My Childhood: Tree house

From almost the day we moved into that wonderful house, I played in a tree house. It was a great tree house, in a tree which seemed to have been made by God just to amuse a little boy.

At first, it was just a small piece of plywood nailed to some branches. My dad lifted the plywood up to the highest branch that would support the weight, and I nailed down the piece of wood.

I spent that night in the tree house. I had a little sleeping bag (an earlier Christmas present), and climbed up into the tree. My mother brought out hot chocolate and cookies. It was great fun.

Later I added sides and a door, and, eventually, a roof. I always seemed to be changing my tree house, adding something new or ripping off something that I’d gotten tired of. It was never the same for a week solid.

One day, I climbed into my tree house after a full week’s absence. To my delight and surprise, a bird had decided to build it’s nest right on the railing (which was perched up against a big branch). It was the perfect spot for a nest.

I spent the entire spring watching over that bird’s nest. I protected it from the cats, kept all other animals away. I always kept my distance, and made sure not to touch anything (my parents had warned me that if I touched the eggs, the birds would abandon them).

One morning, the nest was full of eggs. A few weeks later, the eggs hatched and the nest was full of baby chicks. And, much too soon, the chicks grew up and left.

I still had my tree house, but it wasn’t the same without my little feathered friends. So I found other ways to amuse myself, and wasn’t too sad when, a few years later, my parents ripped my tree house down. They were adding on some new rooms to the house, and my tree house was in the way.