Tree construction complete
Forgive me. If you read yesterday’s post you may be wondering why in the world my husband was putting nails in the tree (thanks, Katie!). As it turned out, he didn’t nail into the tree, just around it!).
It all started a few days ago when I knocked my block off (or almost) while mowing under the old apple trees. I asked him to get the chainsaw and trim some of the low-hanging limbs so I could mow up close and personal around the trunks. There are three trees and the one up by the fence has a few long, thick, horizontal limbs.
“You know,” this would be the perfect place for a tree house!” I commented within earshot of my son.
(And now you know the rest of the story!)
Allow me to point out a few of the finer features … a rope to climb up and down, a stool on a rope “to lower down for girls who can’t climb the rope” according to my swaggering son, and “storage underneath” for “my stuff!”
Father and son spent Memorial Day on this little boy version of a man cave.
And last night during his bedtime prayers the little man said, “… and please don’t let my tree house get wet and ruin all the nice, new boards. Amen!”
I said, “That sure is a nice tree house.”
“Yeah. But Daddy wouldn’t listen to me! It’s not big enough — I wanted walls and a roof and it’s not big enough for a couch. And it needs a TV!”
And he was perfectly serious.
Sorry, son. This version will have to do.
Perhaps I’ll drape a sheet above him for a roof. See! Mothers an build tree houses, too.