A Treehouse, a little you-and-me house

What I know about fly fishing would fit on the back of a dipteran . Better to ask Bob, Fern Forest Treehouse guest from Montana. Bob and his wife Rachel are producer, director and editor of a fly fishing show on the Sportsmans Channel. Some of the shows feature celebrities traveling the world to fish with host and show creator John Barrett. Imagine fishing with Liam Neeson, Michael Keaton, Kevin Costner, Robert Duvall and Bode Miller. Bode Miller on water? I thought he was strictly a snow guy. The only thing I know about fishing comes from my brother Ron, an avid bass fisherman. That’s a much different sport. Seems to me it’s as much about the equipment—the fast boat, the big SUV to pull it, fish finder and lures and expensive accoutrements—and it’s about the competition. There’s big money to be had for pulling in the biggest bass or the most bass or the cutest bass—something like that. H’s best friend Alex fly fishes Vermont streams. It’s just Alex an

Fern Forest hosted our first sisters last week. Christine is a retired teacher from Ontario and brought along Lois, who will be teaching second grade in Vancouver when school starts in a week. Christine is a widow and Lois is recovering from breast cancer surgery, and they thought a dip down into the States would be just the thing. These two bubbled in from a long drive and appeared to be not the least bit fatigued. We gave them a little glass of wine, and they bounced off to the Bobcat for a bite of dinner. When they came back, they climbed into their pajamas. Lois wears a pale green satin number, and Christine was bundled in flannel. H gave them flashlights and they marched out to the treehouse for the night’s adventure. In the morning Christine was up first. She slept like a baby in the lower bunk under a down comforter. Lois in the loft was a little distracted by critters skittering across the roof, but she persevered and finally fell asleep until the sun stream

My friend Amanda is a magnet. The last time she visited Fern Forest, H and I took her to a neighborhood Fourth of July party. I’ve never been so popular as when I was standing close to Amanda. Sitting by the pond, we were surrounded by men who wanted to hear about her travels to Asia and India and her work with the Peace Corps. Women got her talking about her stays at Kripalu and about growing up on the Jersey shore. She practices yoga and meditates. Sometimes she eats tofu and raw veggies. Sometimes she pigs out on ribs and bacon. Always she’s vivacious and beautiful. She was getting off the subway at the East Broadway station, walking up the stairs on her way back from yoga class. Abner was coming back from a class, walking unusually slow. "Are you okay?" Amanda said. "Yes," he said. "Just trying to get in touch with my muscles." Who was this compassionate woman? Who was this man so tuned in to his body? They talked. Then he asked her to go swimming. H

“They were both in the prime of youth, or even in that season which precedes the prime of youth, the season before the smooth pink folds of the flower have burst their gummy case, when the wings of the butterfly, though fully grown, are motionless in the sun.” (from “Kew Gardens” by Virginia Woolf). Anne-Sophie and Arnaud are in that stage of their lives, drying their wings in American sun before they fly back to Paris, back to their jobs as a teacher and counselor. Anne-Sophie is a tall French beauty with dark hair and bangs bringing attention to her eyes. She wrote her doctoral dissertation on Virginia Woolf’s short stories and essays and I’m trying to convince her to translate the 500 pages into English for publication in the States. But she’s awfully busy teaching in a school of predominantly North African students and preparing to have a baby in March. Arnaud is thrilled to be starting a family. His mother died when he was very young, and he was raised by various aunts, a