A weathered wooden ladder disappears into a rustling canopy of leaves. Swinging from a crooked nail near the entrance, a hand-painted sign issues a stern warning: No Parents Allowed. Inside the sun-dappled hideaway sit the essentials of an idyllic childhood—a heavy metal flashlight, a thumbed-through stack of books, and a glass jar packed with smooth river rocks, cicada shells, and summer treasures.
Step into a Kirkwood or Webster Groves backyard this season, and you might discover something extraordinary tucked away high in the treetops. Across our neighborhoods, these hidden pockets of play are worth noticing—tiny, hand-crafted retreats built so kids can imagine, design, and play entirely on their own terms. While adults gather on beautifully curated patios and stone fire pits, the neighborhood kids can be found gathering just steps away, digging into the dirt and creating a world of their own. In an issue celebrating "Style," these spaces remind us that great backyard design has room for both polished sanctuaries and playful wonder.
The Treetop Craftsman
If there is a mastermind behind this backyard renaissance, it is Bill Hayes. By day, Bill serves as a local firefighter, protecting the very neighborhoods where these oak and maple canopies stretch high. But on his days off, he shifts from saving structures to framing them, working as perhaps the only professional treehouse builder in the Midwest. Over the past nineteen years, he has built custom hideaways across Kirkwood, Webster Groves, Ladue, Frontenac, Chesterfield, and Ballwin, turning ordinary yards into extraordinary family destinations.
"I don't just build toys," Hayes says with the warm, infectious energy of a man who genuinely loves his craft. "I build backyard recreation destinations where families can gather."
His dual callings as a firefighter and a builder are deeply intertwined. Having spent years serving his community, he has watched the landscape of childhood undergo a dramatic shift. "Kids are so glued to screens today—the Xbox, the PlayStation, phones," Hayes observes candidly. "They aren't playing outside like we used to." Building treehouses became his personal mission to interrupt that digital pull.
Safety, naturally, is his priority. "I rarely build higher than eight feet," Hayes notes. "I'm a firefighter. The last thing I ever want to do is see a kid get hurt." His signature architectural moment is watching a living tree pass directly through the interior floorboards. Yet, true to his respectful approach to nature, nothing is ever nailed directly into the bark. Using specialized stainless steel tree taps, he leaves a generous "growth plate" gap around the trunk, allowing the tree to sway and expand naturally without stressing the structure or harming the tree.
Hayes typically offers three core styles: open platforms (perfect for high-energy Nerf battles and water balloon fights), open-air cabins with framed windows for cover, and fully enclosed cabins for overnight campouts and bug-averse builders. He notices boys often race straight for the railings to climb, while girls frequently turn cabin spaces into cozy sanctuaries for reading, crafts, and imaginative play.
Supported by a crew of family and fellow firefighters, Hayes builds about ten treehouses a year. Every time one goes up, something magical happens: the home instantly becomes the favorite hangout on the block, bringing neighborhood kids spilling back out into the yard,
Scattered Across the Block
Inspired by the spirit of outdoor play, families throughout our neighborhood have taken up the hammer, creating custom retreats that reflect the unique personalities of their yards and children.
Take the Nemmers family, whose thirteen-year-old treehouse began as a humble napkin sketch drawn by their young daughter. Her father, Brian, brought the sketch to life using repurposed deck wood anchored safely around sturdy cedar trees. Over the years, the structure has evolved organically based on kid-driven requests—adding a balcony here, a sturdy door there. Its charming, patchwork design tells the story of its history: a busy-board made from an old basement electronics panel sits near a pair of muddy handprints preserved on the wood from when the kids were nine. Over time, the space has transitioned seamlessly from a mud kitchen to a Nerf headquarters, a stargazing telescope post, and eventually an "internet cafe" once the kids realized the home Wi-Fi reached the branches.
Over at the Bartling household, the treehouse sits proudly at "751 Clubhouse Lane"—an address coined by the three kids when they were aged 7, 5, and 1. A "Play All Day" sign hangs from the main post, setting the tone for endless hours outdoors, while a newly added basketball hoop keeps things active down below. Inside, the space is styled like a miniature vintage schoolhouse, complete with a custom built-in desk and a sweeping chalkboard. The older kids treat it as a quiet lounge to rearrange decor, whereas youngest daughter Collins turns the space into a bustling neighborhood storefront—selling painted rocks, storing treasures like snake skins, and concocting playful herbal "potions" with her buddies.
The Votruba family’s treetop retreat was built around a vintage 1990s stainless steel park slide tracked down in Cincinnati. Now home to five kids ranging from toddlers to teens, the space expands right along with them. The two oldest boys launch leaps off the deck using a strategically placed trampoline and tinker with a custom pulley, while daughters Nell and Harlow rule the ground level—building pretend village "houses" and gathering fallen leaves for campsite fires.
Even simple garden structures can carry profound second acts. When the grandparents of the Dutton family bought their home, an old wooden garden shed sat neglected in the yard. Originally slating it for demolition, they changed their minds the moment their young grandson fell in love with it, sweetly calling it "his house." The family caved, moving the structure across the yard, adding a window, and painting the trim. Today, equipped with a tiny wooden chair built by his uncle, it serves as the ultimate pretend ice cream shop.
Where Memories Take Root
In the end, these tiny outdoor retreats—whether a simple platform, a renovated shed, or a custom cabin in the oaks—are far more than weekend carpentry projects. They are reading nooks, pirate ships, lemonade stands, and secret sleepover headquarters. They are the physical backdrops of the moments our children will still be remembering twenty years from now.
Together, local craftsmen like Bill Hayes and the creative families in our neighborhoods are helping us expand what backyard living can look like. Beautifully paved stone patios, warm fire pits, and comfortable outdoor living rooms give families gorgeous spaces to gather and entertain. But alongside those polished sanctuaries, there is something uniquely magical about reserving a corner of the yard just for the kids. Style doesn't stop where the lawn begins—it simply takes on a different, more playful form. It’s about building thoughtful, imaginative pockets where kids are invited to climb a little higher, shout a little louder, get a little dirtier, and stay outside just a few minutes longer.
These rustic hideaways remind us that great backyard design can embrace both elegance and wonder. They gently prompt us to look out at our own backyards—at that one sturdy oak tree, the forgotten corner by the fence, or the patch of cool afternoon shade—and ask a much richer question: What kind of childhood could we build right here?
For more information about STL Treehouse visit https://stltreehouse.com/who-we-are/
Quote: It’s about building thoughtful, imaginative pockets where kids are invited to climb a little higher, shout a little louder, get a little dirtier, and stay outside just a few minutes longer.