Mighty Right-Sizing

Tiny Art House Percolating

9/30/2013

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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Racing the Rain

9/16/2013

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7:50 p.m. in the tiny house. Post sunset. Paper Olympic cutouts fan peach horizon. The pigeons who’ve taken up residence in the last month have gone to roost, and the neighbor’s brood of peacocks have concluded their proclamations. Socrates, the visiting tabby, stopped in for a rubdown and well-wishes before heading off for his nightly hunt. The pale bowl overhead deepens to blue, fills with ink and glitter. Endless summer… That was last week.

On second glance, it’s Monday, 6:40 a.m. in the tiny house. Spiders tight-rope across windows, between flowers, spin corbels under the porch soffit, and tighten the rigging. Against a backdrop of summer burning along the edges of maple leaves and a final eruption of dahlias, Sunday rose like a gray-eyed oracle. I had heard her approach and, with the renewed vigor conferred by looming deadlines, I delved into my list of dry-weather details (trim baseboard electrical outlet, window weather-stripping, final sash touch-ups, new tires and paint wheel rims, exterior inspection and caulking, etc.). And so it was, on a possibly the last sunny Saturday, I set myself to a long-languishing quandary. Here’s some background on the matter…

The little house is secured to its trailer foundation with steel bars slipped into and bolted through welded, trailer side-brackets. Two additional bolts fasten each bar through the skids on the bottom of the house (for the ‘why’ of skids on a trailered house, see the Trailer Work and The New Foundation sections of my photo album). One of the connections had been disassembled last November in order to access electrical wiring and juice the tiny house for habitation (for more on that episode, see Taking the Leaks posted 11/11/2012). Somewhere in the hoopla, the steel bar had been removed and the bolts jammed in a position rendering it impossible to re-install the steel bar. After wailing mercilessly on the ends of the bolts with my hammer, buggering the bolt threads for their nuts in vain attempt to drive them out, I gave up, relegating it to the bottom of my ‘to-do’ list and turned my attention to more pressing move-in matters, like propane (see Plumb Crazy, posted 10/21/2012). Months later, the tiny marketing campaign well under way (click here for video tour), thunderstorm and subsequent rains in the forecast for the foreseeable future, priority came clear. High time for a second look.

And so it was with accompanying angst, a few weeks ago, that I revisited the pile of nuts and washers, steel bar, split block and corresponding stuck bolts with the original logistical brains behind the operation, my friend and mentor, John Shinneman. He very sensibly advised me to take a chisel to the block through which the offending bolts passed between the steel bar and skids and remove it. Pressure/tension on the bolt between the block and skid should, theoretically, be relieved, and I should be able to drive the bolts back, hacksaw and/or re-thread the mangled ends, replace the block, re-insert bolts and secure with facility. I crossed my arms, furrowed my brow, emitted a dubious grmph! and thanked him for his time and expertise. John grinned and wished me luck before exiting jauntily stage left. I stashed the detritus parts out of sight of impending open house guests and stuffed it well into the back of my mind for just a bit longer.

Well past the wee open house, newly motivated, and having located most of the stashed pieces of my project, after a brief meditation on the problem, donned my grubbies and spelunking gear (for crawling under the house), suspended disbelief in my abilities and headed to the chicken coup and barn (about 300 feet) to gather my tools.

The first step was easy. I inserted the chisel into the spilt in the block and with a few hammer taps, dispensed with it. Sure enough, without the added pressure of the block, the bolts—with another few hammer blows—were driven flush with the wood. My confidence lifted. I made a second trip to the barn (another 300 feet, times two) for consultation with fix-it guru, Bill Andrews, and acquisition of a couple of long punches, enabling me to prevail in driving the bolts clean out. I shimmied under the house to retrieve them and trekked back to the barn (more exercise) to clean up the threads with a tap and back to the work site to shimmy under the house again, and drive them back through the skids to flush on the outside. Back to the barn. Bill helped me locate an oak plank (very hard wood) from which I could fashion and drill a replacement block. It took several more trips to the barn and removing and re-threading bolt ends and aligning holes to find myself wedged under the house again in the failing light driving the bolts back through the wood and hitting the misaligned steel bar, once again buggering the bolt threads. I lay in the dirt, contemplating the mud pie I would make of myself trying to finish the job in the infinitude of autumn rains forecast to begin tomorrow. I crawled out and shuffled to the barn again to put away my tools.

