STONEHAM — At first glance it seems Josh Ring, a veteran contractor, made an unimaginable oversight installing his front door 10 feet in the air. 

But Josh and wife Cindy are building a treehouse — or is it a house in the trees? — and his home rests, quite intentionally, above the ground on four live northern red oaks. 

Popularized by the Discovery Channel show “Treehouse Masters,” Ring — a fan but not a copycat — joins a number of homeowners across the nation who favor building their ideal dream home upon a childhood fantasy.  

The Rings’ rustic, two-story home might otherwise be unremarkable, the kind found at the end of a cul-du-sac anywhere in the country: a 1,200-square-foot abode with a craftsman’s kitchen, modern appliances, a few bedrooms, two bathrooms — one with a hot tub — and a leather sofa where last week children Alanna, 10, and Owen, 13,  sat watching cartoons on a flat-screen TV. 

But the underside of most homes aren’t open-aired, allowing a Sun Journal reporter to walk on the forest floor beneath and pester Josh Ring with questions, such as: How is it supported? Does it sway? Will it rise with the trees?

In lieu of a foundation, the upper floors sit on a wooden platform supported by logs, held up on large concrete pillars. At each corner, a one-and-a-half-inch thick metal rod, known as a “treehouse tab,” bolts the platform 10 inches into the midsection of a living tree.

As the trees grow, the bolts will slide to compensate for the change in girth. Ring said that since trees grow from the top, it’s unlikely the house will rise. 

“Everyone’s asking what I’m going to do when they rot out, but as long as they stay healthy it should last longer than a foundation,” Ring said. 

People take notice of this unique home at 859 Maine St., which overlooks the primary road in town, causing passers-by to screech to a halt, throw the car in reverse to stare, snap pictures and — as though the audacity of the project gives them permission — bombard Ring with questions about the treehouse construction.

Ring doesn’t mind, recalling once while working on the roof, a motorcyclist dropped in and peppered him with the usual inquiries. Unbidden, and to Ring’s great surprise, he invited himself inside with a, “Well, I’ve got to see this!” (As Ring’s wife and kids sat unknowingly inside, he hastily hurried off the roof to intercept.)

On another occasion, a barefoot, long-haired man came walking out of the woods with his shirt slung over his shoulder and carrying mushrooms, which he proceeded to tell a bewildered Ring were foraged for a temporary commune’s kitchen on a nearby lake. 

At work, daughter Kaylee, 16, a waitress, says she’s likely to answer questions about the treehouse as she serves food. 

“We literally have 15 people a day stop in here out of the blue and ask all kinds of questions,” Ring said. “To me, I’ve been building forever, so it seems like common knowledge.” 

Visitors aren’t the only ones baffled. The town’s building inspector had never seen a treehouse plan before and drew a momentary blank when confronted with the design. (He later declared it sound.)

And the house is insured, but not before perplexing inspectors.

“They said, ‘We’ll have to do research,'” Ring recalled, before issuing a policy. ‘They were dumbfounded, initially.” 

Ring is as mystified as to why he built this as everyone else, and his answer varies slightly each time, as though he’s trying to find out himself: Add one part wanderlust, one part challenge and one part fun and you arrive close to the answer. 

But mostly, why not?

“Who doesn’t love a treehouse?” he said. “We thought it would be a good, fun family business.” 

His past offers something of an explanation.

While growing up, Ring’s grandfather worked at a lumberyard and gave his grandsons the same choice every birthday: $10, or a pickup bed worth of wood. Ring always took the wood.

From Newfield, he took to building things children dream of, including a three-story, one-bedroom treehouse. Now 35, he reckons he’s been working as a professional builder since age 17.

When his parents’ home in Springfield burned down a year and a half ago, Ring renovated a small, uninhabitable treehouse into their permanent, 700-square-foot home.

“It took some getting used to,” his mother Karen Ring, 57, recalled. “It wobbled like a boat.” 

Later, when it came time to build his own home, it had to be a treehouse. Last August, he bought 56 forested acres abutting the White Mountain National Forest. 

Ring describes the design as “modern but rustic.” Other than the plywood used in construction, he and his wife work full time manufacturing most of the natural building materials, cutting, logging and milling on site.

Long, broad planes compose the siding; in the living room poplar bark replaces drywall; sliced cross-sections of logs — like a veneer — decorate the kitchen walls. A wood stove provides heat. Water and septic travel through heated plumbing underneath the house, connecting with the ground.

Ring is enthusiastic that the idea of family treehouses will take off, tapping into regional eco-tourism. He already has plans to build eight more treehouses for overnight guests on his property, which he intends to connect by ramps, decks and ladders. And a disc golf course is under construction, making the property a stay-and-play destination.

It’s a child’s dream that any adult could enjoy.

ccrosby@sunjournal.com

To follow the Ring family’s progress in building eight guest treehouses and a disc golf course at TimberStone Adventures Inc., go to facebook.com/timberstoneadventures?fref=ts