Mighty Right-Sizing

Letting Go

8/12/2014

9:42 a.m. on a Sunday morning. It’s cool before the sun dials it up, bound for the 90s. Last night I sat out with my guitar, playing to the gnomes, the blackberry wine-scented brambles and a pair of dragonflies who appeared to fancy my rendition of Bobby McGee: twilight of my last Smidgeon Saturday. It has been a good run.

Approaching Stacey’s return (August 18th, to be exact), I spent the better part of July hunched over craigslist housing ads, pondering my ideal scenario, short of landing another tiny lease. House or apartment? Roommates or solo? Location/neighborhood? Price range? In the midst of it, I managed to break away to the July tiny house mixer hosted by Portland Alternative Dwellings at Salvage Works in North PDX, where the reclaimed and reincorporated blur rubbish/treasure boundaries with surprising style--case in point: baby doll head planters. And if re-purposed baby dolls aren’t your thing, they also have nearly impossible to find reclaimed building materials, farm implements, crates, license plates, parts and pieces of history ready to lend your building/decorating project character and depth. They’ve done a fantastic job of designing the space for ample inspiration—a definite must see! Now, on to the big event!

Inside and outside this candy store for the creative builder, the monthly Tiny House Mixer was in full swing. Dee Williams performed for the crowd a two-minute housecleaning of Jolene, her touring vardo, before introducing a string of tiny movers and shakers. There were City-backed small affordable housers, sustainable community seeders, tiny reality show hopefuls, building bloggers breaking from their labors to share experience. The whole event is one part happy hour and several parts grassroots, community, networking, Q&A, self-empowerment, paradigm-shifting par-TAY. Everyone’s invited. If you’re especially lucky, you might go home with a door prize, i.e. Dee’s The Big Tiny or a giant bag of composting sawdust--score!! Unfortunately, I have not mastered the art of snapping pics while simultaneously jotting names/notes for later report. The good news is, there are monthly practice opportunities. With any luck, my August 21st mixer report should contain more substance.

Meanwhile back on the home front, I gave the craigslist magic 8-ball one more shake. Up popped the 1936 Tudor with prolific cucumber and kale garden, sunflowers in the forecast, a fire pit and a large walnut tree prone to pegging unsuspecting backyard loungers with nuts. The house is currently inhabited by Jennifer (owner), Matthew (housemate) and 8-yr-old, part-time resident, Eva (Matthew’s daughter). I’ll have my own bedroom, separate art room (sweet!) and largely private bath, and there’s a clause in the lease for possible home improvement teamwork. Like so many things on this journey, it differs from what I had envisioned, and is exactly, perfectly what I need. What more could I possibly want, besides one last little thing....?

The same week I found my housemates, I stumbled across a brand new, nearly finished tiny parked in a driveway along my pedi-commute to the office. Like the tiny connections around nearly every Portland corner, I was giddy at the discovery. I wasn't, however, expecting the watery-eyed pang of homesickness for my own wee house, still for sale on Whidbey... It makes sense, I suppose, teetering on the cusp of a big-house up-sizing... Of the seven years with my house, I spent more time building (five, at least) than I did in actual residence. Building, too, was a kind of inhabiting—getting into the guts, holding every piece of her in my hands, hardly noticing that what was being built was bigger than both of us. I am thrilled to be in Portland, at the Tiny epi-center. There is a palpable sense here that the frayed legal bonds on the movement are about to snap. It was the little house that brought me to this place. Ironically (or perfectly), it has become the thing I most need to let go. I’m ready. I have only one final wish: a buyer/new owner who will love her. That is all. May it be so.

Meanwhile, I'm exploring new PDX possibilities in and around my temp tiny digs. Finally made it out to Tango Berretίn--a fabulous venue full of potential new 'family.' I've become fond of the friendly crew at my mid-commute ritual, Rain or Shine Coffee. Back in Stacey’s excellently appointed kitchen, I improvise a batch of cucumber blackberry basil relish (check my Vittles page for the recipe) with cukes gifted by my new housemate and berries from just off Smidgeon's stoop. I scoop a generous dollop with my favorite Raincoast Crisps cracker and attempt to squint into the future. It glitters amorphously in the distance... Tomorrow’s my weekly check-in with realtor/friend, Daniel Goldsmith. His last report: the little house continues to garner attention… a call about every other day. Daniel remains optimistic. I tally the miracles of the last two months and the artful comforts of my temporary tiny sanctum. Yeah, I think to myself, me too.

