The Treehouse

Once there was a tree....
and she loved a little boy.
And everyday the boy would come
and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns
and play king of the forest.
He would climb up her trunk
and swing from her branches
and eat apples.
And they would play hide-and-go-seek.
And when he was tired,
he would sleep in her shade.
And the boy loved the tree....
very much.
And the tree was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
And the tree was often alone.
Then one day the boy came to the tree
and the tree said, "Come, Boy, come and
climb up my trunk and swing from my
branches and eat apples and play in my
shade and be happy."
"I am too big to climb and play" said
the boy.
"I want to buy things and have fun.
I want some money?"
"I'm sorry," said the tree, "but I
have no money.
I have only leaves and apples.
Take my apples, Boy, and sell them in
the city. Then you will have money and
you will be happy."
And so the boy climbed up the
tree and gathered her apples
and carried them away.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time....
and the tree was sad.
And then one day the boy came back
and the tree shook with joy
and she said, "Come, Boy, climb up my trunk
and swing from my branches and be happy."
"I am too busy to climb trees," said the boy.
"I want a house to keep me warm," he said.
"I want a wife and I want children,
and so I need a house.
Can you give me a house ?"
" I have no house," said the tree.
"The forest is my house,
but you may cut off
my branches and build a
house. Then you will be happy."

And so the boy cut off her branches
and carried them away
to build his house.
And the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time.
And when he came back,
the tree was so happy
she could hardly speak.
"Come, Boy," she whispered,
"come and play."
"I am too old and sad to play,"
said the boy.
"I want a boat that will
take me far away from here.
Can you give me a boat?"
"Cut down my trunk
and make a boat," said the tree.
"Then you can sail away...
and be happy."
And so the boy cut down her trunk
and made a boat and sailed away.
And the tree was happy
... but not really.

And after a long time
the boy came back again.
"I am sorry, Boy,"
said the tree," but I have nothing
left to give you -
My apples are gone."
"My teeth are too weak
for apples," said the boy.
"My branches are gone,"
said the tree. " You
cannot swing on them - "
"I am too old to swing
on branches," said the boy.
"My trunk is gone, " said the tree.
"You cannot climb - "
"I am too tired to climb" said the boy.
"I am sorry," sighed the tree.
"I wish that I could give you something....
but I have nothing left.
I am just an old stump.
I am sorry...."
"I don't need very much now," said the boy.
"just a quiet place to sit and rest.
I am very tired."
"Well," said the tree, straightening
herself up as much as she could,
"well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting
Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest."
And the boy did.
And the tree was happy.

~The Giving Tree

By Shel Silverstein

The story of The Giving Tree was the first thing I thought of as I watched my husband pull the remnants of many wonderful childhood memories out of the tired old tree.  For many years, only a  desolate moss-covered platform has occupied the space where there was once a large, two-room tree house.  A tree house that provided countless hours of elevated fun for numerous kids has simply been a playground for squirrels and landing pad for doves and pigeons.  But oh, it was once a glorious place.  

I cannot lay claim to the tree house - it originated before I was even a thought on Earth.  My step-dad built it with and for his children in the mid-seventies.  I wasn't there to witness the construction of it.  I don't know how many hours it took to build, how many boards were cut just right, or how many nails were pounded in.  I don't know how many slivers dug into the working hands that put up the tree house, or how many fingers got in the way of the driving hammers.  I wasn't there to witness the meticulous calculations of making sure the tree house fit just right into the waiting arms of that massive Elm.  I'll never know the excitement those children felt as they watched their Dad erect this massive wooden haven, the giggles shared, the stories told, the dreams imagined for that place.  Those sacred memories belong to Darryl and his children. 

But I am thankful they happened, and that I also got to share in the fun of the big tree house in the big Elm.

When I first moved in to the house on Alaska Avenue, it was 1990 and  I was 7 years old.  I was terrified of that tree house, and being a child who was afraid of everything, I could easily picture my broken body laying at the bottom of the rickety ladder which led up to the tree house, having slipped from a rung or gotten dizzy and disoriented on my way up.  I refused to scale that thing for a long time.  But one day, my brother talked me into it.  

Karlin climbed up that ladder before me and coached me on the way up. There was a big, thick branch towards the top of the ladder, just before you reached the open doorway of the tree house, that you had to snake your body over in order to complete your ascent to the top.  That was the worst part.  I remember standing on the rung just below that branch, shaking, not knowing how I would ever get over that big branch into the tree house, or back down for that matter! But, with Karlin's coaching, I snaked my little body over that branch, and found myself standing triumphantly in the middle of the tree house.  I still wasn't fond of making my way up that ladder, but soon I forgot how scary it really was, and I visited that tree house daily.  

After making some neighborhood friends, they all joined me regularly in the tree house, and soon we were the typical story-book tree house dwellers, pooling our money together to try to buy knick-knacks and carpet to fix that tree house up.  We kept a jar of money "hidden" there, and to be honest, I'm not sure what ever happened to the couple of bucks we managed to acquire.  

We spent countless hours up there, playing, sweeping, cleaning, and playing make-believe.  We always talked about having a sleep-over in the tree house, but my mom never allowed it, and I'm sure the parents of my friends would have never allowed it either.  We never did spend a night up there (though I can't say with certainty that my brother never slept up there).

