Some kids in my neighborhood are building this tree house. Scrap wood and duct tape. And probably a handful of nails.
When I was maybe 10 or 11, some friends and I built a tree house in "The Big Old Hickory Tree." As best as I can remember the tree was a thousand feet tall and we built our tree house about 900 feet up in the air.
We scavenged through contrusction sites and garages to find the wood. We hammered steps into the trunk, carefully using at least two nails for each step. Somehow we got the larger pieces of wood up the 900 (or maybe 9) feet to the "perfect place."
After a handful of long summer mornings, (because the afternoons were reserved for swimming) we finished the up-to-fifth-or-sixth-grade-codes and scrambled up to the top.
As best as I can remember, there was never a parental visit to the job site. Just me and Mark Conley and David Bell and Michael Pfeiffer and some scrap wood and bent nails and a big tree.
What were our parents thinking...
I guess they were letting us be kids. And probably watching from much closer than I realized.
It is hard sometimes to give the girls boundaries. To know when to let them stretch and when to hold them close. When to let them build a tree house in a too tall tree and when to suggest a shorter tree.
I guess parenting us really much more of an art than science. Cause the science part would say "there is no way you and a bunch of knucklehead friends are going to build a tree house made out of scrap wood half way up to the sky." And the art part says, "what would (or could) happen if they did?"