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Tiny Re-Orientation

7/13/2014

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Sitting at Albina Press, trying to get my thoughts together. After a stretch of sunny days flirting with the 90s, a moody cloud system hangs grumbling overhead. I've been in Portland just over a month and settled into Smidgeon just three weeks ago. While I'm acclimating well to new work routines, sudden relocation trails persistent disorientation. Case in point: I've locked my keys in my car (doh!) twice (argh!). Meanwhile, personal infrastructure details continue to vie for attention--auto registration, bills, where to get a haircut, where to live in August... I stepped back from tiny work parties to attend to self-care. Happily, while I reside in Smidgeon, there is opportunity for continuing tiny education of critical import. To state it bluntly, it's time to revisit the loo.

DISCLAIMER: Those of a delicate sensibility, may wish to skip this section. If, however, you are considering tiny-izing your life, or are already in the build process and, as yet, undecided on 'facilities,' bear with me.

If you have followed my adventures in The Mighty, you may remember that I had decided on outside facilities, the original plan being a finished bath house of equal aesthetic. I had stalled short of full realization of the vision leaving off in the tar paper bath house manifestation. Having decided to sell and move to Portland, I am now living the research of the indoor bucket composter.

Smidgeon had been originally outfitted with a standard flush toilet. During a challenging winter of utterly insurmountable system-freeze, Stacey found herself utterly stopped up (forgive me) and hurled unceremoniously into bucket system initiation. When she and I first met to discuss the possibility of my sublease, we got right down to business discussing the particulars. She was still contemplating the ideal additive for small space compatibility. Coconut coir seems to be the way to go.

I moved into Smidgeon on a Monday after work. As yet unfamiliar with the suppliers of my most basic needs in the area, I acquired a bale of hamster bedding (white wood shavings) from the local pet supply to get by for a couple of nights. Akin to living with a giant litter box. I don't recommend it. Last year, I stayed in Gina's tiny house, where coconut coir was used in an Air Head sailboat composter. I also had the opportunity to visit and document Bayside Bungalow's composting system, employing the same. Until now, I hadn't fully investigated the origin and preparation of the wonder product, itself--minute details I don't think about until I must. Thanks to Lina Menard who donated a brick of coir--my heroine!--I've come to more fully appreciate its virtues. Allow me to elaborate.

Well-known to avid gardeners, coconut coir comes in (roughly) 4x12x18 inch bricks. In order to rise to the level of performance necessary for the humble purpose at hand, it must be properly hydrated in advance. I added about 22 quarts of water. Waited about an hour. Broken up and hand-fluffed, the brick expanded to at least 6 times it's original size. For direct system application, add a scoop of hydrated coir big enough to cover each deposit completely. In combination with good urine-diversion practice (translation: pee elsewhere. Google urine diversion toilets for more info), odor is mitigated. Home air quality is greatly improved.

And so the journey continues. I'm shopping for my ideal neighborhood and a long term lease, all the while eager to get back to assisting with tiny builds (Lina's, Laura's, others...), dive into the tango scene and yoga classes, explore Portland summer (farmers market, free park movies and concerts, new friends like Jeff who is building on a 30' trailer and incorporating a gourmet kitchen (gotta check that one out). Portland is weird and wonderful. Such is life in this strange new land.

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Tiny Retrospective 2013

1/5/2014

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Sunday, 8:30 a.m. It’s 30⁰ outside the tiny house. A vista of chandeliers hung from grass, garden remnants and chicken wire armatures. I grab my camera, stuff myself into coat and boots and head out to forage for texture and composition.

