The notion of spending a couple of nights in one of the Utopian Treehouses intrigues us, so David makes reservations for a mid-week stay. We deposit Dilly, our dog, with her friendly sitter, and aim the car toward Llano, then through Fredericksburg and Kerrville, and on to Utopia.
This portion of Texas has had some rain lately, and it’s the time of year when all the trees are freshly green, and colorful wildflowers line the highways. Occasionally there are cows.
On this beautiful drive, manmade reality combines with nature. A surprising number of rusty tractors and backhoes are abandoned in pastures. I understand that disposing of large broken-down machinery is problematic, but leaving it there, ugly in the grass and weeds for eternity, is truly shameful. Also, a Trump/Vance sign is posted at the entry to every ranch. To me, this is like when the Christmas wreath is still hanging on the door in June. It’s over; take it down already.
The town of Utopia has formed along the sides of the unimpressive country road that’s brought us here. The businesses along this dubious commerce district are mostly closed, the fronts in disrepair. Behind the buildings are a few squatty dwellings, a post office, and a tiny park. The Lost Maples Diner is the most popular restaurant in the area, and pickup trucks surround the place throughout the day and into the evening. No alcohol served.
As instructed, we drive through town and turn in at the golf course, where we are met by a young woman who’s going to lead us to the treehouses. Though following someone we don’t know to a place we don’t know feels clandestine, in the end it proves helpful because the winding route is so complicated that we would never have been able to find the trees without guidance.
Eventually, we round a curve and, laid out before us, is a manicured clearing dotted with flower gardens and populated by deer. Gigantic cypress trees guard the perimeter of the clearing, with the houses perched high in their branches. The treehouses are enchanting in both construction and placement; and we’re thrilled that we’re going to be staying in one of them.
Anxious to become acquainted with our temporary abode, we thank our hostess, say good-bye, and, grabbing our duffles and grocery bags, climb the three flights of stairs. The first thing we do is check out the view from our deck. The treehouses are distant from one another, so privacy is protected. We anticipate spending a lot of time out here. There are four houses and none of the others are occupied.
Our elevated room is constructed around the trunk of a massive two hundred and fifty-year-old cypress. The interior is roomy, clean, and furnished with impressive antiques. This unit is book-themed so it’s not surprising that the walls double as bookcases.
Quite a few friends have asked if I would recommend this adventure. I’ve composed a pro/con summary:
There is no television, but the internet is terrific. I would add that if the outside world is infringing upon your soul, being surrounded by trees in this way is peaceful and healing. The quiet time, slow pace, and lack of demands was good for both of us.
It’d be difficult to find a town more boring for tourists than Utopia, but there are several terrific and easily navigated hikes nearby. We had a great forest walk in The Lost Maples State Nature Reserve. Also, we read and slept a lot.
A negative aspect from my point of view that may not bother others, is the overdecoration of the space. As people who know me know, I’m viscerally disturbed by clutter. I’ve yet to stay in a B&B where the proprietor didn’t attempt to make the place attractive by gathering random stuff and planting it on every surface. Here’s an inventory: two birds’ nests, an oversized pocket watch without hands, an ornate globe, a round white ball covered by a glass dome, six bird and two duck statues, two large, dried flower arrangements, lamps and candles of every size and ilk; and of course, books, books, and more books. Usually, when I enter our room at a hotel or B&B, I rush around like a mad woman, collecting the superfluous items and tucking them away in a closet. But our treehouse had not a single drawer in which to put our clothes, much less a place to store whimsical bits and pieces. Also, the bathroom had no shelving for our personal items. We were only there for two nights, so living out of our luggage didn’t become a major inconvenience, but I would’ve liked fewer gewgaws and more room for living.
Overall, the treehouses provided us with a unique and wonderful experience, and we were glad that we had the opportunity to visit them.
Where we stayed.
The house across the way.
Why is this taking up space?
Again, why?
Everybody needs one of these!
