I took down a piece of history this week. Behind my childhood home we built a "treehouse." It was not actually built on trees, but we always called it the treehouse. Up top it was a fort, the perfect place for sleepovers and daytime shenanigans. Underneath, it was a workshop and tool shed.
I have so many memories in that place. I played with neighborhood friends there, plotting, scheming, and watching the world from up high. When I had sleepovers there, we would often wander the neighborhood, dodging headlights and sneaking around.
In the workshop, I put my creativity into action. I would spend hours alone there, taking parts of abandoned toys and making new creations. I loved working with electricity, hooking batteries up to electric motors and lights.
This building was constructed circa 1969. My dad, an engineer, envisioned this combination structure, and made it a reality. I probably helped as much as a 7-year-old could. The exterior of the treehouse was cedar shakes, and to this day I love the smell of cedar sawdust.
After Dad passed away in 2001, the treehouse did not get the loving upkeep it needed to survive. Mom didn't need that space, and I was the only one who ever went in there. A few years ago I salvaged all the treasures that remained.
When the roof deteriorated, the rest of the building became unsound. Buzzards found it to be quite hospitable for their purposes. I chased them out many times, but they just couldn't resist returning.
Finally the time came to bid the place goodbye. After years of rot, I was surprised how much the treehouse resisted my crowbar. I gained even more respect for Dad's engineering. The four creosote posts on the corners were still mostly sound. I found layers of plywood, tarpaper, and linoleum under the timeless cedar shell.
Pulling those old nails made me think about Dad driving them, one by one. By hand. No nail guns back then. There were big, 4" nails, small roofing tacks, and trim nails. It felt poignant to pull the nails he had driven. His sweat created such a special place for his family, especially me. His love filled that place.
It had served its purpose. It was time to move on. I'll be making some more projects with the salvaged lumber. Even with the treehouse gone, its legacy will endure. I want to carry on my dad's legacy of backyard building, solid engineering, and loving family. That's a lot to live up to.
