on Saturday and a couple more on Sunday and just stay on the boat all weekend.
One weekend when I got back Earnie, the crotchety old guy who managed the marina, walked up looking very distressed and asked me if I could retrieve the hammer he had dropped off the dock.
It was later in the afternoon and we were tired, but I said I’d sure I’ll give it a try. While I was assembling some gear I cautioned him that the dock was long and swung over a fairly large arc, and that most of the bottom in that bay was covered in thick 3-4 ft tall vegetation that time of year, so I could make any guarantees. He told me it was his dad’s hammer and meant a lot to him.
He had the spot marked on the dock where he’d lost it but of course the wind wasn’t in the same direction and it took a couple hours of feeling around head down in 4’ deep vegetation to find it. I finally found it and it was a beauty with graceful curves and a leather handle. The look on his face when I brought it up was worth it. He tried to pay me and I refused. His gratitude was more than enough compensation.
Ernie however had the last word on the subject. The next Friday we arrived to find a traffic cone in front of the closest parking space, that Ernie came out and removed as we approached, and then we found our boat in the prime slip - the one people spend 20 years getting enough seniority to park there. Whoever had it got booted out as it was now ours. I felt bad about that…but got over it pretty quickly.
Old hammers mean a lot.
