Whenever I climb a tree I am reminded that I have always wanted to build a tree house. Sadly, I have never had the opportunity. Quite simply, I have never had a garden that boasted a suitable tree. You know the sort: pretty sturdy, with a good spread of branches a few feet off the ground.
My perfect tree house would be reached by a rope ladder. It would not be one of those half-hearted apologies for a tree house you see from time to time: a few planks nailed across a couple of branches to make a crude platform. My tree house would not only avoid nailing itself to the tree but would also boast walls, a window and a roof. It might even stretch to a second story: a ladder, perhaps, leading to a patio in the sky: a place to read a newspaper, or just look at the clouds.
I do not suppose I will ever get the chance to build it. I doubt I will ever move house again and it would take years to grow a tree that would be substantial enough. I am not that bothered, really. I suspect it is best left as a fantasy and, if I were to actually build it, I doubt if I would find the time to use it.
Photo: Karen Rivron