After a few years of climbing that old rickety ladder hundreds (if not thousands) of times, Darryl decided to take that ladder down and replace it with a sturdier, marginally safer stairway.  I remember watching him build those stairs, and position them just right up to the door way of the tree house.  The stairs were marvelous! I really don't remember if they had side rails to hang on to, or if it was just a dangerous drop off on both sides of the stairs, but I didn't care.  The stairs were so much easier to climb up than that ladder!  

Several more years were spent playing in the tree house, and those stairs stayed in place for a long, long time.  I even had a dog who wasn't afraid to ascend those stairs up into the tree house.  She wasn't sane by any means (my husband always said she reminded him of Ed from the Lion King, the not-right-in-the-head hyena), but she didn't mind heights.

More years went by, and eventually other things took my time and attention.  School, Flag Corp, a boyfriend - life just happened.  But life always happened in the shadow of that tree house in the Elm, which stood above us like an alter to our childhood memories.  

Eventually, Darryl took down the stairs that led up to the tree house door.  A few years later (once I was married and out of the house), he started to tear the tree house down.  It was very old and dilapidated (not so different from what it was when I played in it as a child, but I didn't notice it), and we weren't sure of the safety of it anymore.  Walls came down in pieces, but for some reason, no one was ready for the finality of a big empty space in the big Elm just yet.  After those walls came down, the floor of the tree house remained, and sat there cradled in the tree for many years.  Without the walls around it, the platform wasn't very note-worthy or attention-drawing, so no one paid it much attention.  

Until Mom and Darryl started talk of down-sizing and selling their home (a story for another blog, another day).

It was decided that the platform should come out of  the great tree, so that whoever buys the house wouldn't have to risk their lives to take it down themselves.  So, I volunteered my young, able-bodied husband to scale a ladder 20 feet into the air and start knocking that platform out of the tree.  

On the day the platform came down, the weather was forecast to be a bright, sunny and warm day.  This did not turn out to be the case.  When we woke up, it was overcast, but we didn't think it would rain because the weatherman said it would not rain until the following day, and weathermen are always right.  Right?  

By the time Matt set up the ladder and was working away, it started to sprinkle (or "leak", as Audrey says).  After a while, the leak turned into a heavier drizzle, and the temperature dropped more.  Still Matt worked away at the platform, as I watched from below.  I know it's a little melodramatic, but I couldn't help thinking that the sky was weeping for that tree house, mimicking the thoughts going through my head.  In the pale light from the overcast skies, the tree, too, looked like it had given up, given in -  sagging in it's old age, mourning what it was once, and what it had once held.  

I have to admit, as I sat there under my umbrella watching, I shed a couple of tears.  No one saw me, thank goodness.  They might think I was nuts to cry over the deconstruction of a tree house.  But it was more than that.  It was watching my step-father walk around below the tree house, unable to climb a ladder anymore because of some health problems.  It was the thought of not having that house to visit anymore, my childhood home, gone, sold, belonging to someone else, a stranger who never knew the memories of that place.

It was the fact that I dislike change very much. I dislike watching people I love grow older.  I dislike saying goodbye.  I dislike the thought of them moving.  I dislike the thought of someone else moving in there, possibly knocking down those old beautiful trees, changing everything.  

I dislike the tree house being gone. It's final.  The beginning of a big change, an inevitable change, but a change I don't want to happen.

In the last few hours before the platform came down, it was evident that the tree did not want to let go of what was left of that tree house.  It had literally become a part of the tree.  Boards and cables were grown into the tree itself.  Matt sawed, hammered, pulled, pounded, and sawed some more to get it loose.  We pulled and pulled, and eventually had to tie a rope to the platform and pull it down with a truck.  Finally, after a few pushes to the gas pedal, the last boards came crashing down. 

It was done.

The space left where the tree house once was is so lonely, so unnatural.  As I stood there under that now open space, the story of The Giving Tree came to me.  The big Elm gave 40 years of it's life to cradling that tree house.  It supported it, shaded it, kept that tree house sturdy so many children could enjoy it.    While the children played in the house of that tree, I can only imagine that the tree was happy.  It smiled down on those laughing children, enjoying it's shade and massive support.  But as the children grew and moved away, the tree grew lonely.  Soon the tree house was empty, and that tree was cradling an empty shell, a shadowy reminder of the once happy and vibrant life which once surrounded it.   Though the children often came back, they had grown to old the climb into the tree.  It had served it's purpose. While it was happy to still provide shade and greenery, what it cradled was no longer needed. 

I imagine some day, after my family has moved away and new people take over, those big old Elm trees will be chopped down, no longer appreciated, seen as a danger in the wind.  The happiness they once provided will be just a memory.  

Maybe when I am an old woman, I will go back and visit that house some day.  The trees won't be there anymore, and the house may not be standing either.  But I will be able to stand where those trees once stood, and remember the old tree house which held the tree house I used to play in.  Maybe I'll have grand-children with me, and I can tell them about all the fun times I had playing up there.  Even though everything will be different, I can stand there, and be happy.  

**I am trying to find a picture of the tree house. When and if I find one, I'll post it**