CROSSVILLE, Tenn. — At close quarters, Horace Burgess' tree house resembles a giant wooden schooner impaled by oak trees.
The building seems to surge out of the ground. Almost every door leads to an observation deck or balcony. Counting the steeple, the structure is 10 stories tall.
"Some people say it's a ship that will never sail," Burgess said. "I think of it as God's tree house, the only one he's got."
Burgess began building his tree house in 1993. The idea came to the ordained minister in a dream.
For seven years he labored alone and without power tools. A landscaper by trade, he worked during his off hours, cobbling together a 10,000-square-foot tree house built entirely of scrap lumber and donated materials.
The project required an estimated 258,000 nails.
"God didn't do me like Noah," Burgess said. "I never got the dimensions. If I had known it was going to end up this big, I never would have started it."
Burgess' tree house is on rural property he owns near Interstate 40 on the outskirts of Crossville. The building rests on the ground and encompasses seven trees, the largest being a massive white oak.
A spiral staircase encircles the white oak's main trunk. On the third floor is the sanctuary, the tree house's physical and spiritual epicenter. A support post jutting through the floor forms a cross, and church pews provide seating in the sanctuary, as well as the balconies above.
At this level of the tree house, the visitor is 25 feet above the ground. The windows are at eye level with the tree branches. You can reach out and almost touch the squirrels.
"I don't consider this a church," Burgess said. "It's a place where everybody can feel closer to God. I call it a haunted house. It's possessed by the Holy Ghost."
Until recently Burgess has maintained a policy of keeping the tree house open to the public. Students from Vanderbilt University in Nashville have used it as a spiritual retreat, as have numerous church groups.
Burgess said the tree house actually receives more out-of-state visitors than in-state visitors.
The biggest threat to Burgess' tree house isn't thunderstorms and high winds, but vandalism. He has had copper wiring stolen, skylights broken and graffiti scrawled on the walls. He no longer keeps the gate open to the public, and he now has someone living in the tree house to watch over it at night.
"The tree house isn't finished yet," he said. "Everything from here is going to cost money, and I don't want to invest just to have it destroyed."
Above the sanctuary is a room Burgess built especially for his wife, Julia, as a peace offering for all the hours he was spending away from home. He calls it the penthouse suite. It's the only room with carpeting and shelves. There is a wood stove, a ladder leading to a sleeping loft and oil paintings on the wall.
Vandals have broken the windows.
"It will be beautiful again," Burgess said.
Burgess said he wants his tree house to be a refuge for troubled souls. He envisions an elevator that uses ropes and pulleys, as well as a wood-burning kitchen stove. He'd like to finish the walls and install a toilet and bathroom.
Rainwater that falls on the roof will be collected in a cistern, and if his dream comes true, there will be secret passages and revolving doors.
"It's all in my head; I know exactly how it'll look," Burgess said. "I'll complete it, but on God's timing. I've left it up to him."