BoomerGirl Diary

Forget, Dr. Phil! The best way to revive a relationship—at least if you believe the guest book in the Bungalow Treehouse—is to book a romantic overnight at Cottage Treehouses in Eureka Springs, Arkansas.

Yes, there's something about being perched in the sky next to flying squirrels, black-capped chickadees and tufted titmouse that brings out, as Dean Martin used to sing, amore.

Just ask Holly and Dave from Illinois who have stayed in the fancy treehouse with the wood-burning fireplace and the heart-shaped jacuzzi five times. Or Jeff and Lori from Oklahoma who, after spending their honeymoon in the treehouse's four-poster bed with posts as big as Schwarzenegger's biceps and sheets made of Egyptian cotton, plan to make a return engagement every spring.

Flipping through the pages of the Bungalow's guest book, a naughty pleasure akin to window peeping, I was reminded that in our busy, rush-rush world, it's important to get back to the simple things, the things of childhood, things like imagination and skipping and, yes, treehouses.

As for me, I've been intrigued with treehouses ever since Disney's Swiss Family Robinson. The first one. Back then, I would have gladly traded my kid brother AND sister for just one chance to sleep in a tree.

Even though I'd have been satisfied with a board nailed to the backyard oak, this treehouse, one of six owned by Patsy and Terry Miller in the Victorian village of Eureka Springs, offers way more than a kid of eight or nine could begin to conceive.

For one thing, it's hidden away in a 33-acre pine forest with no parents in sight. You have to follow a “treasure map” just to find the place. There are no neighbors, no neon signs. In fact, there's no sign of any kind. Jim and I, now in our 50's and rather rusty at following treasure maps, drove by the stone gate entrance three times before concluding that the secret, unmarked driveway had to be the right place.

Sure enough, we found a hand-written welcome note over the doorway at the top of the stairs. The treehouse itself was huge, all lovingly handcrafted with a wrap-around balcony, a bathroom with stained glass and a stereo system, tuned in for our arrival with soothing, relaxing music. Homemade pumpkin bread, juice, coffee and tea was also waiting. It was all we could do to pry ourselves out of our cozy hideaway to drive the mile or so into town for dinner.

Nestled in the Ozark Mountains, Eureka Springs is a haven for artists, intellectuals, motorcycle aficianados (Earl Hyatt, the chief of police, rides a motorcycle) and other eccentrics. It's built on steep, winding streets and the whole town of 1890's Victorian cottages and manors is listed on the historic register. For years, it was a favorite of Robert Ripley who astounded his “Believe it or Not” readers with such tales as a hotel (The Baisin Park) where visitors can enter from ground level on all eight stories and a Catholic church which you can enter from the bell tower.

But for all the fun, frivolity and fascinating history of Eureka Springs, Jim and I found ourselves humming that old familiair tune.....”when the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine.” We couldn't get back to our exotic treetop hideaway fast enough.

Treehouse Cottages, 165 West Van Buren, Eureka Springs, AR 72632, 479.253.8667, www.treehousecottages.com