The Tree House

Glory be to God for dappled things- For skies of couple-color as a brinded cow; For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim; Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings; Landscape plotted and pieced-fold, fallow, and plough; And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim. All things counter, original, spare, strange; Whatever is fickle freckled (who knows how?) With swift, slow; sweet, sour; dazzle, dim; He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change: Praise Him. Gerard Manley Hopkins

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest; Against the earth's sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in Summer wear a nest of robins in her hair, Upon whose bosom snow has lain, Who intimately lives with rain. Poems are made by fools like me But only God can make a tree.                                   Joyce Kilmer

Nestled into the rocks under the The Mogollon Rim,  is this unique one-of-a-kind retreat we call The Tree House.  Built in 1974 by sawmill owner Austin Myer, old growth Ponderosa Pines from atop the Rim yielded up their timbers and boards to become, for our time, a place of wonder.