God dag mann, økseskaft!

I was trying to explain this expression to someone, and tried finding the translation online. I couldn’t find it so I thought I could have a go at it.
First some background. I’m using this version of the tale. It was originally collected by Asbjørnsen and Moe, two men who went around Norway gathering folk tales. There’s more information about them in this Wikipedia article if you’re interested. This particular tale became an expression for people talking past each other, for obvious reasons.
Oh and if you have editing suggestions, please let me know!

Good day man, axe handle!

Once upon a time there was a ferryman who was so hard of hearing that he couldn’t hear or understand anything anyone told him. He had a wife, two sons and a daughter. They didn’t care much about the man, but lived extravagantly as long as there was money, and when the money was gone they borrowed more, went to the tavern to stay, and held parties till there were fights and they were thrown out.
When nobody wanted to keep them or lend to them anymore, the sheriff came to get the money back that they had borrowed and wasted, either in money or goods. The wife and kids travelled to her relatives and left the deaf husband behind alone to receive the sheriff and his assistant.
The man was at home, dealing with his tasks, and wondering what the sheriff wanted to ask him, and what he should say when he came.
“I will start a task,” he said to himself, “and then he’ll ask me about that. I’ll start making an axe handle.
Then he’ll ask me what I’m making, and I’ll say:
‘Axe handle.’
Then he’ll ask me how long I’m making it, and I’ll say:
‘Up to this branch.’
Then he’ll ask me where the ferry is, and I’ll say:
‘I am going to cover her with tar, she’s lying down there on the beach, split at both ends.’
Then he’ll ask ‘Where’s your gray mare?’ And I’ll say ‘I put her in the stable, she’s about ready to drop a foal.’
Then he’ll ask ‘Could you tell me, where’s your cattle and summer barn?’ And I’ll reply:

‘Sure, it’s not so far away; when you get to the top of that hill, you’re almost there.’”

He thought this was very well planned out.
After a while the sheriff arrived sure enough, but his assistant had taken a detour by the tavern and was still there drinking.
“Good day, man!” Said the sheriff.
“Axe handle.” Said the ferryman.
“Indeed...” said the sheriff. “How far away is the tavern?”
“Up to this branch.” Said the man and pointed to a spot on the axe handle workings.
The sheriff shook his head and glared at him.
“Where’s your wife, man?” He said.
“I am going to cover her I with tar,” said the man, “for she’s lying down there on the beach, split at both ends.”
“Where’s your daughter?”
“Oh I put her in the stable, she’s about ready to drop a foal.” Said the man, he thought he was handling the conversation remarkably well.
“Oh go to hell, fool that you are!” Said the sheriff.

“Sure, it’s not so far away; when you get to the top of that hill, you’re almost there”, said the man.