It was a crisp autumn morning, he walked into the woods. The leaves crunched underfoot. Noticing his breath as he walked he happened upon an apple tree. The tree stood there gnarled and aged. The man noticed a branch that had broken off and was hanging. He reached up and tore the branch from the tree. The man looked with a knowing eye at the branch. He knew that from the lobes and burls on the branch that it would have exquisite figure. Taking it home he carefully cut each end and then waxed them. He must not let the wood dry too fast, it would crack. Waiting two years, the man took down the now dry branch. He tested the moisture content. Perfect.
He then carefully sanded the branch on a lathe. Removing a little at a time, he lovingly worked the branch into something far more beautiful. When he finished working the branch on the lath, he took out the knives. With the precision of someone who had carved for a lifetime he scratched and whittled detail of the finest quality. Only a mixture of flaxseed oil and tung oil would do to finish this magnificent piece. He had fashioned a Baton, graceful and balanced.
Does the Baton then have the right to complain that it was not made an ax handle?
