The Treehouse

"I begin with an idea and then it becomes something else."

Pablo Picasso

When my cousin Stephen and I were about fourteen and fifteen, respectively, we decided to build a treehouse near my aunt and uncle’s cabin above Lake Tahoe.

We asked if it was alright to do so, and they said no. Earlier in the summer, or perhaps it was the summer before, the fort that some of us cousins had built mysteriously caught fire. We understood my aunt and uncle’s concern, so we built the treehouse where they couldn’t see it.

Searching for a site to build, we found the perfect spot about two hundred yards west of the bend in the road that curved around Incline Lake. An unusual pine tree had sprung forth four tall trunks that made an ideal framework for our hideout. Stephen and I had built many forts above and below ground over the years, but this one was the best, with a floor that began fifteen feet above ground. We even had a secret entrance, which in hindsight wasn’t so secret, since our camouflaged two-by-four steps up the tree, once discovered, led right to it.

Building supplies came from behind the barn, inside the caretaker’s shed, and from remnants of the fallen-down shack that we called Trevor’s cabin. We even came up with a couple windows, shingles, and dark green paint. We painted only the side that faced the lake to hide it from anyone walking by on the road.

We began with an eight-by-eight square-foot floor but found it a bit cramped. So, we added an extension, another ten feet out to a neighboring tree. Then we figured, why not add a second story? We shingled the roof and painted the interior as well.

Eventually, word got out, and we were surprised that my aunt and uncle weren’t mad. They even admired our handiwork! That freed us up to spend many nights “camped out” in the treehouse, for what teenage boy would choose a comfortable bed when sleeping on a wooden floor fifteen feet in the air was an option? Among cousins and friends, we easily slept four or more.

Back then, it wasn’t exactly a work of art, but it sure is now, after more than fifty years of Mother Nature massaging it into place. If you look closely, you can still see some of our dark green steps leading up the trunk of the tree to our homemade teenage hangout.

To see a picture of the treehouse in its original splendor, click here .

-Hank

"The Treehouse," from The Saturday Morning Post at hankfrazee.com