Gocha!
I just learned that my grown daughter has a stick. Her son, my grandson 
found it at the beach and gave it to her. He called it her “love stick”. I’m very proud of him.
Thus far, we have avoided the lurking danger of the double entendre. Let’s be careful with our anecdotes, ok! 
I was reminded that I used to live near a pond and a swamp where we found a half of a sailboat. There were sticks for poking things – like frogs – in the water and I also had a pole for pushing the sailboat around the swamp, usually with me and another person on it.
There were many sticks, cut and fine tuned with a cub scout knife TYVM, but the pole lived with the sailboat at the “dock.”
Maybe we should be careful with our interpretations? :dubious:
Last night, as a result of this thread, I went for a walk in the woods. I used my pocketknife to cut myself a proper stick from a hickory tree.
With the first brandish, I felt the years fall away from me.
I waved it.
I poked some rotting logs with it.
I whacked some skunk cabbage with it to hear the whickersnap and smell the rising stench.
At the conclusion of my walk, I sidearmed it as hard as I could out over the lake.
Sticks are wonderful things.
I was not allowed to carry a knife, but I always had a stick.
I didn’t have a stick. I was of the one use throw away crowd when it came to sticks. I had lots of sticks everywhere I was. I did however try carving at one time and decide it wasn’t for me.