Simpler Times

She easily swung up the tree and slid through the small door. She didn’t know how much longer she would be able to fit through the opening. Heck, would there be a time she couldn’t climb a tree? She hoped not. Now that she was in, Daisy retrieved the square pillow from it‘s box and gave it a few whacks to remove any dust and check for bugs. With that done, she laid back and stared through open slats that made the roof. The slats were made of steel and were anchored in firmly to the frame. Her dad didn’t want any branches breaking through.

She sighed a large sigh of relief. It was good to have a respite from all that was happening around her. She sighed again. She took a deep breath. Every muscle and fiber in her body relaxed. The woody smell of the timber, the symphony of the birds, the light and shadows that played across her closed eyelids took her back to simpler times. Back to her childhood days when she lay just like this on a summer afternoon all those years ago when she watched the light dancing about on the leaves as a wind gently rustled them about and while the birds sang their songs. She imagined that the birds serenading her now were the great great great grandbirdies of the ones that sung to her then. She giggled. Grandbirdies. Did she just make up a word? In her mind she did and was pleased with herself.

The large green leaves continued to glow and cast dappled green shadows on her and everything around her. She began to drift away into memories. Her father and older brother built this treehouse. It was for him. Her father had started the project for three reasons. The first was to better connect with her brother, who was having behavior issues, second to keep him close to home where he could keep a better eye on him and third to teach him about carpentry. Her brother thought dad just wanted to do something special just with him. And in a way it was true. The tree house was a hit with his friends and soon they spent all their free time there. Everything got better after that. She barely remembered much but she did remember the sounds of the two of them bantering back and forth and laughing while the tree house took shape. It made her heart happy to see them happy instead of the yelling at each other which was getting to be the norm. It frightened her. But now she felt safe. The success of the tree house led to other projects. A swing set for her and their younger brother, a playhouse for her, and a rocking tiger for her baby brother and then one Christmas they surprised her with a doll house. They also built a canoe and took camping trips with it. Eventually he outgrew the tree house and it became hers. Pirate adventures gave way to tea parties which then gave way to slumber parties with all night gab fests that once included a sing-along contest. A neighbors call to the police put an end to that. Her parents weren’t pleased to have the police knocking on their door at 2 in the morning. She snickered at that memory and the one of her mom remarking on how all her hard work was finally paying off because the flowers around the base of the tree were suddenly doing so well. No one had the heart to tell her that the years her brother had the tree house he and his friends didn’t bother to go into the house to pee. She sighed again. Her thoughts then turned to her and her friends painting their nails, talking about who liked who and practicing kissing on the pillow. Her mom had helped her make it and taught her how to embroider. The pillow was covered with her namesake. It was the height of the hippy movement and so the daisies sported psychedelic colors along with peace signs and the words ‘Flower Power’. She thought about taking it home with her. She decided against it. Instead she pulled out a roll of paper, folded it then placed it on the fabric that covered the bottom of the box. In it she had written the history of the treehouse and asked that the new owner add their history. She knew that as well as it was built, that it would not last forever. She ended her history with a favor from the last owner. Her hope, she told them, was that they would publish the story with all the names and dates that graced the pages. Time had flown by, as it always had in the tree house. She breathed another sigh but this one with a tinge of sadness. The sun was going down and the house was being sold today and this was the last time she would be here. She reminded herself though it was hard to let go; that it isn’t always things that we need to hold on to. For things come and go and things rust and break and are lost and if one isn’t careful things could end up owning you. What does matter are the memories. Memories are ours forever and they will always be with us. Now instead of a sigh she took a deep breath. One of acceptance and she slipped out of the door and swung down to the ground. She picked a few of the flowers from around the base of the tree to press and went inside to sign the papers that would close this chapter and start a new one. She was lucky for the man she married was also a carpenter and had built an addition to their home and her father was coming to live with them. She skipped into the house and up to her dad, as she had always done all those years ago and like then she planted a kiss on his forehead. It made him smile. “Come on dad,” she whispered in his ear. “ Time to start our next chapter.”