Horace Burgess’s Treehouse

A while back, while perusing the garbage on yahoo’s home page I clicked on an article listing the “world’s best tree houses”, because well, tree houses are cool and I was bored. As I skimmed through the slideshow of a dozen or so tree houses from around the world, one popped up in the states. The state was Tennessee and the town happened to be where my parents live (aka, the middle of nowhere).

I immediately called my mom and demanded to know why she had never told me about this super cool treehouse 5 minutes from their house. Her reply: “You never asked”. Typical.

So when I was home last week and my parents dragged me out for Friday night Catfish Fry (a real thing), I ordered a few cocktails and was reminded by a couple that had joined us for dinner about the treehouse. Since we went to dinner at the early-bird special hour of 5:00 (sigh…old people), there was still plenty of time to go explore and after nagging my parents like the 28-year-old-going-on-10 girl that I am, they agreed to take me.

And so we went. Down a few side roads that turned into dirt roads that ended with a gate telling us we could not go through. Funny thing about gates and me, I typically view them as a mild distraction while trying to get through to my desired destination. I must get it from my dad because before I could blink, my father – who is pushing 70 and who I just watched drink a glass of bourbon – hoisted himself up and over the barbed wire covered fence and looked over his shoulder expectantly, waiting for me to follow. And yes, we both cut ourselves and should probably look into getting some tetanus shots.


We walked down a dirt path towards the trees where, what looked like the Weasely’s house, stood before us. Clearly it was tall, but the leaves covered the majority of it and by the time we reached the bottom I stood there, somewhere between shock and wonderment at the ridiculousness that was before me.



Never one to look but not touch, I immediately began climbing the rickety stairs in an attempt to get as high as I could. True to form, my dad followed and we meandered up and through narrow staircases, occasionally veering off to another area to see what was there. Like this full size church area and basketball court (father used for scale)


and this creepy room filled with wooden animals:


and super shiesty looking hallways:

3story upon story:



And this view from the top:

photo 2

You can read more about who built this place and his reasoning behind it here, but in all honesty, who cares – it’s a treehouse and it’s fantastic. Incredibly unsafe and a fire marshall’s nightmare (probably why those pesky gates are up) but an amazing way to feel like a kid again.

Someday, I might grow up – but since my dad clearly hasn’t yet, I wouldn’t count on it.

4 thoughts on “Horace Burgess’s Treehouse

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