The Minister's Treehouse, Crossville, Tennessee. February 2016

The signs say no trespassing but you're allowed. Low fence. First I saw the teenagers jump it, then I saw their Jesus fish bracelets. Gotta be safe to follow. There were others, too, families with children run-yelling and babies, and more teenagers (cross-necklaced).

This is a pilgrimage. Them for the holy, me for a reason to get off the highway in east Tennessee. Built by Minister Horace Burgess and spanning 7+ trees, this is the largest treehouse in the world. The branches finger themselves through the stairwells, through the porches, through the church- sized-church in the center of the structure, complete with pews and composite chair-desks from Sunday school and a basketball hoop. Next to the wooden book carved deep with

"Gods Word".  (No apostrophe.)

The pilgrims leave their names behind, thousands, written on every board and angle. Some with hearts and others crosses or psalms. How did they know to bring markers? Maybe Burgess hammered all those errant pieces there, unnecessary for structure, knowing they would come. 

Is vandalism about Jesus still vandalism?

GOD LOVES YOU

Okay but don't be so aggressive. It's certainly not the *least* provocative graffiti I've ever seen. All twisting in and out of foreign creaking passageways and then -

"Jesus loves you do you love him?"

...do you?

and with all the wooden men (apostles?) and the crosses crosses crosses hail Mary while every bough and floorboard creaks, am I a sinner in this house of worship? Past the center chapel up layer upon hand-hammered stair while the whole house sways and chimes in the wind, like a lost boat careening and you think about grabbing one of the boughs nearby to ride when the whole thing inevitably in a minute falls down. 

On the other hand it's all rather lovely. The swing is a dream, hanging from a branch at least 40 feet up, sweeping into and back out of the house's belly like a pendulum. From dark underneath into trees. 

At the top there are bells. A little crows nest, with more writing of names and hearts and well wish mementos from all who've journeyed here. Thousands. 

Past the chimes and serpentine creaks the roof of God's house is quiet. Just wind shifting and faint echoed voices below. "I built it for God, and God watches over it," Horace said. "He's protected everyone for all these years."

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