Pacific Northwest weather is famously unpredictable, except that when rain is forecast, it is reasonably certain to occur though with wide variation in the timing and quantity. Despite the thunderstorm scheduled for 1:00, the sky was a soft, seemingly stable, gray. By 7:15, I was scurrying about to replace window weather stripping, touching up paint and caulk. Finally, after brief meditation on the pressing quandary and beseeching of the rain gods, it was back to nuts and bolts. I am extremely pleased to report that, with only seven or eight trips to the barn, by 11:30 a.m., just as the rain began, I had prevailed, only slightly dampened, fairly dirty, well-exercised (from repeated barn jaunts) and a not just a little triumphant.

It gets easier. Every quandary vanquished (no matter the time elapsed in self-doubt), is a new tool in the belt, and salve for the next angst. Even as knowledge and skill develop, angst is a habit that takes practice to break. In retrospect, I’m surprised to have come this far, given the gridlock experienced in fledgling problem-solving once I moved the house to a location remote of immediate mentor guidance. Somehow, I persisted, haltingly, hung up for months at a time on something as simple as trim before eventual break through, when I return able to look at the problem with new eyes. More stymies surfaced at move-in around the basic necessities for comfort (heat, cooking, shower) that would come from hooking up the electricity, plumbing for propane and shower facilities (see November/December posts for details of the challenges). During such periods of high pressure, response time improved, along with willingness to ask for guidance. Nowadays, more than ability or lack of knowledge, mindset is most often the block. Maybe it always was.

The storm broke mid-afternoon yesterday with lightning, rolling thunder, downpour and brief electrical outage. From my tiny kitchen, I amalgamated a satisfying pot of Russian root vegetable soup with sour cream, lemon and dill and reveled in the drama of it all, secure on my foundation, at least until the next bend in the road.

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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WOH! Baby!

8/18/2013

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It’s 5:30 a.m. in the tiny house. The rooster and I have risen, if not the sun. Around the property, the owners and their apartment tenant have been packing to vacate the farmhouse. Despite my lightening client roster, I’ve been busy with a stream of tiny details--installing long-awaited base boards, finger holes in the toe-kick drawers, working on the ad campaign—drewslist, craigslist, flyers, postcards... Even prioritizing takes time. By 10:00 last night, I’d had 2,700 views on tinyhouselistings.com. The email inquiries have begun. Little wonder that I fell instantly through my pillow to sleep, despite one of my favorite skies—tatter of dark and light-haloed clouds under a shadow-chasing moon, conifers pinking the visual perimeter. At times like these you can’t see everything with your eyes open, anyway. Objects glow and shapeshift. You feel your way along. Rest. Get moving.

Climbing toward daylight, what’s next on the big agenda? I’ve been talking and blogging about my life in micro for some time now, generating almost as many questions as I answer, it seems. Since there’s no experience like the direct kind, I’ve decided to let the greater public in on a little something. If you’ve been dying to peek through the window on my tiny world, here’s your big chance. It’s time for a Wee Open House. So without further ado, I'm pleased to announce the following:

WOH! Baby!

Date: August 31, Labor Day Weekend

Time: 11 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Place: 4785 E Harbor Road, Freeland (behind the greenhouse)

Who's invited?: YOU

That said, today I’m road tripping to Olympia for Brittany Yunker’s Bayside Bungalow tiny open house. Brittany operates the Bungalow as a guest rental and has an enviable composting system that piqued my curiosity at the January Tumbleweed workshop (see It’s Big!, posted 1/19/2013). Of course, it’s also an opportunity to hob-knob with other tiny enthusiasts, and—if the timing works—there’s a private tango soirée in Seattle tonight, where I could catch up with my ex-patriot friend, instructor, performer, Sara Thomsen, who now resides in Buenos Aires. Given I’ve been distracted from the dance floor for a couple of months, the tango may humble me, but the brief and elegant escape could be just the tiny ticket to.... What did I say earlier? Oh yeah… Feel my way along. Rest. Keep moving.

Stay tuned!

The infamous Sara Thomsen who hooked me on tango years ago. Thank you!

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Tiny House for Sale

8/11/2013

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OMG! Woman repairs thermocouple, then makes dinner!

It’s 7:11 p.m. Saturday night in the tiny house. Here and there volunteer sunflowers periscope over the golden toasted grass thatches. I spent the last few days reorganizing for the big shift (see Oh Shift! Here We Go Again..., posted 8/5/2013), taking pictures, checking caulk around windows and trim, touching up paint, applying finish to the baseboards I’m finally going to install. Perhaps the major coup of the week was repair of my secondhand oven range, which, for the nine months of my tiny residence, has required inordinate amounts of coaxing in order to fire the heating element.

