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 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 Art House Percolating

9/30/2013

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At 5:00 in the morning over the tiny house, the nightlong wind has nearly cleared the sky, save a thin veil caught on a sliver of moon. By 6:30, new clouds convene, puff their chests, huff and dicker over the best shade of wet for the day. Typical Northwest resident, I had already pretty much forgotten the sun’s recent (was it?) visit, as soon as impending autumn dampened my doorstep trailing its cool company of rain. In some ways, it’s a relief not to be rent between the sun’s laissez-faire seduction and the hole-up, hunker-down inner workings which require regular attendance and, at times, readjustment of expectation and priority. So, let’s begin with that loudest of inner workings—my stomach.

Unfailingly, on the first fall-ishly chill day, I am seized by acute hankerings for meat and/or great, redolently steamy pots of soup. Happily, I was able to indulge both last week with a slow-burn batch of Chipotle Sweet Potato Black Bean Soup rustled up in my tiny kitchen. The recipe was originally conceived in the grocery aisle when I grabbed the pureed sweet potatoes next to the intended pumpkin. Not being a part of my standard repertoire at the time, the sweet potatoes lingered in my cupboard for over a year, until through luck of the draw, on an evening particularly open to possibility, it ended up next to the corn, black beans and diced tomatoes on my shelf—a culinary Scrabble moment! The cans were played. A new soup was born. Check out my Vittles page to try a bowl. For the Veggie-tarians among you, the recipe can be easily and, dare I say, as tastily amended to suit. Bon appétit! I ladled up a bowl for myself and pondered my present situation.

Chipotle Sweet Potato Soup with Chicken

The initial buzz around the tiny house sale has subsided to a low frequency hum. Amid nibbles and marketing maintenance and tweaks, things are percolating behind the scenes. While I wait for the big bite, for sanity's sake, I’ve begun to imagine life after the tiny sale. In the midst of tiny workshops (see It's Big, posted 1/19/2013 and Tiny Houses in the Big World, posted 4/27/2013) and the subsequent epiphany to sell and migrate (see Oh Shift! Here We Go Again…, posted 08/05/2013), Portland rose like a panacea out of the mists of a long mental fog. What that will look like in reality, I don’t know. Of course, it would blow my mind to land a job helping build tiny houses. That is unlikely. Maybe I could work for a green builder. Maybe I should take a pre-apprenticeship with Oregon Tradeswomen first... Of course, I haven’t ruled out working for myself, though I plan to leave the housecleaning business behind when I go. Honestly, I feel adrift, in spite of my continuing drive to move south (cartographically speaking). Even after having consciously leapt off the corporate ladder, when it comes to imagining work/career possibilities, my brain sweeps all the 'toys' of my creative pursuit into the nearest closet, mashes the door shut, then proceeds with the "what-do-you-want-to-be-when-you-grow-up?" interrogation. sigh... Old habits die hard. Time for a new one! I paused to consider my resources, then headed for the present manifestation of my mind 'closet', the chicken coup.

Moments later I returned to the tiny house armed with torch, striker, saw, hammers, files, pliers, copper, brass, silver and gold, stones, beads, baubles and scrap. I spent a day connecting torch to tanks, arranging my tiny workbench, mixing pickle solution, hanging my Foredom. Procrastinated the next afternoon away in creative apprehension. Spent another fondling pieces and parts of half-finished projects and possibilities. I consulted my copy of Tim McCreight’s Complete Metalsmith to review the section on basic soldering and mull over my last hang-up, nervous and frustrated at my lack of perseverance toward proficiency… Then again, I’m not dead yet, and I’m back at it. In the three years since I had last wielded my torch, I had finished and furnished a tiny house in my longest sustained creative endeavor to date, stops and starts notwithstanding. Finally, the house awaits a buyer. Portland is on the horizon. I picked up the striker, lit my torch, adjusted the flame to a soft, blue hiss. At any given point, there are multiple choices available and tools at one’s disposal. I move the flame in a circle around a funky, handmade pushpin, once abandoned in frustration, heating it slowly, evenly before the deft flow of solder and attending rush of satisfaction. I’ve come this far. I'll work it out in my own way.