By 10:55 (34⁰), the sun has reduced much of the crystal to water, save the shadow of my tiny house, which remains frozen to the ground, along with my water line. Seems I was so absorbed at my workbench last night that I neglected to note the hour and falling temps in time for proactive measures. The matter is already in the process of resolving itself in plenty of time for my shower. More importantly...

Happy New Year, everyone! Wow, 2013 was action-PACKED! Huge gratitude to the many, who have traveled with and encouraged me thus far. I am awed, humbled and honored by your company. I am also, admittedly, late on posting year-in-review pics, although some of you may have previewed the nature/seasonal version in my recent TinyHomes.com post, Book of Days: Tiny in Context. Here’s the nitty-gritty supplemental, including tiny home-improvements and adventures abroad. Many of the photos below contain links, so be sure to hover your cursor freely for more info, and if you like what you see, stay tuned. We’re just getting started.

See you soon!

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Tiny Live/Work Studio

11/1/2013

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First tiny house morning. Pic taken one year ago today.

It’s 7:35 a.m. Friday in my tiny house. The neighbors’ windows are gold flecks in the darkness. Oddly, the rooster seems to have slept in this morning. I hear him now, though it’s possible that I’m the one who overslept, hitting the subconscious ‘snooze’ on his earlier pronouncements. Black and steel colorscape outside lightens to gray, and my potted Japanese maple holds its last flaming leaf up to the window. November has arrived. It's the one-year anniversary of my tiny move-in.

Some weeks ago, I left off reporting activities on the tiny home front, mid-excavation of some long-buried tools and treasures (see Tiny Art House Percolating, posted 9/30/2013), then took a posting sabbatical to get down and dirty with my re-discovered ‘toys’ before breaking from for Monday’s philosophical waxing (see Tiny Confession, posted 10/28/2013). After a brief interruption at the bench, I’m ready to resume production, and I am happy to report it’s going well.

My silversmithing bench emerged along with fragments of inspiration still intact and only slightly dusty. Presto change-o! The wee house transformed into the tiny live/work studio I often fantasized in my city apartment where my contraband mini-torch (generating a 3/8 inch flame, at best), hiding in the walk-in closet, would have horrified the landlords. Now, the Queen of my own wee domain, I am free to make choices and assume the risks most beneficial to my creative potential, sans guilt, with relish. I have been busy. Here’s the set-up:

I slid the bookcase toward the door, installed a set of antique sewing machine drawers on the end for aesthetic and additional stowage, employing the top as a small table for pickle pot and tool display. My small jeweler’s bench sits atop a stand I had borrowed to support my dining room table, and is just big enough for a soldering block, flux bottle, a few tweezers and files, with a bench pen and filings drawer. Hammers, saw frame, striker and torch all hang from nails on the sides of the bench. Propane and oxygen tanks nestle just under the bookcase table. Flex shaft hangs from the light fixture, affixed to the wall—ok for now, though it could use some ergonomic optimization.

The only disadvantage, aside from the loss of my dining table, is that a few tools—i.e. my belt sander—are less tiny house friendly. But, then, it’s only a couple hundred feet to the boat shop, where these things are readily accessible when the need arises. At some point, I'll build the fold-away table I’ve been contemplating… For now, back to the bench!

What CAN'T one do in a tiny house?

Much of the last month was spent working through technical difficulties—flame size, where to focus heat for optimal solder flow, cleaning and finishing. Gradually glitches succumbed to completed works—two, handcrafted rings and growing selection of copper, silver and brass thumbtacks, affectionately dubbed “tacky” art. One set already sold, which brings me to my next venture: my tiny art shop is presently under construction, just in time for the holidays. Stay tuned for la petite grande opening, coming soon.

By 10:45 a.m., blue ruptures have appeared in the overhead cloud bank. I’ll spend the day working on my blog, shop and benchwork, then fancy up for the very first Whidbey Island Tango Festival romancing its way through Coupeville, beginning this evening. Now, there's an activity it might be difficult to pull off in tiny house. Then again, I danced with a fellow last Sunday who insisted that a truly skilled tanguero should be able to exercise a full range of passionate expression on a patch of floor no bigger than a toilet seat. Something to think about. For now, I'll stick to thumbtacks and take my tango out.

