A Treehouse, a little you-and-me house

Sunday afternoon a long black Lincoln Town Car, sleek and shiny, pulled into Fern Forest. From the passenger seat popped a bubbly blonde wearing tights and a tank top, face scrubbed, white teeth glistening behind a wide smile. The driver was slow to exit the car, slow to approach the house. He was all in black—pants, shirt, belt, shoes, long hair pulled back under black hat. “There’s a man with a chainsaw,” he said warily, nodding toward slope in front of the house. “That’s H,” I said. “He’s cutting down trees so you’ll get a better view from the treehouse.” “Treehouse?” he said. “Surprise!” the woman said. “And happy birthday.” Riannan had planned the trip to delight Andy. She’d arranged for the car and mapped the route from New York City. She asked H to get a dozen roses and have them in the treehouse for their arrival. Andy was turning 37, and she was in love. She’s a singer songwriter playing small clubs in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Andy is a bass player, an accomplished one schooled...

We had a Spartan at the treehouse Saturday night. Patrick and Amanda came from Portland, Maine, so Patrick could compete in the Spartan Race at the Catamount Center on Sunday. The race is an offshoot of “The Death Race” and takes its inspiration from Spartan and Navy Seal training, American Gladiator and adventure races. The day starts with a 5K run, followed by obstacles like a wall climb, tunnel crawl, mud pit, wading through water, and spear throw. Only one percent of those who participate in the Spartan Race, which is meant to be lots of fun, will make the cut for the Death Race and face serious challenges. For the Spartans, the race is followed by feats of strength, archery shoots, mud wrestling, a tug of war, and photo ops with beautiful Spartan models. Sunday was sunny and beautiful, and Patrick said the officials would probably hose down the course to insure some muddy adventures. He brought a couple changes of clothes, hoping to get nice and dirty. Once the top Spartan...

Mother’s Day has been a disappointment since my son and stepson have both flown the nest. But this year was different. Lily requested two nights in the treehouse as a gift to her mother, and they arrived late Friday night after driving up from Martha’s Vineyard. H and I had spiffed up the treehouse and put fresh flowers around. At midnight they were road weary but giggling at the treehouse lit with colored lights and the spa heated and ready for them. Saturday we gave them the usual breakfast fare of granola, Greek yogurt, fresh fruit, scones and juice. Jan, the mom, had tea and Lily, a seraphic 25-year-old, had coffee. Lily works at Morning Glory Farm on the Vineyard. Jan owns Vineyard Stories, a niche publishing company she started a few years ago with her husband, a journalist and one of the founders of USA Today. They met while working at a Baltimore newspaper. Jan was a reporter, and when she called in her story for the night, John answered the phone and took it down. Then h...