Growing up, I can vividly remember the playhouses and forts my dad built for my sister and me at different stages of our childhood. Watching him plan, haul materials, and bring those spaces to life created core memories long before I understood what that meant. It also sparked an early interest in working with my hands.
Now, as a dad to two boys, I’ve had the chance to carry that legacy forward—building places for their imaginations to run wild and, hopefully, creating memories that stick with them the way mine did with me.
The first structure my dad built was a classic wooden playset: sandbox underneath, swings off the side, and a slide for quick escapes from the upper level. When we outgrew that, I was old enough to help with the next project—a treehouse in a massive lakeside weeping willow behind our first home in Virginia.
That treehouse never got finished. When we moved west to Colorado when I was nine, we left it behind mid-build, with the platform laid and walls framed. I still don’t know if it was ever completed. That half-built fort I once dreamed of sleeping in under the stars remains a mystery.
After settling in Colorado, my dad, uncle, and I built a whimsical, canvas-sided, two-story playhouse beneath the deck at our new home. I played in it until middle school, long after I’d technically outgrown it. Eventually, the deck and the fort came down, but the memories never did.
Those spaces were our worlds. Places to invent stories, play games, hide out, and disappear into imagination. Being part of building them alongside my dad made those experiences even more meaningful, and they remain some of my most treasured memories.
A few months ago, my wife and I decided it was time to build something similar for our boys. In 2021, we moved from Colorado to the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and bought our first home. For the first time, we had a blank canvas. Over the years, we’ve tackled plenty of DIY projects, but nothing compared to this one.
I sketched a few concepts, estimated materials, and got to work. The whole family pitched in, and I spent most evenings after work building, sometimes finishing a phase by headlamp on summer nights.
Even from thousands of miles away, my dad was part of the process. He checked my plans, offered advice, and helped sanity-check the materials list. Our goal was to finish the structure by our youngest son’s second birthday and get it painted before winter. Somehow, we pulled it off.
The design evolved as we went. I tend to build the plane while flying it, occasionally discovering that an idea that made sense in my head didn’t quite translate in real life. That’s part of the fun, though. You learn as you go. Kind of like fatherhood.
We knew we wanted a shed roof and lots of light, so we used clear roofing panels. We added a climbing wall, a captain’s wheel, a telescope, and a small countertop to invite creative play. Big windows look out into the woods, with clerestory windows above to bring in even more light—though not much help with the mosquitoes.
Details mattered. The blue exterior matches our front door. The green interior wall ties into the siding. A barn quilt, a Southern touch echoes one my wife and I made for the front of our house. Someday, we’ll add a Dutch door. For now, the open doorway feels just right.
Watching our boys’ excitement grow with each completed phase was the most rewarding part of the project. Passing along early building skills I learned from my dad made it even better.
Being a dad has a way of letting you relive the best parts of childhood…this time from the other side. Helping your kids build core memories has a funny way of reminding you of your own. And every now and then, after bedtime, it also means slipping out to the playhouse with a cold drink, listening to the birds, and appreciating how full life feels in those quiet moments.
