the majestic treehouse [my story from the bolt farm treehouse]
one story [of nine] from a series of short stories titled “she was herself and the world loved her for it” that i wrote from a two week adventure ten years ago [2016] which was also my final year of my 20s.
this adventure in general was, i think, when i learned that i could just be myself, that it was okay to be, and that people might even like me more for it. i believe this was key to how most of my 30s went [for better and worse].
one night in the carolina woods
I woke up at seven after what felt like three minutes of sleep and packed my suitcase in a pitch black interior cabin with nothing but the flashlight of my phone. I didn’t feel 100 per cent but I knew I could be worse. I think I was just exhausted to my core. We got off the boat without even one last stop in the buffet and returned to land and a long nap on the couch that felt like it was bobbing in the ocean was due.
Sea legs, I suddenly remembered, were a very real sensation and one that kept me both present and reminiscent of my most recent reality that never really felt like reality.
Later that afternoon, we drowned our exhaustion and depression in mindless TV and donuts and I slept good that night despite previously mentioned nap. A good sleep was long overdue which so I think it was a good use of a day, although it would appear to be a wasted day to anyone looking in.
After a better night’s sleep, I woke up with the need to move my body in a torturous way disguised as health, so I dropped into a local CrossFit gym during open gym hours and picked a workout to do on my own that I knew would fulfill my need for torture [health]. Later that night I re-packed my suitcase [packing in the dark when you’re chronically exhausted was no way to pack a suitcase, after all] and the next morning I was on the way home——but not before a quick mini adventure with the sole purpose of recovery.
I booked a two night stay in a treehouse in a small town in South Carolina and after a full day in the Chicago airport with nothing but my own thoughts and bad WiFi, I landed in Charleston much later than expected. I pictured myself driving my little red rental car in the dark looking for a treehouse on a big plot of land near a small town I’ve never been to and then saw myself as the victim of a potential murder documentary. It was then that I decided it was perhaps too late and too dark to drive four hours west.
Make that a one night stay, with another quick stay at a friend’s house in Charleston for a few hours.
—
Early the next morning [six hours later] I was on my way——intense February rainstorm and all. The rain didn’t slow me down and in perfect time, desperate to make good use out of the short time I had there, I pulled into the guest grid driveway located a ways in front of the treehouse and couldn’t get out of the car fast enough.
I jumped out of the car with no regard to the remnants of the rainstorm, grabbed just a few of my things I’d need for one night, ran down the long driveway and up the ramp that led into this majestic treehouse that was just as perfect in real life as it looked in photos.
Right away I put a record on and began obsessing out loud about every detail as harder raindrops now pounded on the metal roof of the treehouse. Once the inital excitement wore off, my sleep deprivation hit me so I curled up under the blankets on the hanging rope swing bed underneath the treehouse and listened to the sound of the rain as I drifted into what I think was one of the best naps I’ve ever had.
—
I awoke shortly after to a friend, who lived in Atlanta at the time, arriving at the treehouse. It’s only a short drive to the treehouse from Atlanta so I invited her to come for a visit. And yes, I knew this treehouse was more of a ‘romantic’ getaway but who says friends [who are single] can’t enjoy this stuff, too? We both shared a love for well-crafted tiny spaces and hadn’t seen each other for awhile, so it seemed perfectly fit.
Once the rain stopped we went off exploring a bit, had for a quick dinner, and generally didn’t stop talking the whole time. Later that night had us in matching robes and slippers, each with a bottle of wine in hand [red for her, white for me]. We sat across from each other and beside the big window facing the dark Carolina woods and attempted to play Scrabble. It was only nine but I realized I was practically sleeping while sitting up, had not many thoughts or words in my head, and had no energy or desire to drink much of the wine. We admitted defeat and crawled into the California king-sized bed on our respective sides and each drifted off into sleeps so sound we forgot the other was even there.
—
Waking up the next morning in the treehouse was unexplainably euphoric; The bed, the windows, the view.
I made coffee and almost broke the vintage coffee maker in the process; we had a little laugh about it as we sat there in silence drinking the coffee that almost never happened. We didn’t do much else that morning but it was one of those times where words were hardly necessary.
Of course, I still had plenty of words inside me though——so I sat out on the deck and furiously wrote two full pages in the provided guestbook. I am not really sure what I wrote and I am not really sure if I want to know. I’m sure if I ever get to read what I wrote I would find it embarrassing in the most sloppiest of ways but I do know that at the time, it came straight from the heart and if I know anything about the purpose of the Bolt Farm treehouses, that’s exactly what they want.
When I finally stopped writing I ran back inside and sat directly in front of the portable heater until it was time to leave. My friend and I said our goodbyes and she headed back to Atlanta but I needed one last moment.
I took more photos of the treehouse solely because I wanted to relive this forever, cried a little either out of sadness or joy or some kind of hybrid, and walked around the treehouse about five times observing it all. With only a minute or two to spare before I had to check out, I grabbed my bag and hopped in my little red rental car and watched the majestic treehouse fade in my rear view mirror as I drove back to Charleston.
The next morning just before heading to the airport to finally head home I made a quick stop at the beach at sunrise. It was dark at first, I couldn’t find an entrance to the beach, I basically had no idea where I was. But I could smell the salty air and it felt like home so I knew I was close.
As I was leaving I noticed the lighthouse and it felt like a symbol that I was finally starting to find my way.