Thanks to all of who’ve shared in this year of tiny adventure. I've enjoyed your company.

Cheers!

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Tiny Confession

10/28/2013

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I confess, this picture is from last year.

At 5:54 a.m. Saturday in the tiny house, the fog that enveloped most of last week gave way to clear, star-stippled darkness. The neighborhood rooster fills his bellows, ruptures the silence with practiced faith.

On that note, I was recently invited to be a contributing writer on the new online information hub for all things tiny (resources, information, inspiration, connection, etc.) TinyHomes.com. Thank you, Lina Menard and Kenny Bavoso for your hard work and your faith in me. O Muse of Writers Practice, don't fail me now! As if on cue, after struggling a couple of hours to write the first two lines of this post, a mantle of clouds moved in, filtering a pale wash of light into the afternoon that took a bit longer to filter through the writers block in my brain. I am happy to report the eventual sun-breakthrough I needed, resulting in my first submission. Although you can read it here, I would encourage you to check out the other articles and information that will be rolling into TinyHomes.com. Now, without further ado...

I confess. I am one of them. I live in a 136-square-foot house on wheels, parked in a field, in full view of a well-traveled road. I have permission of the landowners and, when I took up residence, fell quasi-legally through a temporary structures loophole for garden caretakers. The garden no longer exists, leaving my legal status in question. I remain without permission. I understand that the County is aware of me and receives many questions (I’m told) from folks who “want one” but cannot legally (with county approval) use one on their properties for housing, or even a spare bedroom. I built without permits (there were none that applied to structures on wheels) out of desire to learn new skills and shelter myself in a home that I own and for which I take responsibility. I plan to do it again and to encourage, teach and support others in the same. I confess it all. Am I just a tiny rogue against some proverbial machine I’ve labeled and targeted for my disaffection? I submit the following for your assessment:

Since my tiny venture began, I have engaged in numerous conversations over the uncertainties and illegalities of securing park/live sites for wee houses. Allan Cerf’s article, A Cautionary Tale on Tiny Houses (Cerf 2013), fairly comprehensively covers the quandaries faced by law-abiding citizens with whom the ethos (small, affordable, eco-friendly, unfettered…) resonates powerfully and who, enthusiastically, begin to dream in tiny/mobile only to become nearly mummified in the red tape of codes, regulations, reasoning that inhibit legal habitation of said dream on any fixed location for any significant period of time due to neighboring property devaluation, waste water management, city-legit water/electrical hook-ups, skeptical or hardline officials... The list dickers almost insurmountably on. The concerns are real. Are we doomed to steal like mice along the toe-kicks of civil society, hiding in nooks and crannies, relocating under cover of night, thumbing our noses at establishment and authority, never quite secure in our moorings simply in order to exist? The question of sanction and how to secure it is big.

A respected boss/mentor once imparted, “sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness, rather than permission.” The context of the particular conversation is lost to me. Admittedly, the premise contains potential for abuse, but the message lingered. Through my twenties and thirties, I moved from place to place, navigating the financial whims of rental markets, observing ever-rising mortgage costs, weighing the latter against my salary and the 40+ hour work week, ad infinitum, that home ownership would seemingly require. Many did invest in mortgages, secure in the idea of ever-increasing home values, until 2008… Discouraged well before the crash, I took up residence in a tool shed on Whidbey Island to clear my head and met a friend who broached the idea of tiny wheely houses (see Tiny Origins page for full story). My mentor’s message rang with sudden crystal relevance. I was not a landowner. Furthermore, in a time of exploding population and finite land resources, competition dictates that not everyone can (or should) own land, though the need for housing explodes with the population, while increasingly expensive ‘cubicles’ of mass housing for rent proliferate. If there’s an alternative model for homeownership that encourages moderate consumption, sharing of resources, cooperation, community, new ways of thinking should it be dismissed outright for rules written in absence of good examples? Might the rules merit re-examination? Enter, the convoy of tiny houses and their trailored existential angst…

A new friend building tiny on the Island recently called me gripped in a moment of such angst after an unknown individual had showed up snapping pictures of the build site without permission. “Am I crazy? Are we in over our heads? Are we going to be evicted? I may have been over-ambitious…” Though I fall short of answering his questions, I wish him comfort in the burgeoning numbers of tiny homeowner blogs and builders and the increasingly audacious visibility of both (magazine features, news spots, films). As the adage goes, there is strength in numbers. So, what are we up against, really?

