Patron of Architecture

I crave change from the routine but it takes me awhile to resettle.  Our long, rainy spring has finally given way to summer and I am relieved; I flourish in the heat.  On a good day in between spring storms I had gone out to run errands and arrived home to find a fort in a small tree in our front yard.  As I came into the kitchen Bill began explaining, quickly yet calmly, how it came to be.

     “You probably noticed the treehouse,” he said, slicing something into the sink.

     I slid my bags onto the counter.

     “I did actually.”

     “They came up with the idea and had a plan and cut the wood by themselves.  They just kept asking me for tools.  And a rope.”  He looked up at me, “I couldn’t say ‘no.'”

     I nodded.

     “I completely understand.”

So I went to find the middle and his friend, architects and master builders both, to have them give me the tour.  This was just the beginning, they explained, and they outlined their plans with earnest eyes and descriptive hands.

    “It’s like something out of Winnie-the-Pooh,” said my son as he and his friend admired their work and discussed its improvement at the same time.

It’s very difficult to argue with someone who makes reference to something that I hold as dear as Winnie-the-Pooh, so I nodded my head and hoped I would be as convincing if someone from our neighborhood association, a group that restricts the placement of lacrosse nets and “sold” signs, calls to explain that tree houses are not for front yards.  Just in case, I’m ready to offer the crabapple in the back.  

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14 thoughts on “Patron of Architecture

  1. Just yesterday, my 20 year old son climbed up a tree on the soccer sidelines at our daughter's soccer team game….right there in the middle of Manhattan. What is it with boys and trees and things sticking out of the ground. He said Mom, it's for climbing.

    Bravo to your sons fortress.
    pve

  2. wish I could recapture the imagination of my childhood. My Mother once came home to find that I had dug a huge hole in the backyard…filled it with the garden hose…tossed in some pine straw…while I slaved away stirring it all together with my bare feet. "Mom, I'm making bricks…like Moses." I had just seen the Ten Commandments.

    Best wishes to your architects, contractors etc.

  3. This is priceless Patricia! I remember those days of tree climbing, I was such a tomboy!

    xoxo
    Karena
    Art by Karena
    Giveaway from Splendid Sass.

  4. So sweet. I remember my tree house—I could hide in the branches and feel so free and amazingly powerful. Have a wonderful summer.
    Mary

  5. I am sorry that is why a HOA exists. If one does not want to conform then Green Acres/ Mr. Douglas it and Hire Eb for your acreage. Honestly, rules are to be followed.

  6. interesting to read thank you I really liked your article I love your beautiful blog and so enjoy your posts.good job

  7. interesting to read thank you I really liked your article I love your beautiful blog and so enjoy your posts.good job

  8. I would want to capture that moment in a bottle! Those boys worked hard and will remember forever the day they built it. My three boys loved our trees since you climb them and get to the roof of the house …crazy mom screaming days are what I remember!!

  9. Hilarious. How could the neighbourhood association not be seduced by such innocent fun? I bet they'll want a tour too!

  10. Were you gone by the time the neighbors behind us built the sport court? There was MUCH hand-wringing. All by one neighbor and people who live blocks away. Silly me for thinking the fact that it was next to my driveway would give my approval any weight.

    The point being, I loathe homeowner associations. If someone does something to their house that I don't care for (and believe me, people do all the time) you know what I do? I shut up about it because its part of living in the world with other people.

    Fingers crossed for Fort Shackleford.

  11. So charming! Is there anything more exciting than building a castle in the air? Best of luck with the neighborhood curmudgeons who might have forgotten their own first estates.

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