Branching Out

Peace and solitude on a treehouse peninsula

BY ALYSSA BOTTS

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We spent the weekend days in slow motion. Swinging in sunlit hammocks over the black water’s edge, I watched Richard sit at weathered picnic table and fiddle a handcrafted guitar. We had the peninsula to ourselves, surrounded by unbounded cypress swamp and wildlife refuge. Thirteen miles in a canoe seemed elementary on a sunny morning in March. After a little help from some cheap beer and granola bars, we had made it to the Edisto River Treehouses.
     Scott and Anne Kennedy, the powerhouse couple behind Carolina Heritage Outfitters, 150 acres of private wildlife refuge between Charleston, Columbia and Savannah, helped arrange the weekend, with tips on everything from navigation to accommodations. “It’s the smallest one, but it’s my favorite,” I remembered Scott saying as I stood beneath the towering treehouse fashioned mostly out of locally harvested wood. “It’s the first one I built.”
     I climbed the first set of stairs leading to a deck beneath the house, complete with a picnic table and fuel-equipped grill. Walking up another short set of stairs and into the treehouse with a flick of a flimsy latch, I could see why it was Scott’s favorite. The breakfast table was draped with a sun-faded cloth and an oil lantern below a window that peered out over our canoe on the bank. A plush turquoise futon rested between a guestbook full of sweet memories and a basket of board games. We played enough Yahtzee that weekend to last a lifetime.
     Richard set down our bags and opened a beer as he fell back onto the futon, and I climbed above to the loft. I gestured for my sleeping bag and set it down on the queen-sized mattress to the most enchanting view of the moving black water. My friends were spending their spring break on tropical beaches and all-inclusive resorts, and I couldn’t have been happier to be spending mine in the trees. 
     By chance, we happened to be the only residents on the peninsula, so we hopped from treehouse to treehouse and discovered the features of each one. We shared an outhouse with the largest treehouse, which was accessible by foot. We walked over two small bridges to get there, one of which welcomed us with a tiny stone Buddha holding an oil candle like the ones adorning our treehouse. The medium treehouse was more secluded and could only be reached by canoe. We spent hours around this one, laying in the hammock and trekking around the Cypress stumps.
     The weather was perfect this early March, and we hardly needed bug spray. The Kennedys drove their truck to the Buddha bridge each day, setting down a new gas tank, torch fuel and a cooler full of ice topped with a few chocolate hearts. If we needed anything at all, we could leave a note in this spot. At night, Richard and I grilled burgers and played Yahtzee under torch light on the deck. Afterwards, we brought a bottle of wine down to the fire pit below to roast marshmallows on broken branches we had collected earlier.
     When it was finally time to depart, we inscribed our own memories in the guestbook and tidied up the treehouse as we lugged our gear back into the canoe. The trip was downstream and a little shorter this time. Paddling around the winding shoreline, I could see the spot where we first met Scott and Anne. We had pulled the canoe up onto the earth, their dog Bear coming out to greet us as the Kennedys followed. Smiles all around, Scott twisted a piece of his weathered white beard and asked, “How was it?”
     To plan a trip to the treehouses, visit www.canoesc.com or call (843) 563-505.