See you soon!

Tiny Art/Writing Studio, Hangout, Office, Refuge, House for Sale

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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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Oh Shift! Here We Go Again...

8/5/2013

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The garden greenhouse through a crystal

9:38 a.m. in the tiny house. It’s not what I expected. At least, not when I set out with something like a plan and the customary ambitions, hopes, dreams. A trio of passing cyclists along the fence line provide apt metaphor. Pedal uphill. At the crest, a mere moment to check readiness before picking up speed on the downhill, momentum for the next, and again, and again… Eventually, you’ll come to a straightaway, begin to coast, note the change in scenery, subtle shifts in the breeze. Is this the right road? Where was I going? Stop.

That’s where I left off blogging a couple of months ago (my apologies for the lengthy, unexplained absence), while replacing window glass (finally done) and feeling overwhelmed at the array of things I wanted to accomplish to improve infrastructure for maximum comfort (averting frozen water lines and better home climate control) for the next winter while short on the requisite funds (grmph!). In the midst of this, the three tiny workshops I’d attended since January (see end slide show for snippets of Dee's Vardo workshop) had alternately exhilarated and stymied me. In spite of thinking I had found the right location to expand my tiny journey, increasingly, I couldn’t help but contrast the elation of each tiny immersion with the sluggishness I felt upon return. Recall the tears of joy with which I departed Portland, Oregon in April, post-PAD workshop (see Tiny Houses in the Big World, posted 4/27/2013)? Cheesy and over dramatic, perhaps, but real and while I’ve been grappling with the meaning, it's difficult to say precisely when the sands began to shift under the tiny house, but there were signs:

Sign #1: The Garden. The body tells us what it needs. In spite of best laid plans, rest is sometimes the only answer. By July, personal health matters had, by necessity, trumped my hosts’ agricultural ambitions. The garden where I took up residence, left to its own devices, has instituted a prairie restoration agenda.
Sign #2: Carpenter Ants. Truth be told, I had spotted the fast-moving and angst-inducing ‘scouts’ over a month before, but had been told that, without wet wood on which to munch, they would only pass through. Unfortunately, rigid foam insulation is a most desirable nesting material. Early July, upon return from my Grandmother’s passing in Iowa, a softly ominous munching began in the ceiling over my loft—eek!
Sign #3 & 4: Accelerated Attrition and The Wall. I have a personal internal mechanism that appears when, after operating along a certain track under set parameters at length, it is time for a change I have sensed, without knowing what to do about it. I affectionately refer to this mechanism as The Wall. Quandary: there is no way around. So, amid three client house sales and additional cyclical attrition, involving some of my most loyal, rather than panic, The Wall manifested as an inexplicable disinterest in and utter refusal to accept any new cleaning clients, despite new inquiries and rapidly diminishing income. Fortunately, on closer inspection, The Wall always has a door (more on that in a moment).

Evicting Ants

Sister (Alyssa) & Mom (Connie)

The casual and/or cynical observer might dismiss these so-called signs as arbitrary and unrelated. Fair enough. I often doubt myself, but they were accompanied by...

Sign #5: The Click! It’s early August. Somewhere between, the Surety Pest Control estimate, my mother and sister’s visit, a declining client roster, disassembling the tiny vent cap for damage assessment (None—Hooray!) and invader eviction, I heard myself say, without thinking, that I might sell the house and move to Portland… Click! No, this wasn't the sound my camera made when I dropped and broke it last week (doh!), but that of the door opening in The Wall. Inaudible to everyone else, it has become clear and unmistakeable to me over the years. It’s the sign of shift, like my move to Seattle 11 years ago 2 days after my divorce, resigning one law firm without a job offer as yet unaware of the imminent 20% pay raise coming from the next, leaving the second firm for an Island tool shed and earthbuilding apprenticeship, and deciding to build a tiny house on wheels (see Tiny Origins for more on the latter two). Click! Click! Click! Whether or not I sound a bit wacky, I’ve learned the hard way, it is to my detriment to ignore the click!