Typically, when the propane oven is set to preheat, the pilot flame envelops and heats a thermocouple wire, which creates an electrical charge, which sparks the heating element. Turns out that the piece of metal that holds my thermocouple just beyond the pilot light was bent. Thus, the pilot flame fell just short of the thermocouple, heating it only by proximity, taking much longer and much blind huffing, puffing and beseeching of the pilot to fire the element. Amazingly, with only a few tweaks employing my half-round jeweler’s pliers and a wrench, now, we’re cookin’!

So, why procrastinate a simple fix for nine months? What can I say? For each vestige of the I-don’t-know-hows answered by eventual action, the temporary blockages grow more permeable. In part, it's about readiness. Even when the fix is simple, the tiny victory of it renders more complicated fixes (or shall we say 'shifts') less daunting. Gradually, I take my regressionary reflexes less seriously. After all, when I don’t know how, there are others who do. (Shout out to Bill Andrews whose remote demystification of thermocouple function empowered my diagnosis and remedy.)

So, fast forward to 6:28 a.m., Sunday in the tiny house. Just finished my scrambled eggs and greens with toast, side of yogurt and a spot o’ tea: fuel for baseboard productivity (I hope). Covies of morning doves have replaced the robins who moved to greener worm-rife pastures (I presume) sometime in the weeks of my attention lapse. The doves pick over dry grass for morsels before lift-off en groupe: an uncanny parallel to human activity around the property, which is up for rent, or possibly even for sale. With regard to my own impending flight—the mighty ‘sell and move to Portland’ decision (see Oh Shift! Here We Go Again… posted 8/5/2013)—I don’t, yet, know the how of it all, but I'm moving forward on faith. With that, I submit for your consideration the following (you heard it here first, folks!). Whatever you want it to be, take a tiny moment and dream a little dream with me, and thanks in advance for helping spread the word.

Tiny House (or office, art studio, guest room, dream space, refuge) for Sale!

$38,000 (sales tax not included)

136 square feet

Great Room
Cathedral ceiling, box window seat, reclaimed steel and Milestone entry, iron trivet coat hook, Dickinson Newport propane fireplace

Kitchen
Antique leaded glass cupboards, 4-burner propane oven range, old stove door cook fan cover, bar sink, cabinet storage, under-counter refrigerator, toe-kick drawers

Sleeping Loft
Stowable ladder, dormers with leaded glass windows, gabled alcove

Closet
Clothing rod with overhead shelf, vanity/desk, 2-gallon, electric hot water heater

General
Knotty pine paneling, fir floor & trim, cedar shingles, siding & exterior trim

Notes
Wired for electricity and phone
Bath/toilet facilities not included
Top traveling speed: 25 to (maybe) 35 mph

Shown by appointment only.
E-mail MightyMicroBuilder@gmail.com or call Angela at (360) 331-3246

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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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Rain on Tiny Windowpanes

5/12/2013

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Giant Pliers Menace Tiny House

It’s 7:45 a.m. in the tiny house, back on the ground after a TinyHouseBlog feature rocketed my site visits into the thousands last week (many humble thanks to Kent Griswold and the many virtual visitors. Look for TinyHouseBlog "Tiny House in a Landscape" features to view the photo). A luxuriously warm spring has instigated an extended and colorful conversation amid the Island’s floral population. After more than a year (or two) stewing over weather system stability and complexity of yet another first-time project, a deceptively sunny streak had finally stirred me to action, replacing the fogged panes of two of my salvaged windows. In honor of Mother’s Day, Mother Nature invoked Murphy’s Law of the Pacific NW Weather #5,827 to bless her thirsting blooms and my window project with—oh, yes—rain.

One has to laugh, in spite of my practiced procrastination of the project, the process was turning out to be fairly straightforward:

tap putty knife into groove between window sash and wood strip glass holders
pry gently to bow strips allowing nail heads to pull through wood
pull remaining nails from strips and window sash with pliers
gently pry pane loose from seat and remove
scrape seat clean of old glazing and dirt
clean with vinegar-dampened towel (to kill mold)
dry-fit new panes to sash.

It’s the additional peppering with unanticipated (at least by me) steps that tends to draw out the process:

clean wood strip glass holders
glue or replace any broken strips
paint to seal and wait to dry
acquire (trip to Sebo's) and apply glazing putty
identify and acquire correct nails (second trip to Sebo's)
etc...

I have yet to figure out optimal glazing technique, and a method of nailing, sans nail gun, without breaking glass. Stay tuned.

And so, the cut grass in herbal fragrance sighs. Tiny poppies in the lawn behind the house giggle themselves crimson at the Visqueen curtains now obscuring my view over the garden as they whisper, plastically, in the blessedly gentle breeze. Perhaps I’ll finish the job today. Perhaps tomorrow. I, too, giggle at the sight. It’s all good.

Happy Mothers Day!

Reflections on Foggy Windowpane

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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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