Fern Forest Romance

A few love birds have nested in the Fern Forest Treehouse, beginning with Karrie and Isaac, who came up from Mystic CT to celebrate their third wedding anniversary. Karrie is a vegan, and in the morning we had a basket ready, decorated with anniversary ribbons and filled with vegan scones, vegan yogurt and fresh fruit. They took the basket back to the treehouse and had a picnic on the deck while they watched the sun rise over Mt. Abe.

Newlyweds Ryan and English wife Jacqueline spent a night of their honeymoon with us and left us with wedding favors of British tea, which was delicious. H tried really hard to get the eggs soft-boiled just right for Jacqueline so that she could dip toast "soldiers" in the runny yolk, but, alas, his culinary skills where soft-boiling is concerned are in the embryonic stages. But he's practicing for Jacqueline's next visit. We didn't have egg cups, either, but Jacqueline taught us to perch the eggs in shotglasses, which we do have. Need you ask why?

Justin and Kristin are two of the sweetest and most creative people we've met and the only guests to make a return visit. On their first trip, they drove straight from Buffalo towing their motorcycle on a trailer. They landed, unpacked, and unloaded the bike for an hour-long ride to Burlington. When they got back to the treehouse, they crashed in the loft and slept twelve straight hours. After breakfast, they left us with homemade jars of grapefruit marmalade, strawberry jam and dill pickles with cukes from their garden. We were thrilled to see them again this fall, and Kristin gifted us with her homemade granola (which was delicious and we gobbled up in two days). Justin is a graphic artist and Kristin a web designer. Check out Kristin's original, one-of-a-kind baby booties. Kristin, comment with the link to your site, svp!



Steve works for the Clinton Foundation and brought his new wife Jessica up from Boston for a night at Fern Forest Treehouse. Oh, and Sparky and Brutus came, too...our first treehouse canines. Jessica is finishing up her practicum to become an elementary school teacher. Usually I google guests to make sure they're not serial killers and found most of the posts for Steve showed him as a professional wrestler. Now, I have nothing against pro wrestling, and Steve's muscular enough to pass for one, but I was relieved to find that he's an accountant doing the good nonprofit work to help rid the planet of AIDS and stop global warming. Still, I guess a side gig in the ring now and then wouldn't be a bad thing.

If you're interested in trying a night at Fern Forest Treehouse, visit airbnb.com and look for us in Vermont.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sex and the Treehouse

Image
When Hana asked to book Fern Forest Treehouse for herself and three friends, H said there wasn’t room, the treehouse is only ninety square feet, he didn’t know how they’d sleep. “Oh, we’ll bring sleeping bags,” she wrote. “Don’t worry—we’ll fit in.” H is a pushover, especially for such youthful enthusiasm. And he thought it sounded like a good time. When the four gals pulled in from Boston around eleven Friday night, H was waiting up for them, the path to the treehouse lit by solar lamps, the treehouse itself all aglitter with colored lights. From upstairs, I heard excited giggles as he showed them around, more giggles as they climbed into the spa under a sky studded with a million stars. As happens in water at 102 degrees, the giggles calmed to whispers, and eventually all was quiet. The sun rose clear Saturday morning, warming the treehouse so that the girls were up a little after 7:00 a.m. We were still in bed when I heard water running in the downstairs bathroom, and H and
Read more

A Treehouse guest discovers his roots in an old millstone

Image
In spring 1794, a group of men set their shoulders to clearing land in what is now Lincoln, Vermont. The footpath they blazed into the forest eventually became a road named for the Quakers who came to settle with ox carts holding all their belongings. They were young, strong, and healthy. Once they pried rocks from the fields, they found the soil rich enough to support their crops. A year later, nearly one hundred residents, mostly from New York and Connecticut, scattered over 24,000 acres of wilderness, most living in tiny one-room cabins made from logs they hewed by hand from trees they had cut on their property. They cooked meals in stick-and-mud fireplaces, spun wool from their sheep, wove fabrics to make their own clothing, and cobbled shoes for their families. They hunted game in the forests and guarded their livestock from wolves that prowled the land. When the crops failed and game was sparse, they went hungry. Quaker services were held in homes until they built a m
Read more

Octopus Fishing in Portugal

Image
Ann was studying in Spain for a semester, living with a Spanish family. When the university had a break, Portugal called. It’s an old country, remains of the first settlements dating back to the Neolithic period, five thousand years before Christ. The Visigoths invaded in the sixth century. In 1986, the hills were covered in wildflowers, and horses grazed in fields crimsoned with red geraniums. On the southern coast of Portugal, the area of Algarve is dotted with small fishing villages. Santa Luzia, Tavira, Lisboa, Faro, Cape Sagres, Salema. From the gold dust beaches, one can look across the sea to the shores of Morocco. Bathers swim topless—young women, old women, bathing tops cast aside, breasts bared to the sun. Ann felt strange covering herself. She was just nineteen and modest, but she wanted to fit in, to be accepted, even among these strangers on the beach. She’d worn a one-piece tank suit but slipped the straps off her shoulders, rolled down the suit’s upper half, lay
Read more