Last month, we took a walk by Max’s “tree house” (top picture).  A tree that he declared his own special house, he assigned rooms, doors, windows.  He hung “chandeliers”, brought decorations (toys, other branches), checked on it several times a week, and invited guests there.  We routinely stopped there to drop off “supplies” (aka, sticks) he found for improvements, and he spoke often of how he was going to move into his tree.  

But last month, we walked right by it.  When we had obviously gone too far, Max asked, “where is my tree house?”.  We turned around, and I realized before he did, and my heart broke a little bit for him.  The base maintenance workers had “trimmed” the tree (really two intertwined trees) within an inch of its life.  It was now just two bare trunks, no branches at all, barely recognizable.

“Oh, Max, I’m so sorry,” I started to say, but then he realized that this mutilated trunk was HIS tree house, stripped of familiar windows and doors and cabinets he had created.  A piece of wire he had used to string berries as a chandelier was still stuck in a bit of ivy clinging to the trunk.  He tried so hard not to, but he started to cry.  I explained how trees need to be pruned, but he was so distraught.  

“Maybe we can put a sign up, so the workers know this is my tree and not to trim it?” he asked.  I pointed out that it was too late, but he really wanted me to make this right.  I thought about it, and after some texting with Ben, I made a call to “Camp Lester Tree Services.”  The nice gentlemen who answered sounded a lot like Dad, but Max didn’t seem to notice as he explained how this would keep the tree healthy and that it would grow back.  He stopped crying, but we haven’t been back that way much these days.

This week, though, we found a new tree house (bottom picture).  He has declared it his hotel, and he is busy putting up strong walls and collecting supplies to erect doors and windows.  Part of me is still sad for this military child who doesn’t get to see trees planted and grow to maturity, and won’t be around to see his original tree house grow back.  But he is resilient and he is learning other valuable lessons, like how to love the place you’re given while it’s yours, even if it’s only temporary.  

April is the month of the military child, and I meant to post this last month.  We have never lived in a house we own, and that’s mostly been ok with us.  But now, I’m so looking forward to the day when we can pick a tree that is truly his, and help him build a real tree house in it.  Until then, we will love our concrete bunker home and adopt this new tree in our neighborhood.  Thank a military child and enjoy watching the changes each new season brings to your home, wherever you live.