BudgetTravel

About the author
Jeremy Gates, 33, is an IT-support specialist and graphic designer who works for a family business in West Chester, Pa., outside Philadelphia. His brother, Tim, 27, is a film and video editor in Philadelphia. "Ever since childhood, I've been drawn to trees. My sense of exploration demanded that I take hold of Grandpa's grandest oaks and climb toward the heavens—at least until Mom summoned me down. I recently learned about treehouse hotels, many of which are in the Pacific Northwest, and I'd like to write about them. They sound like the kind of trees even my mother would climb."

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Eryn, one of the Free Spirit Spheres (Jeremy Gates) EVER DREAM OF BEING A TRAVEL WRITER? • A Family Trip to Hong Kong • A Treehouse Adventure • The No-Frills African Safari • I Married a Non-Traveler • On Tour in the Emerald Isle

Driving east from Seattle on a country road, I wonder, Is this happening? Looking to my brother/navigator, Tim, for confirmation, I ask, "Are we really on assignment for Budget Travel?" Tim, the tree-climbing partner of my youth, nods.

After a stop at Snoqualmie Falls—a sight Twin Peaks fans would recognize—I begin to get why there's a high concentration of treehouses in the Northwest. As Special Agent Dale Cooper put it, "I've never seen so many trees in my life."

We pull in to Treehouse Point in Issaquah, hoping to meet Peter Nelson, who owns the place with his wife, Judy. He's one of the treehouse experts, having recently completed his fifth book on the topic. Peter also builds high-end residential treehouses and teaches laypeople how to do the same. Alas, he's away. The free tour, however, quickly lifts my spirits. The event center can accommodate up to 50 people and has hosted execs from Microsoft and other corporations; it's also available for functions such as weddings.

Treehouse Point is in the process of becoming a full-fledged hotel (but because most of the suites haven't been built yet, I chose not to book there). The first suite, Temple of the Blue Moon treehouse, was completed in December. The second one is under construction. Four or five more rooms are being planned, and they'll be linked by wooden suspension bridges. We stop to admire a stairway. Each baluster is a tree branch that's been sanded smooth. "Peter is an artist," declares our guide, Russell.

We cross a bridge and enter the Temple of the Blue Moon. Its cedar interior is bathed in light from an abundance of windows. If not for the views, I'd scarcely believe the room is in a tree, what with the electric lighting, stylish leather furniture, and adjacent bathroom. I regret that I didn't book a stay.

Late in the afternoon, at Sky Riverhaven in Gold Bar, Tim and I get our first good look at the Cascade mountains. We stand on owner Barb Furlan's deck, where she teaches yoga and tai chi, gazing at a pair of splendid peaks across the Skykomish River.

Barb didn't want a treehouse, but her landscaper kept insisting that she had a great cluster of trees and that he'd always wanted to build one. Eventually, with her grandchildren in mind, she gave him the go-ahead. Later, she started a B&B; she donates the proceeds to local charities. (After our visit, we learn that she's putting the property on the market and will take reservations only through June. If the house doesn't sell, she's willing to keep up the B&B.)

One hug and two dinner suggestions later and I'm climbing 12 feet up a narrow staircase to a yurt secured to a wooden platform. The room is cheerfully decorated, with colored Christmas lights hanging above a teddy bear that sits on the commode. (There's a shower and another toilet in Barb's house.)

With gusts of wind buffeting the treehouse throughout the night, I feel like I'm in a boat being tossed around by waves. Or maybe it feels more like I'm in a wok, being gently stir-fried? Or am I rocking in a cradle, like the "Rock-a-bye Baby" before the gruesome bough-breaking episode?

At breakfast, Tim and I sit in a sunroom and look out at the mountains, trees, and river. Barb dances in, bearing blueberry pancakes. The next morning, the dance is repeated—this time with "exotic eggs." And then Barb, who once performed in the jazz clubs of Seattle, slides over to the piano and plays Gershwin to accompany our meal.