Letter from a Treehouse

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We are in a treehouse. There is a wide panoramic window in front of me and outside is thick with the Western hemlocks and Douglas firs that define the Pacific Northwest treeline. Below is a cluster of buildings including a canvas yurt and garage that serves as a sculptor's studio. It is quiet except for Tupac playing from speakers on the desk next to me. This place is an artists' commune set into the edge of Oregon's Tryon Creek State Park and we arrived here by complete chance.

Expecting to hitchike from Seattle this morning, I received a last minute email from an ad I'd put up on Craigslist last night. Paul said he was travelling down to Portland and could pick us up. Three emails later we'd arranged to meet outside Pike Place Market in exchange for a ride in exchange for $40 - potentially more expensive than hitchiking but definitely cheaper than the last minute bus tickets that had been our back up plan. As we headed south on I5 the rain that had been falling through the night grew incredibly heavy and I was quietly thankful that we didn't spend two hours getting soaked on the side of the highway.

During conversation Paul asked what our plans for Portland were and I explained that we are attending a conference at the university tomorrow but other than that we hadn't planned anything. We didn't even have a place to stay yet! Last night E and I had decided that if we weren't able to find somewhere via couhcsurfing we'd spend the night in a 24 hour cafe, of which there are one or two in downtown Portland. Not as comfortable as a hostel but certainly cheaper; not as cheap as wandering the streets but certainly more comfortable. We were ncomfortable with this decision and I had already prepared myself for this outcome.

But here we are in a treehouse. E is sat behind me, wrapped up in blankets, sitting on the bed and reading ehr tablet, whilst I look out at the forest between bursts of typing. Paul has done a fair bit of travelling himself in the past, visiting countries across the world and experiencing the generosity that people in developing countries seem so much more adept at than most in the "developed" West. Without hesitation, without skipping a beat, as soon as I mentioned that we hadn't anywhere to stay he asked if we'd like to spend the night in a treehouse. I hadn't been fishing. It didn't matter. My initial reaction was that I thought he was joking but when he repeated himself I realised that he was serious. He also clarified it would be at no charge. Wow.

After stopping off at a supermarket to pick up some food for tonight (including some delicious mint choc chip soy ice cream for me and salted caramel coconut ice cream for E, mmm) he drove us straight to our room for the next couple of nights. After showing us around the common area he brought us to this treehouse, a sizeable one-bed room that Paul had spent his formative years in. It must have been an amazing place to grow up, amongst the trees hemlock and fir trees and on the doorstep of miles of rivers, woodland, and nhiking trails. By an unexpected series of events we have gone from getting soaked to the bone and spending the night trying to stay awake in a downtown cafe to luxuriating in a treehouse on the edge of a national park.

There is no way we could have planned this. No amount of intention and force of will could have brought us here. This could only have been reached by letting go and being equanimous (remember that word?) with the unknown. The daylight is slowly fading now and we are planning to watch The Double tonight with a bottle of wine. In a treehouse.

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Comments

[Roosta]

Great blog
What an adventure! Amazing what can happen when plans are completely spontaneous. PS. You've been nominated for Blogger of the Week.

[gwestall]

Thank you!
Wow, unexpected. Glad you enjoy it Roosta. I never intended thr blog for more than a few friends but it seems more than just friends have been reading.