Stories for Boys: A Memoir by Martin Gregory

Author:Martin, Gregory [Martin, Gregory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780983850465
Publisher: Perseus Books Group
Published: 2012-08-20T07:00:00+00:00

In a feat of mechanical advantage that would have made Archimedes proud, using two thin ropes each running through pulleys set high up in the tree, Oliver and Evan and I hoisted the platform slowly into the air. We tied off the ropes. The frame of the floor of our treehouse swayed in the breeze above our heads. There was cheering. Christine came out to see what was going on, and she could not quite disguise her pride in her man.

One by one we set the posts in their holes, and by inserting lag bolts through pre-drilled holes, we connected each post to the platform six feet off the ground, leaving the nuts only finger-tight, for now. We’d tighten them later, when the posts were plumb. In discussion threads all over the internet, the question of setting posts has been examined. Ready-mix concrete or compressed soil? I based my decision on the terse conviction of a Wyoming rancher. His ranch was big; he maintained a lot of fence; he couldn’t pour concrete in all those holes. Compress the soil, he said. It works.

Christine used the level to make sure each post was plumb, and with a two-by-two, Oliver and Evan I took turns tamping the dirt we kicked back in the holes. It worked and still works. Those posts ain’t going nowhere.

We untied the ropes and pulleys. We didn’t need them anymore.

The boys wanted to get up on the frame and walk on the open joists, balance beam style. This wasn’t particularly safe, but I got my ladder and propped it against the frame. I went up and Oliver and Evan followed. Maternal exhortations reached us faintly from somewhere far below. The boys started out on their knees. Then they stood, holding on to the tree’s branch coming up through the joists. I was happy. The boys were happy. Christine was unhappy. The boys and I stayed up there a good while, growing more confident, but never just walking out with our arms outspread. The day was ending. We came down the ladder. I cleaned up the site and put my tools away. Christine made hot dogs and french fries, and we ate dinner out on the patio and looked at the frame of the floor of our house in the trees.

The next morning, I nailed and set the salvaged two-by-six tongue and groove flooring. This went fast. I left only a few inches between the emerging branch of the tree and the deck flooring, and so now when the wind blows hard, the branch sways, and the whole treehouse creaks and groans satisfyingly. The boys climbed the ladder onto the finished platform and looked around, feasting their eyes about. They could see down into each of the neighbor’s yards – north, south, and west.

The boys went back inside. I built the stud walls of the house with the two-by-sixes that I ripped into two-by-fours. I didn’t own a table saw or a chop saw, and so I did all this cutting and ripping on my Porter Cable circular saw.

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