A Treehouse, a little you-and-me house

A treehouse changes everything.  Byrd asked to stay in the treehouse on Monday night. Usually we don’t accept reservations on Mondays, but she seemed like she really needed some nurturing. She had been taking care of her elderly mother, and when her mother died, Byrd felt deep grief. Taking time off from her job as an airport gate attendant, she had spent the last several days alone in her mother’s house, surrounded by her mother’s things. She hadn’t been out of the house or spoken with anyone in a week. We thought it was time for her to come out of her shell. Speaking of shells, when Byrd drove up, I pointed out the bright blue robin’s egg that somehow had been deposited on the path to the front door. Ants had eaten the yolk, but I hadn’t wanted to dispose of the egg, like a small gift by the steps. Byrd thought it was a good sign, since her real name is Robin. I thought so, too. Before she settled into the treehouse for the night, we offered her a drink and some chee...

            A year ago Vlad and Brittany were given a weekend in the Treehouse as a wedding gift. Shortly after the wedding, Brittany was growing heavy with their first child, and her protruding belly prevented her from climbing a tricky ladder to sleep in a tree loft. So they waited a year, during which time little Galena came into their lives—and, on this Mother’s Day weekend, into ours.             When he was nineteen, Vlad moved from Russia to Los Angeles with his parents. He met Brittany while he was studying for his PhD at M.I.T. Brittany, a pretty, seraphic blonde, was at Harvard Medical School at the time. Obviously things clicked. They dated for a year, and a week after Vlad moved into Brittany’s Cambridge condo, they were married.             Russians are very close with their families, and Vlad’s mom Tatiana...