Traveling around the Oregon countryside during the Lavender Festival, I found this amazing tree house soaring up into the forest ceiling. It was around the McMinnville area and also featured a whole survival boot camp layout with a rope and board tree-to-tree bridge, tires to climb through and over, and other obstacle courses.
I’ve always wanted to build my own tree house like I did as a kid. I was so brave then, hauling up boards and bits of left over lumber from the building of our house in Lake Stevens, Washington, using bent roof nails to pound the boards into the trees without a thought as to the health of the trees.
How I’ve changed, becoming more humane to trees, but I still long for that tree house.
Now that I have my own forest, I need to look into healthy and safe ways of building tree houses that respects the trees. Hmm.
Living at the farm in Gaston, Oregon, our lives revolved around the animals. Every morning I was greeted with honks and haws from the four Littles, a family of miniature donkeys. Owned and managed (okay, their food slave) by Leslie, mom, dad, and two children were the rock stars of the farm.
Karina was the old mother, pushing near 30 give or take. Rocko was the old man, a sucker for having his matted backside dug into and scratched for hours on end, if he had his way. Nina was the girl, fairly young and delicate, a bit skittish and yet pushy when something got between her and her food. Guido was the little boy of the family, looking like Karina with his soft gray coat, and spoiled beyond belief.
In their winter coats, I caught the four waiting for food along the fence. In winter, when the ground was muck and cold, they’d stay close to the barn and house, just hanging around for food. During the summer, they’d wander all over the property eating everything and anything that wasn’t high off the ground. Our own mammal lawn mowers.
Still, I miss those cute guys.