Tree House

“Let me show you what tree,” my daughter said as she surveyed our yard.

This was one of those times I was hoping the parental bond I've read about was strong. Because if we weren't in synch she was going to be disappointed. I'd already picked out the tree for the tree house...

She walked up to each tree and gave it considerable thought. I knew I was being set up from the way my wife was giggling.

“Not that tree!”

This only made my daughter consider the tree with more consideration. After a moment she shook her head and moved over to the next tree.

Fifteen trees later, she slowly approached the tree. “Daddy, this is the tree.” (We'd been talking about this tree for the past two years. We'd drawn up detailed plans. My daughter would spend hours dreaming about tree house and this was The Perfect Tree...)

“Are you sure?”

“I'm positive.”

“Ok,” I added a mellow-dramatic sigh so she wouldn't think all her hard work had gone to waste. “Is this going to be too high?” I pointed to the perfect fork to anchor the base. It was a good ten feet up. I made sure to raise my voice and look at my wife while posing this question. My daughter was of the opinion that it was too low. My wife and I made eye contact and there was no more than her usual concern for my lack of planning. Still maintaining the eye contact, “Are you sure this is NOT TOO high?” My wife smiled and that was all the answer I needed. (After years of marriage, we've developed a highly complex method on non-verbal communication.)

“Can we start building right now?” My daughter was already planning how to decorate her tree house.

“I have to get the lumber first.”

“Will the tree support it?” My wife has a knack for asking irresponsible questions.

“And directions.” I added with only a slight mutter.

“Today?” I knew she was excited because she was bouncing on my foot.

“I'm going to Lowes now.”

“Yeah! We're going to have a tree house tonight!” She ran off to tell her brother.

By the time I'd made my way to house, a pile of toys were piled up in front of the door. “What are these for?” I asked a little blur running past.

“For the tree house!” my son didn't miss a beat as he dropped his current load and went back for another.

“You do know it's not going to be ready today?” I asked a random blur.

“We have faith in you, daddy.”

It's unfounded faith like that that makes fatherhood all worthwhile

After a trip to Lowes, I had the directions, a load of lumber and optimism. The sticking point was how I was going to anchor the two 12 foot long 2X10s (If you've never tried to work with a twelve foot long 2X10, they are really long and probably weigh several hundred pounds) so they were both level. There was also the added difficulty that the tree was on a hill and my stepladder was definitely not hill friendly. I figured I could use two shorter boards, get those level and anchored to the tree and then use them to support the main joists. After a few hours, I had the two braces bolted into the tree and one of the 2X10s also level and anchored.

“It is done yet?” My daughter asked from the foot of the tree. The blood pounding in my ears had drowned out her normally un-quiet approach.

“Do you see a tree house?”

She actually paused and looked around me. “No?”

“Then it's not done yet.”

“Can I come up?”

Right now, there were two 2X6 boards about three feet long, one on each side of the tree. There was one twelve foot long 2X10 resting across these. The other 2X10 was wedged next to me. I was balanced on a branch holding a level and a chain saw (It seemed like a good idea at the time.). The step ladder had fallen over a few minutes ago and I was not sure how I was going to get get back to the ground (aside from the obvious method.)

“It's going to be that high?” My wife asked from up the hill.

I knew from her tone of voice that there was something wrong. “Yes.”

“Isn't that too high?” This was my wife's way of saying it was too high.

“Is it too high?” I asked my daughter. She was closer to my wife and I was pretty sure after all those hours of labor, my daughter was much safe than me.”

"No. It needs to be higher.”

“Are you sure it's not too high?”

“Mommy said you have to put a quarter in the jar when you use that word.”

My daughter, apparently has excellent hearing.

“Mommy, what's eight times a quarter?”

At least I'd perfected the art of balancing on a rickety step ladder while using a chain saw. Doing it all over again wouldn't be that hard... My wife definitely has to work on her silent communication skills because I'm out of quarters.