“Treehouse Chronicles” is a story about individuals, the thrill of working together, and the wonder of the pure world, all wrapped around a dream shared by children of all ages–the creation of an unlimited treehouse stuffed with odd contraptions, secret locks, furniture constructed from bushes, and a drawbridge activated by gravity and falling boulders. It’s a hardcover, massive format ebook filled with photographs, sketches, and watercolors. Nevertheless it’s more than just massive and pretty: it has a beautiful message – it’s a coffee-desk ebook with heart.

It’s the story of what happens when big individuals resolve to be children again and they have tools and lumber. I name the guide my “grasp’s thesis on irony” as a result of it explores the ups and downs (pun meant) of dwelling a dream which on some days seemed like the best journey on the earth, and on other days seemed like the largest mistake I ever made. I kept a journal throughout the construction and the 1400 pages that I amassed type the heart of the book: from day 1, when inspiration struck, to day 1028, when I splashed the final little bit of shellac on the last stair tread. It’s the story of an peculiar man who goes on an amazing journey without ever leaving his back yard.

I grew up in a household where imagination, creativity, and trade had been extremely prized. My dad and mom did not encourage me to assume outdoors the field–they advised me they weren’t certain there was a box. (My father, who’s eighty, builds boats.) This idea of pushing, studying, and experimenting, has caught with me my complete life. However, we weren’t just idle dreamers–there was a sensible side. When I was little, my mom mentioned to me, “Dreams want ft, Peter. They’re no good stuck between your ears.” She meant that the “doing” a part of dreaming was even more essential than the “pondering” part–she (and my dad, too) wished results. (It was okay if the dream was silly–as long as you got it done.)

In most methods my dad and mom, and my early years, have been fairly conventional: two parents, two children, canine, house within the suburbs (luckily surrounded by forests and swamps). My dad was a mechanical engineer; my mom was largely residence, however worked a little. Typical for the 1960’s. My parents had been different–although I am not sure “forward of their time” describes them. I definitely appreciated the freedom they gave me to get a feel for the artistic life. We had guidelines, to make certain, but my dad and mom weren’t afraid of saying “yes,” each time I wanted to try something. They let me preserve snakes in my room (and in my pockets); I was allowed to climb on the roof (in addition to trees) starting once I was about six; tools and lumber had been all over the place for me to experiment with; enjoying in the swamp behind the house was thought-about normal. My dad and mom instructed me I could do anything. I believed them.

I have two children. And no, I don’t give them the identical encouragement my mother and father gave me–I give them more. My typical response to “Daddy, can I?” is, “YES!” I solely say no if one thing is truly harmful or unethical or would damage somebody else. The pat reply that most mother and father give their kids is “no.” They usually do this because “sure” would inconvenience them or make them look odd to their associates and neighbors (or each). I believe that is sad. Lest you assume our house is chaotic, let me reassure you that it is not. Both my kids are respectful, studious, effectively behaved, and motivated to achieve life.

They have been encouraged to learn the value of initiative and arduous work and so they know where life’s real boundaries lie.

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