So, first things first. Everything depends on putting the tiny house up for sale. It wasn't built for high-speed, long-distance travel. Top traveling speed would be 35 mph (maybe). While much larger homes that have never even feigned mobility in their design can be moved, given the proper equipment and resources, this tiny house has been the repository of my savings over the last 6 years, to say nothing of 'blood, sweat and tears.' It’s an investment on which it is time to capitalize in order to move energy and open options—education, volunteering and workshops—hopefully, in the thriving Portland tiny community, close to Portland Alternative Dwellings, Shelter Wise, Niche Consulting (three of the 'real deal' in tiny house innovation and education, in my humble opinion) and the many tiny builds peppering the area. To build on skills and experience in order to better participate in something bigger than my tiny story, I want to be where the rubber under the tiny house hits the road (see Tiny Houses in the Big World, posted 4/27/2013 for reference). That’s the dream. That’s my plan, for now. Stay tuned.

Portland Alternative Dwellings July 5th Workshop

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The Work and Play of the Tiny House

6/3/2013

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May 26, 7:09 a.m.

It’s Sunday-raining on the tiny house—diffuse and steady. The rabbit fencing that failed to keep a family of bunnies from taking up residence behind my bath house holds water in its hexagons, each bead holds a tiny garden abstract before it breaks away and goes underground.

Of course, any effort expended toward tiny home improvement will be punctuated with diversions. My 41st birthday provided plenty, marked in celebratory fashion with a little song (a Champagne serenade at my doorstep) a little dance (tango workshop in Seattle), various meals with friends and a new connection. Katherine, on the verge of building her own tiny house. She ventured out from Seattle for a tour of possibilities. Oh, how the tiny network grows…

In the interim, amid minor adjustments/setbacks, the glass replacement project continues. As if on cue for having opened my house to the elements, there was rain, or the threat thereof, throughout the week. I managed to finish installing two of three remaining new panes after I cracked one—doh! The third window sash had to be planed to fit glass that was a hair too big, and one fogged pane remains tacked in place, awaiting the re-order from Island Sash & Door.

(To be continued…)

Off to tango...

One more learning curve. sigh...

Monday, June 3, 6:55 a.m. in the tiny house.

In the grand scheme of things, I’ve been a bit foggy of late, which partly accounts for the gap in posts. Even so, energies are percolating. It’s as if the large bird (owl?) that clattered up my shingles before landing on top of the dormers and tromping about just over my head at 2:30 a.m. was a metaphor for change I can feel/hear coming. Flounder as I may, I can’t yet see it clearly over my to-do list and withdrawal symptoms resulting from PAD’s amazing Casa Pequeña workshop last April (see Tiny Houses in the Big World, posted 4/27/2013).

So, what next? Where am I going? Waxing nostalgic for my fellow PADsters, I picked up the phone and dialed Dee Williams’ number. As it turns out, perhaps south (with a positive spin) is the answer. There are several tiny builds happening around Olympia and Portland this summer. I can volunteer, further my education AND, quite literally, help enlarge tiny community. There’s one piece of the puzzle.

PADsters raising the roof in McMinnville, OR.

Sunday, back on the home sweet home front, my way out of funk was to get busy. The window project (see Rain on Tiny Window Panes, posted 5/12/2013), again, stalled after the glass ordered to replace the broken replacement turned out to be a quarter inch too thick (sigh…). On to the languishing bath house! I tore off the tar paper (it’s only exterior covering for 3 years), checking for moisture compromises. No major problems—hooray! To my delight, Eli, the fellow whose tool shed was my first Island residence (see Tiny Origins: Windows of Opportunity), stopped by to help recover the building. In a few short hours it was done, and just as we were cleaning up, a car pulled up and a clown jumped out… Yes, really.

