I would never have imagined such a deep philosophical introspective based upon old tree-forts. Makes me wonder what people think of the myriad plywood platforms and scrap 2×4′s attached to various trees in the woods behind my childhood home.

One was built into the side of a ditch with a secret trap door entrance, we could park our bicycles on the roof which helped camouflage and hid it from the neighborhood eric cartman type kid.

Second one was totally underground we dug a 5′x 10 hole and roof was swiped plywood and 2×4′s same type of secret door. we put a layer of dirt and then grass and branches on most of the roof. It took us one whole summer to dig it but then we decided it was lame and too dark inside and tried turning it into a pond by removing the roof running my garden hose for 24+ hours… I caught hell for that.

Third one: there was a house being built on a lot so they bulldozed some large elms and cottonwood trees and just left them in a huge pile in the wooded area behind the back yard. we built what we thought was close to a real house by scavenging enough plywood to make our first rectangular above ground structure. It had carpet and door and windows and even a small table with a lamp and huge radio shack police scanner which we would run multiple extension cords to the build sites power. We felt like it was our bandit hideout, thinking we would hear if the police were coming to kick us off the land and we could grab our lamp and radio and run like hell.this never happened.

we built many others like tipi and yurt type ones we could relocate but never as big or permanent.

our skills learning all this did pay off because around 13 t0 15yrs old my friends and I started building skate and bike ramps for ourselves then selling ones for profit.

It’s funny to think all those hours we spent building things and all are gone now without a trace.

Where I grew up was still far enough away from the city that there were plenty of wilderness/woodsy bits that no one wanted, including this great area along a creek, where the mixture of creek and big rocks sticking out of the ground had lead to a sparsely wooded area hidden behind more tightly grown trees and brush. It was great.

And then one day workmen showed up. They didn’t clear for a house – instead, they set up a good, strong bridge over the creek, with big thick beams holding it up, and some picnic tables… some family did own the land, and decided to make this their private picnic spot, I guess. I think I may have met them once. They didn’t mind us playing around it when they weren’t there.

And then.. I think after a year or two… they never came back. The bridge lasted for a while unmaintained, but we were too young to really know what to do – or to care, that was the adult’s thing – and so it slowly began to rot and fall apart, bit by bit, until by now I’m not sure I’d be able to find more than the remains of where the supports had been sunk.

But while it lasted it was wonderful.