MY O.C.
Sunset Views and Souvenirs A dreamer imagined his treehouse would stay forever young. by Allene Symons
I
f I say treehouse, it’s not hard to picture a hideaway for a latter-day Peter Pan like my husband. Alan grew up in a Chicago apartment and had no branches to scramble up and down. He had no notion then of the joys—and the unexpected woes—such a whimsical structure might bestow should he someday become a suburban homeowner.
Then, lo and behold, in 1990 and shortly before we met, he bought a home in Santa Ana’s Floral Park district. It came with a huge ash tree in the front yard, one so towering that in 1994 when O.J. Simpson went on his infamous Ford Bronco chase through the interchange of the 5 and 22 freeways, this tree was visible in the TV footage. My husband would dine out on that story for years to come. When the grandkids were born— first a girl, then 18 months later a boy, and never mind that they lived in Illinois—he decided the half dozen stout branches begged for a treehouse. Now he had his excuse. Hearing of her dad’s plan, his daughter said she would try to ensure that the kids visited us every summer. I knew his heart was set on this project, so I pushed back gently. “You know ... the kids will outgrow it.” “Not until they go to college,” he replied. I negotiated. “Then why don’t you build it without a roof? That way it can be used by adults, maybe for sunset cocktails.” That’s how it became a multipurpose plan.
HE FOUND A CARPENTER willing to take on the job, and together they worked up the design. Alan did his research and set about clearing hurdles: Front yard means no problem with neighbors’ privacy, so check that one off. Height level? Lower than the threshold for a permit. Check. Liability? Lock on the hatch. Check. At least, those were the rules in our city at the time, and ours would hardly be the only 50 ORA NGE CO A ST • May 2021
illustration by H A N N A H A G O S TA
