A Treehouse, a little you-and-me house

“Life is not merely a series of meaningless accidents or coincidences. Uh-uh. But rather, it’s a tapestry of events that culminate in an exquisite, sublime plan,” says Dean in the film Serendipity . It’s Tara and Caine’s favorite movie because the plot imitates real life for them. For ten years, neither knew the other existed, even though they’d met briefly several times through mutual friends. “She was my friend’s w ife’s sister’s friend,” Caine says—or something like that. “Someone says we met at a bowling alley party, but I don’t remember him,” Tara adds. What does it take for a girl to notice a good-looking, fit, blue-eyed, eligible guy? Nearly a decade later, their best friends got engaged to each other. They were each invited to the destination wedding held on an island off Key West. Caine was best man, and oh wasn’t he dashing all spiffed up? Serendipity finally struck. Why hadn’t they noticed each other before? Caine is a c

Fern Forest Treehouse guest Jeff and I have at least one thing in common—we both have messed up hands. I broke my right wrist and shoulder in a fall down a flight of stairs. Why didn’t we have a nightlight in the bathroom like everyone else? It’s dark in Vermont in the middle of the night! Anyway, I’m healing. A week after the break I had surgery to put a titanium plate (with eight screws) into the wrist—the shoulder is on its own. Jeff, on the other hand (pun intended), wasn’t so lucky. He was doing a semester of study in India, living with a family who spoke very little English. At a restaurant, a glass fell off a tray and with his quick reflexes, he grabbed for it. He grabbed so hard that the glass broke in his hand and severed a tendon. Medical care in the southern village where he lived was sketchy at best, and a doctor bandaged the hand and sent him home. He had little use of the hand for the next two months, and when he got back to the states his doctor dad took a look at the h

When my friend Dora told me her son Palo was coming to visit and she had no place to put him up in her small apartment, I offered him the treehouse. Palo is in his thirties with movie star good looks. It would be a delight to have him around Fern Forest. He wrote me from his home in L.A. to say how much he appreciated the offer and would it be all right if his friend Mike stayed, too? I said sure. Then he t old me that Mike is tall—six-feet-six, to be exact. Well, I said, I suppose he’ll fit in the loft—it’s queen size. Palo could sleep on the single bunk under the loft. Palo is a vegetarian and doesn’t eat sugar—so H’ s pancakes with maple syrup wouldn’t do. Mike is ve gan and doesn’t eat grains. So, what to feed them for breakfast? Dora offered to come over in the mornings and take charge of the kitchen. I thought that was a fine idea. Food and sleeping arrangements under control, we welcomed the young men into our house. Immediately they were like family—even