A Place for Everything and Everything in Its Place (Sometimes)

We are building a tree fort in the backyard for the little people in our family. When I say “we,” I mean my husband, John, is doing all the planning and labor. I am providing a second set of hands when needed, along with encouragement and opinions. 

His first step was to have the boys draw a picture of the kind of tree fort they would like. I’m not sure if he was procrastinating or truly wanting suggestions, but I think he promised someone a punching bag.

At this point, posts are secured into the ground with cement and the basic framing is up. Now he needs decking, which was the reason for our recent trip to the hardware store. On the way, we discussed how to get up to and down from the platform. 

    “I may go with stairs,” John announced.
    

    “Wouldn’t a ladder be easier? And maybe a rope. A tree fort needs a rope hanging from somewhere,” I said.
    

    "But someone could fall from the ladder.”
    

    “They’re kids; they’re going to fall,” I said.

    

    “I’m talking about you.”

Oh. Well, we have a little more time to figure that one out. 

Progress has been slow because of time constraints and weather and contemplation. Lots of it. You see, John is planning as he goes and is buying materials as he needs them. At a minimum he needs legs, a floor, a way to get up and down, and some kind of railing. He’ll figure out the rest as he builds.

As a person who normally likes some form of control and structure, I don't think I can condone this approach. But, strangely, I'm not bothered by it. Maybe because the tree fort is a simple design; maybe because it’s a tree fort. 

I’ve come to think of it as a work of art. An artist knows they’re going to paint a bowl of fruit. They may even know what kind of paint they’ll use. But exactly how they’ll get there is anyone’s guess. That’s the fun.

It's the opposite of mise en place, the French culinary term for having everything prepped, organized, and ready to go before actual cooking begins. Again, as I type this, it sounds like a terrible idea for building a structure, but there are some benefits to this method of attack:

1. He can easily adjust the materials and equipment, without excessive returns or waste. After laying a few planks, for example, he may change his mind on the type of screws he wants to use and isn't stuck with a million of them. Or if he miscalculates and overbuys, he doesn’t have as much to return.
2. He doesn’t have to stare at an overwhelming pile of stuff in the garage every day as he wonders when the rain will let up enough so he can actually do something with said stuff in the garage. We recently moved to a house with no storage shed, so our garage is…full. I don’t think I need to say more. (And please don’t ask why we’re building a tree fort instead of a storage shed.)
3. He doesn’t have to know exactly where he’s going in order to get there, meaning he can start working without having to have all the answers. Now that the decking is up (okay, half of it), the structure is a little too wobbly, so he’s thinking through some options for additional support. He'll resolve that before moving on.

I probably should have mentioned earlier that John is a chemist by trade. When he hasn't done something before, he experiments, tests, adjusts, and tries again—leaning on basic scientific principles. What matters to him is safety and function. (What matters to me is that a rope is hanging from somewhere.)

As I think more about it, though, his construction technique may not be so radical. When I work on a writing project, I don’t necessarily know the end result. I may plan on 15 procedures to document a new application. But, once I familiarize myself with the it, I end up with 30--or 10. One topic may warrant a split into two. Or developers changed their minds on a feature, so the topic I thought needed much detail is irrelevant now and doesn’t require mentioning. The boss may decide halfway through that the documents should be accessible online instead of only in print. 

Through all of that, I have to keep my eye on what matters: accuracy and usability. I have to be nimble enough to deviate from the original plan, with zero impact to the project.

We don’t always have the luxury of time or budget to plan out every detail anyway, do we? Sometimes we have to go by the seat of our pants and change course as needed. Sometimes we simply don’t know what we need until we get in there and start hammering it out. 

How do you like to tackle a project? Do you prefer to have everything laid out in front of you and planned? What if the plan is flipped on its head? How do you regroup and go in a different direction? 

But there's a bigger question: What if the boss wants a punching bag but you feel like he'd be better served by a rope swing?

Thanks for reading. See you soon.