Deano the Clown, who sells composting toilets in addition to entertaining birthday parties had just gotten off a gig and stopped by in full regalia to check out the wee set up. Sustainably and community-minded, himself, Deano had spoken with county officials about the legality of tiny “temporary structures” on his property, referencing my wee house parked in the back of Camille’s garden. The official was not encouraging:

[paraphrasing] “That little house has given us a lot of headaches. Now, everyone wants one.” The statement was accompanied by a formidable list of the illegalities negating various tiny scenarios. While Deano’s report mighty otherwise have raised some concern, for now, I’ve slipped through a code loophole created for “garden caretaker residence”, although I’m apparently looming larger in the County’s consciousness than I was aware. Risky? Maybe. Worth it? Absolutely! Rules have been known to change for ideas that take hold of the collective imagination, and imagination needs examples. I am happy to oblige.

So, clowning around at the end of a productive day with friends old and new, feeling rejuvenated and optimistic, I’m looking forward to swinging my hammer in tiny community this summer, perhaps, giving tiny dreamers and county officials near and far, something to think about. I’ll keep you posted.

The clown menaces new window glass with hammer.

Angela and the clown

Eli and the clown

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Tiny Houses in the Big World

4/27/2013

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It’s 6:30 a.m. in the tiny house. A cloudy morning back in the garden after last weekend’s FABulous Portland Alternative Dwellings (PAD) Casa Pequeña workshop (more on that momentarily). Showers are in today’s forecast: perfect for hunker-down writing, although opening day of the Bayview Farmers Market tugs at my hemline like an exuberant child. I live in a garden. Still, the market is one of my favorite Saturday morning social rituals it calibrates me to local community and more seasonal eating habits, since there is always some alluring new ‘carrot’ dangling just beyond my latest radish, pea vine or garlic scape fixation. Don’t get me started on berry season or the local goat cheese, jams, breads... (Watch the Vittles page for seasonal recipes as they sprout.)

Meanwhile back home sweet home, I’ve finished off a scramble of farm-fresh eggs and young radish greens with a cup of yerba mate, contemplating the details of last weekend’s trip to McMinnville, OR. Where to begin…? If I could pick one word to encapsulate the weekend, it would be overwhelming in the best possible way. Wait, that was several words... Permit me to elaborate.

My last post summarized my take on PAD’s role in the tiny house family (see Roaming and Roots posted 4/13/2013). Where the January Tumbleweed workshop (See It's Big, posted 1/19/2013) stoked our imaginations with two days of Dee Williams’ inspiring presentations. La Casa Pequeña, however, is where the substantive rubber under the tiny house-on-wheels hits the road, (to abuse yet another cliché). This time, the inimitable Dee Williams representing PAD teamed with the tremendous trio of Derin, Andra and DK Williams of Shelter Wise as well as the petite powerhouse, Lina Menard, of Niche Consulting (see Lina's blog This is the Little Life for more on Lina and La Casa Pequeña) for two days of hands-on power tool tutorials, trailer connection, framing, wall-raising, house-wrapping, window installation and good, clean, irreverent fun. Derin was our fearless leader in explaining and directing the assembly of La Casa.

From round-circle introductions through two full days of action integrated with periodic wellness breaks, stretches (implementing DK’s and Dee’s stylistically monikered tighty-whitey stretch), group reflection and the great chicken tractor race (part of the larger Casa Verde green festival weekend), our group hailing from California to Utah and Vancouver, Canada, of varied age and experience coalesced. Teacher/learner roles shifted between male and female, younger and older, the petite-framed and the broad-shouldered. Everyone had something to contribute and something to learn all held in the effortlessly (so it seemed) egalitarian container. By the time the weekend wrapped, I felt I had known my fellows for years and found myself disoriented by struggling to remember a name or two of people I’d met only the day before.

Saturday night, fellow participant, Tia, and I had a slumber party in Gina’s tiny house in Portland—cozily tucked into Joan (Dee’s PAD partner) and Rita’s backyard near the Hawthorne district (see video for the house-moving). What a treat to sample another tiny layout in the company of a new friend. Suffice it to say that a thorough description would require a post of its own. For now, see the video and my slide show of tiny pics. (Contact Joan Grimm to rent the tiny house, yourself.)

All too soon, Tia’s rideshare arrived at 7:00. As luck would have it her driver, Becca, had an interest in tiny houses and so was provided a sneak peek before our fond farewell. I, myself, lingered at the tiny house for a bit longer before wandering out to the Hawthorne Street Café for mirzaghessemi, a mouth-watering Persian eggplant, tomato and egg dish.

