The Tree House

I was itching for the week to end. It had seemed like the longest school week in history. My best mate Dave, had been going on and on about how he and his Dad had built the most amazing tree-house. According to Dave, it was going to be awesome to play in it this weekend and I had already pictured the place in my mind and imagined the adventures we could conjure up from our secret hide-out in the tree tops.
Dave had explained in vivid detail how his Dad had showed him how to use the cordless drill to make the pilot holes, which took the galvanised screws. He had held the sheets as his Dad had screwed the big plywood panels into place. They had planned together the layout of the ladder. He was even allowed to use the drop saw to cut the timber treads to length and then nail, them with 4 inch galvanised nails, to the tree trunk and branches, providing the ultimate zigzag entry ladder. Apparently the roof had been a bit tricky, but together they had beaten the westerly winds which had threatened to take the roofing material from their hands and send it into old Mr Davies back yard. I had laughed about that – no way would Mr Davies ever give back anything that came over his fence – he still had our cricket ball from last season’s back yard match. Now we only had the tennis ball to play with and we had to be even more careful not to smack that over the fence for a ‘six and out’.
At last the bell rang and Dave and I bolted. “See you in the morning Lenny!” Dave shouted as we jumped on our pushies and headed for home. “Bright and early” I shouted back with a grin like a split watermelon.
That night I finished my homework early and went to bed straight after Disneyland. I dreamt of the tree-house perched in the old Moreton Bay Fig, in Dave’s backyard.
Saturday morning, bright and early, found me knocking on Dave’s front door. His Mum answered, still dressed in her pyjamas, her hair all messed up.
“Good morning Lenny, what can I do for you this early in the morning”?
“Can I come in and play with Dave”?
She stepped aside and I rushed past her and on to Dave’s room. He was still asleep. “C’mon Dave it’s Saturday, let’s check out the tree-house”.
“You’re not going out until you’ve brushed your teeth and had some breakfast David! ……… Do you want something to eat Lenny”?
“No thanks Mrs Godfrey ……… Uuhmm, maybe a couple of Weet-bix ……… have you got brown sugar”?
We polished off breakfast in record time, considering I had seconds. Dave brushed his teeth and then we headed outside for the long anticipated tree-house adventure.
When I first clapped eyes on the thing, I thought it looked like a pile of shit. It was a bit wonky and the roof was made from one of those old plastic kids wading pools. I circled the big fig to get a look at the tree-house from all angles. From the back I was surprised to see that it looked a lot like a spaceship.
“What do you reckon Lenny?”
“Awesome” I replied, “It looks a bit like the Star-ship Enterprise”.
“Yeah, I want to be Mr Spock”
“OK and I’m Capt Kirk”, “Beam me up Mr Spock”!
So the adventures began.

The Tree House

Andy Smerdon

Dayboro, Australia

  • Artist

Artist's Description

A short story about what kids find important and how quickly they adapt to new opportunities.

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