The treehouse was rotten and unsafe, and needed to come down. So Daddy started some work on it. Then Simon arrived, and got enthusiastic. When I came home from walking in the woods, I started taking photos. The one above is taken over the top of the garage roof.
"Is the recording with the orange light on or off?"
The treehouse has been used as a store for general junk for a while. There was a busted leather sofa in there, for one thing. There was also sacks of straw and hay for use as duck bedding, and cardboard to put under the straw to make it cleaner and easier to remove all the bedding at once and chuck it on the compost heap.
Does my voice really sound that silly? Or is it just when I hear it?
As with most acts of violence, there was a certain amount of fun to it. But it was sad, too. That treehouse has seen many happy days. We slept in it many times. Some summers, we were there almost every night for months. It was big enough to sleep five in comfort, and six at a push. I slept there alone for a few weeks too, when we had visitors in my room. (Well, my room and my brother's, but he was away somewhere else. I forget. It was a while ago.)
In case you're wondering, at this stage, I did do some work myself, including some axe-weilding. It just wasn't recorded. The treehouse is left now with the rotten external platform gone, and with the fireman's pole felled. All the vertical supports from the ground still stand, as does the treehouse roof, though the walls are gone.