When I was young, I saw the movie version of Swiss Family Robinson. I remember pretty much nothing about the movie or its plot, beyond the vaguest outlines, but I always remembered, vividly, the treehouse. And I’ve wanted to live in one ever since, probably even before.
Are there people who aren’t fascinated by the idea of living in a treehouse? I mean, besides people who fear heights, or people who already do, or, you know, weird people. It certainly seems there are a lot of people interested in the idea besides me, at any rate. Because of this darn BBC article about a Bangladeshi man who has built a relaxation platform high in a tree, where he goes to read every day, my interest in treehouses was rekindled.
Now I am plagued, I tell you, plagued with the knowledge that there are, in fact, a variety of treehouse resorts and retreats, in places as exotically exciting as Australia and India. Not to mention the companies that would be ever so willing to build me a treehouse of my very own. Take my advice, don’t look at the pictures. Don’t! Look away! Or you’ll end up wanting one, too. Some of them have turrets!
And just because it was on one of those websites, and I liked it, a poem:
A Tree House
A tree house, a free house,
A secret you and me house,
A high up in the leafy branches
Cozy as can be house.
A street house, a neat house
Be sure and wipe your feet house
Is not my kind of house at all.
Let’s go live in a tree house.
-by Shel Silverstein
I want one!