Throughout history, creative proposals and solutions to problems have been discouraged against the established ‘Ways’ of particular times and contexts. Built to weather instability, these mechanisms often, resist change, though not necessarily out of malice. As Cerf (2013) notes, many officials amiably discuss the topic with blunt skepticism. Such skepticism is the not uncommon companion of unfamiliar concepts. Even so, requesting mere consideration of our tiny proposal can feel a bit like asking a charging pachyderm to pivot on a dime (an admittedly outsized metaphor). Not gonna happen.

But wait! The pachyderm, in fact, roughly the size of a tiny house, has been around a while to achieve his immense stature. He has a long memory built from experience; knows a few things about his world; and, some say, possesses capacity for relationship, even affection. What if we parked the tiny house a mile or two down the line of charge, within sight; give the pachyderm time to react, consider, begin to slow or arc his trajectory? Furthermore, might the owner of the tiny house, wheels chocked uneasily in the line of rampage, on second glance, note that the elephant appears less at ‘angry charge’ than ‘determined gallop’; reassess the level of threat; consider inviting him over for a bucket of peanut butter, neighborly introductions and curious discussion? To be sure, there is a risk involved, but for all of the skeptical city/county officials who tolerate quasi-legal tiny houses within their jurisdiction (para. Cerf 2013), proliferating conversations among such officials, sometimes crossing into dialogue with tiny housers, themselves, resulting in such anomalies as the recently city-sanctioned, Caravan Tiny House Hotel (Portland, OR) seem, to me, to suggest a growing awareness, if not early signs of acceptance? Make no mistake. We have come far.

Poet/essayist/environmentalist, Wendell Berry, in a televised interview with Bill Moyers (Moyers 2013) musing on leadership from the bottom said, “[T]he country and I think… the world are full of people, now, who are… seeing something that needs to be done and starting to do it without the government’s permission or official advice or expert advice or applying for grants or anything else. They just start doing it.” He could be speaking directly to the tiny house movement. For many years, tiny houses have favored the shadow of peripheries, but the ground has been broken. Our early leaders began generations ago (read The Small House Movement in a Nutshell, by Jay Shafer), imagined an alternative, took risks. Their examples inspire and encourage the next wave of tiny builders, first, to follow, then to lead the next. We have grown in numbers and confidence, and there comes a time to step into the public forum with our vulnerability; submit ourselves to essential examination and critique; encourage debate, not for the sake of insurgency, but because we believe in what we’re building. There is much to learn on on both sides of the long journey home.

Bibliography

WENDELL BERRY, POET & PROPHET: Moyers, Bill. October 4, 2013. Moyers & Company. WNET: NewYork

Cerf, A. 2013, January 7. A Cautionary Tale on Tiny Houses. Retrieved from
http://tinyhousetalk.com/cautionary-tale-on-tiny-houses/

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Intimate Spaces

9/2/2013

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Monday, 10:15 a.m. in the tiny house. The sun just peeped through the slate-rimmed gray. Rain returned mid-last-week with short dousings, sprinkles, wind and one rolling thunder afternoon: hints of autumn nipping at my plans. It’s post-Wee Open House. I tip another dose of caffeine back and go over the flash of last week. WOH! What just happened?

It was a whirlwind of last-minute prep--decking, video production and release, toe kick finger holes, cleaning, stowing, errands, staging and signage—my dear friend, Dori Hallberg, on the eve of her birthday (my heroine!), arrived for backup, and Saturday’s Wee Open House welcomed 40+ visitors to my door. Wandering in twos and threes through the gate and across the field, they beheld, exclaimed, pondered, probed, swapped ideas, reclined in the window seat or lingered thoughtfully in the loft.

