Treehouses: Mike Fournier Tulsa

Mike Fournier Tulsa

As a young boy growing up in a newly developing area of Kansas City, my brother Paul and I spent many weekends and summers building tree houses in the fields that were only a block away.

Our Dad had gained permission from the builders each year for us to peruse the scrap piles, and to use any scraps we deemed worthy of reuse to build our tree houses.  The biggest problem was nails.  We were taught how to remove nails from scrap pieces of lumber, and how to hammer them and turn them while hammering on the street to make them straight again.  This was a very time consuming process.  Looking back now of course, I wish that Dad would have just bought us a box of nails.

With saws, scraps, and newly straightened nails in hand, we marched to the nearest tree to build our latest and greatest tree house.  Over the years, I have no idea how many we built.  My guess was probably 5, as it usually took us many weeks just to build one.

The steps on the trunk were always first.  And one nail in the middle is not enough.  You have to find a relatively flat trunk, and use at least 3 nails to secure it strongly enough to hold our weight while repeatedly going up and down.

Next, we had to survey which branches could support our base.  This is usually where the first of many arguments would arise.  But, after the yelling match was over, we worked diligently to measure, cut, and nail the base boards.  A few times we snared some plywood scrapes, but most of the time, the floor base was built with 2x4's side by side for as many as we had.

Then the walls.  Once we had enough scraps to build a door.  Never once did we have enough wood to make a roof.  So, really our tree houses were more like tree forts.  But, man were they fun.  I remember getting home from school, and wanting to immediately either a) play baseball, or b) go to our tree house.  Most days we did both.  We were never inside the house.  Even on rain days, if it was not lightning, we played baseball in the rain and mud, or went up in our tree house.

Now that I reflect, Dad never taught us how to build it, nor was he ever in the tree.  Dad made sure we had the supplies and tools, but the knowledge for how to build it must have just been innate in both of our brains.

I had an amazing childhood.  This is only a brief glimpse into one of those memories.

Which circles me around to this picture.  This tree will be where my grandsons and I build our first tree house, as it is on a piece of land that we own, and Pappy is going to have a tree house that his grandkids can enjoy during their visits.  Of course, I first have to build Nini's house (she has promised me a room), but not long thereafter (with our scrapes ~ but with boxes of nails), I will teach the boys the subtle nuances of weight distribution for the base floor, and support limbs for the walls.  And this one will have a roof!  :-)

I am a blessed man!