50 feet high and rotting

When I was a kid growing up in Georgia, there was a treehouse in the woods, just on the edge of a nearby farm. It seemed abandoned by the time my friends and I discovered it. My memory of its height, and the skill and daring of its builder defies all logic to this day. It had two levels. The first was a circular shaped bench, roughly 50 feet up, was nestled in the palm of the massive tree. It was fucking hard to get to. You had to climb up these massive nails and the last few seemed at the time to be beyond vert. The second level was easily twice as high, and merely a platform. I'll be damned if I never made it up there. I tried numerous times, only to give up and climb down terrified. I know time distorts the details of reality, but I still don't understand how the fuck someone built it. I've thought about it all my life.

These photos are of a small treehouse nestled in the Presidio of SF. Basically just a platform fit for chillin'. Originally it was built with aspirations of being lived in. I've spent a lot of time up there. It's hard for me to comprehend that it's over ten years old at this point. Hopefully some neighborhood kids have found it by now. When this photo was taken years ago all the eucalyptus trees in this area had been tagged with spray paint as if slated to be removed by the city. I rubbed the paint off mine. I don't actually know, but I think it's still there. Let's hope. Who want's to go see?