(July 2023)
Tim Spitzack
Editor
Mary Nelson was 75 years old the day she abruptly decided that the towering 60-foot-tall oak tree in her backyard needed a treehouse. The tree, she estimated, had been there long before her home was built in 1930. One day she shared her idea with a friend who happened to have carpentry skills. He told her it was a bad idea at her age. Undeterred, she kept needling him until he agreed to build it. When it was nearly finished, Mary decided the treehouse needed a second level. Her friend took a deep breath and kept building but was soon pulled away by family commitments. Two summers later a neighbor agreed to finish the job.
Fast forward a decade. What does a soon-to-be 85-year-old do with a double decker treehouse? Well, she relaxes in it, of course.
I’m not sure I would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it for myself. After learning about the treehouse, I drove by to take a look. It was quite the impressive structure so I parked my car and rang her bell. To my surprise, the door opened and a friendly woman with kind eyes appeared, not looking the least bit suspicious as to why a stranger was on her doorstep on a sunny summer afternoon. She wore jean shorts and a denim blouse, with a visor covering her long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was advanced in years, thin and spry.
I introduced myself and my intention – to write an article about her treehouse – then asked her name.
“Mary Nelson,” she said. “But I often go by Mary Ruth Nelson because I have such a common name.” Then she smiled. “My neighbors call me Treehouse Mary.”
As we continued talking, I quickly discovered that she herself is far from common.
“Do you want to go up?” she asked.
How could I say no.
Mary told me where to find the homemade ladder made of 2×4 lumber and I leaned it against the tree and started climbing. My first thoughts were, is this safe? I was soon at the first level, about 15 feet above the ground. I noticed that this level, like the one above it, was constructed like a deck on a house, although each was wedged within and bolted to the girthy branches of the expansive oak. As I climbed another ladder stairway to the second level I felt as if I were entering a mystical land in an enchanted forest, where I would find a sage who would impart upon me special wisdom. Temps were in the mid-80s, a light breeze rustled the leaves and dappled sunlight shone all around.
Once on the upper deck I could see far into what is called the 40 acres neighborhood of West St. Paul, north of Annapolis Street. Suddenly, Mary appeared beside me. She had scampered up the ladder as quickly as a squirrel shimmies up a tree. We sat on plastic lawn chairs she had hauled up there herself. Next to me was a table and umbrella that she also hefted up on her own. She proudly said most of her treehouse furnishings were given to her free or were purchased cheaply at garage sales: the chairs and table, the rug, a newly acquired end table, the Christmas lights strung along the railing powered by a heavy-duty extension cord tacked to the tree. “I love going to garage sales,” she said.
The top deck, roughly 10 feet by 12 feet, is some 25-feet above ground. Mary spends time up there daily in the summer.
“Sometimes I’ll be up and down four times a day,” she said. “It’s just wonderful. On a hot day, I’ll run a fan, although the squirrels chewed through the cord once.” The rodents are her nemesis, also chewing at the railing, carpeting and whatever else they feel like sinking their teeth into. “I live with them but sometimes I want to kill them,” she said plainly. Mary usually watches TV on the first level. She reserves the second level for reading and visiting with company.
Mary grew up on a farm in Zearing, Iowa, and moved to Minnesota with her family in 1948 at age 10, after her father sold their farm. Married twice, she worked a variety of jobs during her lifetime, including organist for 30 years at Riverview Baptist in West St. Paul, a position she held until the pandemic hit.
When asked if her children – two sons and a daughter – worry about her climbing, she said, “No, they’re wonderful people, but they leave me alone.” Each lives in the Twin Cities and checks in on her often but they’ve learned not to question her independence. This spring, they convinced her to tour a senior living apartment complex but she said it wasn’t for her. She enjoys being in her home, tending her plants and walking or biking around the neighborhood. She turns 85 in August and has lived in her home since 1977.
As I watched her climb down the ladder after our interview, I marveled at the strength in her tiny arms and the deftness of her climbing ability. It’s remarkable that she’s able to spend time in her treetop sanctuary given her age and recent health issues.
Up in the treehouse, she revealed her secret to living a full and active life. It revolves around exercise, a good diet and positive thinking.
“You need strength and balance and confidence,” she said. “If you lose your confidence you’re done.” She also hinted at her faith and said each of us should “leave a little sparkle wherever you go.” It turns out I found the sage advice I was unknowingly seeking that day.
As I was saying goodbye, Mary wanted to show me a swing she hangs from her treehouse tree, and we stepped her garage to see it. I barely noticed the swing because there in the garage, parked behind her Schwinn bicycle, was a 1969 Mercury Marquis convertible. Its body had been restored but the ragtop is in rough shape, so it stays down, she told me.
“Do you still take it out?” I asked.
“No, not much anymore” she said. “It’s too hot and attracts too much attention.”
