100 Things I Really, Really Like (Plus Stories): Treehouses

[ishyface]

My dad was never a very handy person. True, he helped build me my first dollhouse- kinda- and he periodically repainted our back deck, but he wasn't much for building things. He had a tool bench, but that was mostly because he was a dad living in the suburbs and dads living in the suburbs are contractually obligated to own a tool bench and at least three screwdrivers. And yes, he did help me with my science project on the properties of motion and the axel in fourth grade, but it was made out of Lego and I didn't even get that great of a mark on it anyway. I knew all this from a fairly young age, but that never stopped me from bothering him about building me a treehouse.



Never mind that we were in a new subdivision, where all the old trees had been ripped out and all the new ones were too flimsy to support so much as an underfed squirrel. Never mind that my mother ran a childcare centre from our house, meaning that anything put in the backyard would be found minutes later ripped to piece by savage little toddler-monsters. And never mind again my father's lack of skill re: everything Red Green. I wanted a fucking treehouse, by God, and I would not stop whining about it until I got one.



I didn't get one, obviously, so I am still whining about it.



I don't know why I loved (and still love!) treehouses so goddamn passionately, but I do. Treehouses mean you get to be inside and outside all at once. You're high up; you get to climb a rope ladder to get inside your house; you can store stuff under the floorboards and throw water balloons at passers-by without fear of retaliation (because you're high up and have pulled the rope ladder up after you, suckers). You can climb a tree and play house- two of my favourite childhood activities- at the same time. That's fucking magical.



And now, apparently, there are treehouses you can live in as a fucking adult. Like, with beds and fridges and electricity and everything. That pleases me greatly, because- and this is likely proof that we are descended from the apes- there is nothing I'd rather do than live at the top of a goddamn tree.



One of these days I'll build one, in a huge tree at the top of a hill, and I'll string Christmas lights and paper lanterns around the outside so guests can find their way. I'll put in a trapdoor with a ladder in the roof so I can climb out into the leaves and build shelves out of orange crates. I'll paint the inside walls but let the siding slowly turn grey and hang a swing from the sturdiest branch. I'll make a squashy little messy bed out of sheets and quilts and pillows and watch the fireflies as I fall asleep.

Comments

[uncommon-crow.livejournal.com]

There's not enough <3 in the world for this, my darling dear.

[ishyface.livejournal.com]

Leonard has learned the words to "Bright Eyes." The verdict's still out on whether or not he understands it, but he sings it hanging upside down from the uppermost branch, his toes curling into the bark.

[uncommon-crow.livejournal.com]

I desperately want to be there instead of here, especially if he can also do a decent rendition of "Basement Apartment".

Yes, today is just that shitty ):

[gair.livejournal.com]

Here is a treehouse hotel. The walls of the treehouse are made of mirrors so that it is INVISIBLE like as if you were a MOTHERFUCKING ELF.

[ishyface.livejournal.com]

HOLY BALLS
THAT IS AMAZING

[1-2-suckerpunch.livejournal.com]

I fondly remember my treehouse. It was just a pallet nailed onto a frame between three trees, so things would fall through the cracks and there were no walls or roof. And I kept saying I would save money to buy a rope ladder and I never did, so you had to climb the tree underneath and then sort of awkwardly swing yourself at a right angle and clamber up. I could do it in about 5 seconds but very few of my friends ever got the hang of it. That kind of made it better in a way because then it was my own little spot.