I’ve always liked trees.

When other kids were busy doing normal child things, I was in the nearest tree.

So, when I found a place offering a weekend in the treehouse—a proper house, up in the trees, with real walls and plumbing—I went there without hesitation.

Childhood dream, but with hot water and a real bed.

The road was perfectly fine. No dramatic dirt paths, no wilderness survival needed. You drive, you park, you climb a few stairs, and suddenly you’re up in the trees with a kitchen, a couch, Wi-Fi (yes, really), and a fridge.

Yes, there were neighbors—visible through the trees, but not close enough.

It was quiet, but not creepily so.

More “birds doing bird things” and less “you’re the only human left on Earth.”

The soundtrack of nature is mostly birds yelling

I had this idea that spending time in nature would be peaceful and silent. Spoiler: it isn’t. Birds are busy. Very busy. And loud.

I made coffee, sat on the deck, and immediately felt like I’d walked into a some drama.

Nature drama everywhere. Birds chasing each other, squirrels jumping like they had somewhere important to be.

But that’s kind of the point.

Nature isn’t putting on a show for you. It’s just doing its thing, and you get to sit there and watch, quietly.

Slowing down during a weekend in the treehouse

You don’t really do much here.

That’s the trick.

And the challenge.

No fake productivity. Just sitting, walking a bit, watching birds doing drama.

The Wi-Fi was there, sure, but I didn’t use it much. Not because I’m above it—just because the forest is weirdly entertaining.

So, eventually, you stop trying to be “on.”(online, ongoing on things).

You just sort of melt into the pace of it all.

Who might hate a weekend in the treehouse

If your idea of a good weekend includes five different brunch spots and an Uber every six hours, this might not be your dream.

There’s a lot of nothing here. You don’t go here to accomplish things. You go to stare at trees until you forget what day it is, and to remember that the world spins just fine without you.

But it’s not hardcore. You sleep in a real bed. You’re making a sandwich in a real kitchen.

You can Google things if you really need to.

It’s nature, with a toilet and a coffee maker.

The balance is perfect.

I’ll come back when the trees change clothes

I didn’t leave transformed. I didn’t write a book or become spiritually enlightened.

But I did feel slightly more like a person and slightly less like a notification machine.

And that’s a win in my book.

I’ll come back—in a different season, when the leaves go full drama (that’s in the fall). Or in winter, when everything slows down even more.

That was a nice weekend. Checked in my bucket list.