Crafty Love! Tree Houses

The other day I was watching my neighbor climb a tree in flip flops. I love it when grown men act like little boys. Not in an immature kind of way, but in a playful, zest-for-life way. This time of year I always start to miss tree houses. When I was little, my friends Matt and Nate had a big, rickety tree house in their back yard. It was my favorite thing about playing at their house. Nate, the little brother, was often banned from it as punishment for some obnoxious stunt he pulled on us, like the time he locked us in the second floor bathroom from the outside and forced Matt to climb out the window to run down and give him hell. My first love had a tree house, too — big and open. It always reminded me of a boat. On balmy spring days we’d climb up there after school and kiss for an hour over our textbooks, pretending we were doing homework.

There was also an elderly man named Kinchen who lived on my street in a rambling white Victorian house with a veritable tree fortress in the back. He had built access ramps and walkways all over the place so he could still enjoy it, even though he was probably in his eighties at that time. He lived with his sister, Rebekah, in the old family home place, and they only inhabited one or two of their numerous rooms. I think the purpose was to minimize the amount of space requiring heat. When we visited, Rebekah would swoop through a sealed door and emerge in a wash of frigid air, with a plate of gingersnaps and glasses of tea. In the summers, we would have our cookies and lemonade outside on one of the many platforms attached to the tree. They always seemed a bit like children to me. Ancient, white-haired children.

$58 by Jenna Rose Handmade

$15 by Breezy Tulip

$25 by Slow Shirts