One of the tiniest visitors, burst over the threshold, arms wide, exclaiming, “I looooove it!” before flying up the ladder and beaming exuberance from her lofty perch. There were couples, some with young children. Bryn and Loren are already building their own tiny dream house. New Whidbey residents, Maribel, Michael and wee Freya, were contemplating new possibilities. A number of mother/daughter pairs (and one mother/son) passed through, the mothers repeating with relish, I could definitely see her/him in one of these (the referenced being the wonder-stricken 20-something, a newly single in her 30s or the 20-something New York prodigal). Blacksmith/artist, Chuck Ping, hailing from my home-state of Iowa, and his sister, Patricia (fellow Whidbey-ite), came to talk over Patricia’s desire for a tiny personal space and Chuck’s plans for a slew of 'tinies' back in corn country. (Chuck & Linda, you’re on my visit list when next I’m Iowa-bound!) There were even a few folks mulling over a purchase and retrofit for, specifically, bath/toilet facilities… Naturally, folks considering the house for purchase, are mulling over the aforementioned possibilities. You’ll be happy to know that there are some, but first, a brief segue.

While I am proud of and have loved living in my little house, I always demurred apologetically when it came to explaining the bath/toilet. It was begun with an evolutionary plan for charm on par with the tiny residence. With the sudden decision to inhabit last fall, top priority became basic function. That took some doing (see Taking the Leaks, posted 11/11/2012) and, as plans have evolved (see Oh Shift! Here We Go Again…, posted 08/05/2013) resources were otherwise directed. Fortunately, when I had a chance for a pre-WOH! check-in with Dee, she shared how she’d been similarly apologetic about her facilities for years and encouraged me to, as she has, simply get over it.

With that, I swept out the bath house, cleaned the clawfoot tub and when the first visitor asked to peek, I said with a sweeping flourish, “Go right ahead!”
I overheard them exclaim, with a little surprise, perhaps due to the tar paper exterior, that it was cute! There you have it. So, here’s the deal: if the provision of immediately functional, upgradeable bath/toilet facilities would close the sale, I’m willing to throw in the bathhouse for free and would be happy to advise on set-up that will avert the struggles I had with frozen water lines. I also refer you to my coverage of Brittany Yunker’s compost toilet system for an aesthetic and effective toilet option (see Shapeshifting, posted 08/25/2013). My learning curve, to your advantage. Just sayin'... it’s an option.

In closing this segment, for the folks who are considering purchase of my tiny house and lack only the perfect setting, I have a friend with two gorgeous, private, 10-acre, wooded, South Whidbey parcels available. Inquire for details. Enough said.

Last night, I watched the sunset juice out of another gorgeous day, smiled at the wonder of five or six people chatting comfortably in my wee house the day before—mother and child in the loft, two in the window seat, another seated at the dining table, one propped against the kitchen cabinet and me leaning in the doorway (that’s almost seven!). Intimate spaces have an energy that draws folks in, calms, recalibrates for conversation with each other or the birds, clouds or breeze passing by the windows. Welcome! Do come in. Have a seat. Won’t you stay awhile? My gratitude to all who did. It was a pleasure.

Stay tuned!

(Special thanks to Robbie Cribbs of Sound Trap Studios for the “Mighty Micro House on Wheels” video tour and to Joe Reggiatore of Tambourine Sky for the groovy musical background riffs.)

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Shapeshifting

8/25/2013

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Last night I watched a purpling peek-a-view of the Olympics from the window seat of my tiny house in awe of the layers it took to culminate one picture. Building the house has been like that (framing, sheathing, roofing, trimming, siding, insulating, paneling, detailing...). A multi-layered community (friends, clients, hardware and lumberyard staff, neighbors) have rallied around the project, wheeling it ‘round the next unexpected turn. Despite my best efforts to envision the future, some wonders remain beyond the viewfinder of planning. Tomorrow is a shape shifter, speaking of which...