Confession: at risk of sounding like a total sap, I was surprised by tears of gratitude in my eyes as I crossed the bridge out of Portland. More than a building workshop, the experience of working within a diverse and warmly egalitarian group toward long-term, sustainable ends provided a glimpse of something toward which I had yearned without words to articulate through meandering careers in jewelry repair, higher education admin, legal support, odd jobs and housecleaning. The tiny house movement opens another doorway into homeownership formerly obscured by the oversized couch of the 30-year mortgage upon which many have collapsed before the large screen TV of the 40+ hour work week and job insecurity. The active process of building with community, the carving of a place for the new paradigm of ‘life-sized’ homes out of the codes and consciousness of the larger system was, for me, another 'homecoming'. Lasting change will take time, sustained effort, self-empowerment and the empowerment of others. With each connection made, every builder born and nurtured, every wee house raised, the community grows and gains strength. The larger culture takes notice, maybe yearns toward the little ‘playhouses’ visible through the cracks in the dominant paradigm. In ways we have, perhaps, yet to imagine—to share, to work, to live--together, we are headed home sweet home.

Until next time, I leave you with the jovial words of the Persian proprietor of my breakfast at Portland's Hawthorne Street Cafe, "I love you. Great to have you. I love you. See you later".

Heartfelt thanks to Derin, DK, Andra, Dee, Kimber, Lina, Nance, Craig, Tony, Tia, Sirene, Kimberly and Joan for rockin' my tiny world.

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Roaming & Roots

4/13/2013

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It’s 6:30 a.m. in the tiny house in the garden on a gray April morning. A blustery weather system transit that passed in the wee hours trails intermittent huffs, scatters a handful of rain over the roof, pauses indecisively--remmants of the last season...

Aside from tango on the marble dance floor of The Majestic Inn in Anancortes last Friday (a peak dance experience), it was that kind of week in the wee house, too—momentum, indecision, hesitation, forward steps, repeal, repeat—mostly centered around work (day job) and life maintenance—ground work. I did, finally, bury the bath house septic plumbing—somewhat anti-climactic compared to the triumph of operational home shower, perhaps. Hey, not every accomplishment along the road invokes the triumphal celestial choir (see Nesting and the Rest, posted 12/16/12 or Gathering Momentum, posted 1/6/13 for more details). Ground work eventually adds up, and excitement ever looms on the proverbial horizon. Speaking of which…

I’m preparing for a trip to McMinnville, OR to participate in Portland Alternative Dwellings (PAD) Casa Pequeña workshop next weekend. PAD is a tiny house company co-owned and operated by the inimitable duo of Dee Williams and Joan Grimm out of Portland, OR. If Tumbleweed spreads the tiny word and stokes the masses from its prominent pulpit (see It’s Big, posted 1/19/13, after the workshop), PAD wields its seasoned expertise in active participation workshops of an interpersonal scale, building connection and community from the ground up—the sustainable nitty-gritty, folks!

My plan is to drive down and camp at Champoeg State Park, arriving in McMinnville Friday morning, ready with tool belt and 14 other participants to construct a tiny garden studio in two days. I’ll get to observe how the hands-on workshops are put together, AND I'll lodge Saturday night in one of PAD’s tiny houses—another inside take on tiny! If I pack my tango shoes, maybe I can also expand my dance perspective/abilities with a practica on my way through Portland. I’m so jazzed, I can hardly wait!

Meanwhile, back home sweet home, radishes have sprung. Dispelling childhood scorn, their greens, now, charm their way into my morning scramble, the reserved red-pink roots later to be shredded and tossed with olive oil and sea salt for a cracker scoop of spring. When, the weather temporarily chilled this week. I curled up with one last winter comfort dish: Nutty Roasted Root Veggies with Kale and Walnuts (see Vittles page recipe and other tiny concoctions). Soon enough, the sun will return, and I’ll be back, nourished, with news of tiny adventures in the big world.

Cheers!

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