And after a good 7-8 years of abuse the handle on my tomahawk finally snapped. I’m actually surprised that this tomahawk stayed intact for so long. I only abuse the hell out of it every year. The head is pitted with rust and chipped paint, and the handle started splitting from all the horrible tosses it had to endure. Looks like if you don’t keep up with practice, you lose the touch. After a few more throws the handle splintered apart. I ended up tossing it into the fire-pit nearby. This only means two things: Craft a new handle, and buy a not-so-shitty hatchet. That way I’ll have a nicer one for the real work and keep the shitty one to toss.
The days are filled with random BBQs and off the wall moments you would only find in a dysfunctional household. Dogs dart around the yard as family members garden, drink, film family videos, and watch as others run around haphazardly with sharp swords. The ones holding the swords are usually the ones involved in the drinking.
These summer BBQ days are usually one of the few times that the family gets together for a meal. Our schedules are sporadic to the point where everyone’s dinnertime is different. And yet somehow summer BBQs bring all of us together.
Between all the mayhem of playing with the dogs, tossing tomahawks, riding an ATV and bicycles around the backyard, we find the time to sit as a family and enjoy a meal as a family. Suddenly things don’t seem so dysfunctional.
Then you realize that your grandmother is drinking hard Chinese liquor from a pirate shotglass.