I awoke at 5:00 a.m. under a bright-eyed waxing moon this morning, contemplating last weekend’s tiny open house at the Bayside Bungalow guest rental in Olympia, WA. Greeted with hugs from the indomitable builder/proprietress, Brittany Yunker, and tireless tiny maven, Dee Williams, I was immediately slapped with a ‘Team Tiny House’ nametag making me an honorary volunteer answering questions for the mix of curious, tentative, wonderstruck, and determined visitors. Sweet! Between questions, I slipped away to self-tour, snap pics and investigate the tiny systems at hand, which brings me to the next topic.

It’s one of the first great mysteries for anyone new to tiny houses--is there a toilet and how does that work? It is a fact: in order to live in a tiny house, one must deal with one’s doo-doo on both, the literal and metaphorical levels. Being with yourself and possibly a significant other and/or a pet or two (check out RowdyKittens.com for Tammy Strobel's excellent blog) in a small space requires it. Yes, a standard flush toilet can be incorporated and hooked up to septic. For a more mobile option, there are RV toilets that flush into storage tanks and can be driven to a dump station. However, storage tanks are expensive, and in this context, take up giant amounts of valuable ‘real estate’, displacing stuff you want/need with (to put it delicately) the stuff you don’t. So…

DISCLAIMER: the system I’m about to detail deals with human waste management. Disinterested parties may skip the next paragraph.

I, myself, was new to composting toilets when I began planning my build, and, frankly, couldn’t fathom one in such a small space. Then, I met Brittany at the Seattle Tumbleweed workshop, where she spoke candidly about her system. Now, I’m a total convert and not a little envious, since I’m still operating with a liquid additive, RV camp toilet. (Honestly, I cannot recommend it.) In contrast, Brittany’s system combines a urine-diverting bucket system in the house with 50-gallon composting drums in a nearby chicken coup for curing. To be more specific, an ingenious little invention called the Separett diverts urine out with the gray water into a French drain. Separation of liquid from solid waste and an additional scoop of sawdust, pete or coconut husk poured over the solids in the bucket (in lieu of flushing) sweetens the pot (so to speak), while the toilet lid contains any remaining whiffs. A full bucket is taken to the chicken coup, dumped into a composting drum lined with wire mesh (for aeration), churned occasionally with a crank and covered with fiber cloth to prevent flies while permitting airflow. It takes a year to fill one drum and an additional year to cure, at which point the composted material can be distributed around ornamental plants, saving money on store-bought compost--cha-ching! I took many notes and pictures and will definitely incorporate this into my next tiny build.

Back to polite party conversation on the Isle, I’m headlong into an advertising campaign (see Tiny House for Sale, posted …….) with a life of its own. My post with tinyhouselistings.com has generated over 13,000 views (so far) and several inquiries, although, thankfully, not quite 13,000. Then, to my amazement, the MightyMicroHouse was picked up by tinyhouseblog.com, tinyhousenews.info, and tinyhouseswoon.com, the latter of which quipped, “a tiny house with a sufficient touch of swooneyness…” Another twist I could not have foreseen.

So, what’s next on the almighty TO-DO List?

Publicity for the Wee Open House (WOH!)
Replace charred porch decking (decorative, solid glass balls in the sun—bad idea)
Delegate neglected yardwork (done! thanks to Will Hallberg for mowing the rogue arugula volunteers) and
Shoot video of the mighty special house features with the help of friend/videographer Robbie Cribbs

And so it goes. To a tiny shoebox frame, I cobbled a motley cadre of items—cast-off windows, scrap steel, rusty stove door—from yard sales, recycle yards, backyard junk heaps, and lumberyard bone piles. Here I am. Have a look. We could build something together, they whispered. And we did. Since my epiphany to move to Portland (see Oh Shift! Here We Go Again…, posted 08/25/2013) tiny chat rooms, blogs, workshops, open houses have displaced prior trolling haunts. New contacts, friends, mentors and possibilities roll in, taking their places. The view changes. The invitation in the ether is the same: We could build something together… We are. Bigger than I imagined. And there’s room for more.

Stay tuned!

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