Scrap Lumber

Another story from the years my family lived in Iowa:

Our home in Iowa was on the edge of town in a small subdivision. Homes went up very slowly and at the back of each lot as a home was being constructed was a huge scrape pile full of lumber cut-offs. Those piles provided me with hours of projects.

One project was my tree house that I started and which my father helped me finish. I am sure my mother was worried about the construction specs on anything that large I might build at the age of ten. She had visions of broken bones and tried to warn me off of my dream home! She made sure to work my newest project into the dinnertime conversation that Thursday night. Thursdays were the night my father returned home after his sales trips. I remember the conversation started off with, "Susan, why don't you tell your father what you are working on this week?" I was always in trouble when Mom used Susan and father in the same sentence!

I am sure she thought he would forbid me from carrying the project forward. But Dad dug into my project like it was just another of his home improvement project (which, of course, it was!). I had scraped together quite a few pieces of 2x4's and Dad toted all the necessary tools out to the construction site. You see the tree wasn't in our yard but in the middle of the vacant field behind our home. He even donated some of his plywood stock for the floor. There was a cut out in the floor for an entrance and steps screwed into one of the trunks and just enough railing to make the treehouse safe. Dad must have known of my need for a quiet haven and I spent many an hour in that quiet treehouse away from my sister! The perfect place to read a book without someone wanting me to play Barbies!

When the doctor who owned that portion of the field sold his practice, his replacement also dreamed of broken bones. One very sad day I discovered someone had burnt my treehouse out of the tree. Dad wouldn't help me replace my treehouse since we had received such a stern warning from the new owner. But he did help me build a fort as a replacement! My fort was more like a phone booth without a door but it did have a seat and table built into the walls. We also scavenged some asphalt shingles for the roof! Dad being Dad also put some scavenged tar paper on the roof as anyone knows a good roof should have before shingles. Unfortunately my fort was at the very back of the yard and within calling distance for my mom and pestering distance for my sister. Although I loved the time I spent with Dad building my fort, it was never the same as my treehouse!