“Treehouse Chronicles” is a story about people, the fun of working collectively, and the marvel of the pure world, all wrapped round a dream shared by kids of all ages–the creation of an unlimited treehouse filled with odd contraptions, secret locks, furnishings made from trees, and a drawbridge activated by gravity and falling boulders. It is a hardcover, massive format book filled with pictures, sketches, and watercolors. But it’s more than simply huge and fairly: it has an exquisite message – it is a coffee-table ebook with heart.
It’s the story of what occurs when massive individuals determine to be children again and they have tools and lumber. I name the ebook my “grasp’s thesis on irony” because it explores the ups and downs (pun supposed) of dwelling a dream which on some days seemed like the best adventure on the planet, and on different days appeared like the largest mistake I ever made. I stored a journal throughout the building and the 1400 pages that I amassed type the guts of the ebook: from day 1, when inspiration struck, to day 1028, once I splashed the final bit of shellac on the final stair tread. It is the story of an strange man who goes on an ideal journey without ever leaving his back yard.
I grew up in a household where creativeness, creativity, and industry were highly prized. My parents did not encourage me to think outdoors the box–they instructed me they weren’t sure there was a box. (My father, who’s eighty, builds boats.) This idea of pushing, studying, and experimenting, has caught with me my total life. However, we weren’t simply idle dreamers–there was a sensible side. Once I was little, my mother said to me, “Goals need toes, Peter. They’re no good caught between your ears.” She meant that the “doing” part of dreaming was even more vital than the “pondering” half–she (and my dad, too) wished results. (It was okay if the dream was silly–as long as you bought it done.)
In most ways my parents, and my early years, have been pretty standard: [two] dad and mom, [two] youngsters, canine, house in the suburbs (thankfully surrounded by forests and swamps). My dad was a mechanical engineer; my mother was principally residence, however worked a little. Typical for the 1960’s. My parents had been different–although I’m not sure “forward of their time” describes them. I definitely appreciated the liberty they gave me to get a really feel for the inventive life. We had rules, to make certain, however my dad and mom weren’t afraid of saying “sure,” whenever I wished to try something. They let me keep snakes in my room (and in my pockets); I used to be allowed to climb on the roof (in addition to timber) starting once I was about six; tools and lumber were all over the place for me to experiment with; taking part in within the swamp behind the house was thought of normal. My dad and mom informed me I could do anything. I believed them.
I have [two] children. And no, I do not give them the same encouragement my dad and mom gave me–I give them more. My typical response to “Daddy, can I?” is, “YES!” I only say no if one thing is really harmful or unethical or would harm someone else. The pat answer that the majority dad and mom give their kids is “no.” They usually do this because “yes” would inconvenience them or make them look odd to their buddies and neighbors (or each). I feel that’s sad. Lest you suppose our house is chaotic, let me reassure you that it is not. Both my children are respectful, studious, well behaved, and motivated to succeed in life.
They have been inspired to be taught the value of initiative and arduous work and so they know where life’s actual boundaries lie.