In the seclusion of my mountain hideaway, after the spring snows slipped into the ground, my desire for freedom from the cramped comfort of the van led me to stretch out onto the forest floor. Looking up at the canopy of stars at night can only lead one to wonder at the grand scale of it all, the heavens, it's sheer awesomeness is the fuel of so many tales and memories. Drifting off to sleep with the sweet smell of last seasons needle casts, lullabied by the sound of Butte creek, serenaded by the coyotes and distant bear bellowing. To the squeamish these scenes could be well reckoned to a nightmare, the shifting shadow play, wild beasts lurking about, and the separation of distance from humanity, let alone the remoteness afforded no solace of cell phone coverage. But to me, it was heaven on Earth, the mystery of it all, the wholeness of unity with a place I felt that I belonged. The occasional bear rendezvous or being wakened by a fold of coyotes were only considered icings on the cake of my experiences there. A nocturnal spring squall here and there would raise me from my slumber, only long enough to grab a tarp to pull over me like an extra blanket, the dog and cat would curl up under with me or shelter themselves under a nearby tree. This routine lasted for over a month until the spring sun warmed the ground enough to stir the insects from their subterranean vaults, Ants decided that my bedding's were a superior location than their own to propagate their larvae. Then one night, my kitty 'Flea' ran a mouse right across my face. Well, I decided I had to make some changes in my sleeping arrangements.Since extricating myself from the confines of the van, I grew to love the freedom of the forest floor and wasn't going to compromise myself back into the Chevy, that was not an option. Instead, I hiked and contemplated, went about my routines and contemplated, gathered firewood and water and contemplated. I knew right around my encampment was the scene of savage logging practices. Slash not properly chopped down, young cedars some of which were a couple feet in diameter had been carelessly felled to make way for the larger, more lucrative trees, to be dragged to landing. The slash was good fodder for my campfire and what I didn't burn I piled in the open. I thought it was such a shame to cut down, let alone, leave those beautiful straight cedars laying to rot for posterity. I thought back to my childhood, my grandfather, showing me his master trade skills as a humble carpenter building a treehouse with me. I had built many treehouses as a boy, up into my teens, half a dozen or so strewn around the woods were I grew up in rural New Hampshire. I set about surveying the area for a suitable location to build upon, there were factors to consider, the distance from the creek for water, the distance from where the raw materials needed to be carried to location, and the trees and type of structure that I would design to build. All these factors lead me to a group of trees that were right above the forest floor from which was my 'bedroom'. I love all trees, however, Cedars have always had a special place in my heart and for the fallen ones around me, I felt I owed them homage.My only tools at the time were, a folding hand saw, a sharp felling axe, a hand axe, an antique cedar shingle chisel from my grandpa, and a masonry chisel. On my days off from working for the locals that I had befriended or the afternoons that I'd have off, I set about the arduous task of splitting the felled cedars into handleable rails that could be shouldered to camp. I had with the van, a seven foot step ladder, a ball of string, and a line level, and set about to cut pockets into the stand of trees which would be a triangular shaped platform, ten feet off the ground. After many hours and days of labor the platform took shape and soon I was sleeping ten feet off the ground. Spring leads to summer, but the periods of rain would still come and go. I fashioned a tarp over the platform, but would have to rise up in the middle of the night to push the sagging tarp from holding gallons of water. One of my many employers was an older biker dude named 'Carpenter Rick' a gifted lightworker, although he may have laughed if anyone called him that. Carpenter Rick and I bonded like long lost brothers and would spend time at the pub washing down the dust after a long days work.One of the most unique jobs that I ever had in my life was working for Carpenter Rick. Each morning I had a routine like any other nine to fiver, with a few exceptions. I would rise with the sun and greet my precious animals, make coffee and oatmeal while talking with my raven friend 'Blacky' and head off to work. My commute involved hiking upstream two tenths of a mile, crossing a large fallen fir tree to the other side and hiking half a mile downstream to Carpenter Rick's house where he lived with his wife Linda. Zappa came with me to work everyday too, he wasn't much of a hand but he was a great mascot and a pleasurable breaktime game of fetch. There were several mountains around but the locals referred to the area as 'The Mountain' and Carpenter Rick and I worked for just about everyone on The Mountain. We were working this one job replacing a corrugated galvanized roof and the owner of the cabin didn't know what to do with the old roofing panels, well I did. We loaded the old panels onto the lumber rack of his utility truck and hauled them up to my camp. I wasn't quite sure how I was going to create a roof over the tree platform but I knew I would think of something practicle. The other option with the old panels would be hauling them off the mountain and paying dump fees or another one of the locals digging a hole with a backhoe to bury them in, which is standard practice in some mountain communities with their refuse, it was a win-win situation no matter how it was approached. Another employer whom I became acquainted with I met at my camp and he begged my forgiveness for seeking me out in the woods but found it irresistible to look me up. His name is Dave and Dave donated to me a old twenty foot aluminum extension ladder, that ladder turned out to be an indispensable tool for the next phase of the treehouse.Over the years, I had always had a fascination with geometry and geometric shapes, their significances, learning and interpreting what defines sacred geometry. Electromagnetism, laylines, vortices, power spots, all of which are incremental towards the present integrated knowledge base I carry with me, and all of which was in thought with the designing of the treehouse. Looking at the stores of split cedar rail, using some old snowmobile belts, an old rock climbing rope, and the twenty foot extention ladder, I set forth with my final plan. Later down the road a local donated a portable sheep herders woodstove. I think that I will choose at this point in my story to let the pictures speak for themselves. another perspective..