So after the craziness of June and July, I was now a full-time Oregonian – but the craziness continued. I had a month before I turned 50 and I was determined to move my house outside and spend my first night in it on my birthday. To do this, I had to get my trim and siding up. It seemed doable, but I should know better by now than to impose a deadline on myself.
As I mentioned in the first part of this series (JUNE), the month of July was all about wrapping up my old life in California and making the big move back to Oregon. This post is more an album of memories for me and may or may not be of any interest to anyone else, though there are some connections to tiny houses scattered throughout. I’ve been having a hard time writing this since it is very bittersweet and emotionally complicated, so I’m just going to post it as is and get back to more of a focus on my tiny house with the next post. Continue reading
This summer has been intense. Many significant life changes and lots of activity on the tiny house front as I tried to hit some self-imposed deadlines. Way too much stress, and the blog has suffered as a result. But now I’m catching my breath again and realizing a major update is in order. As I pulled photos to include, I realized that the update was going to be excessive even by my epic post standards, so I’m breaking it down into three separate entries. This one covers the month of June. July and August to follow shortly.
For those of you not familiar with my story, the quick background is that I started building a tiny house in Oregon while still living in California. I’ve spent the last year traveling back and forth doing discrete building stints. I originally thought I would move my house down to the Bay Area while I continued at my job as a grant and project manager for the Coastal Conservancy, a state agency where I’ve been for the last 25 years. However, as I got deeper into the process of building, it jumpstarted a whole re-evaluation of where I was in my life and where I wanted to be. I was about to turn 50, I wanted out of the city and the constraints of my desk job, and I really wanted to get back to my native Oregon, closer to nature and family. While normally I wouldn’t be able to live off the tiny pension I would get with early retirement, the low expenses of the tiny house should make it possible for me to piece together an alternative lifestyle I hadn’t thought possible. I’ll still need to work some (I’m retiring from state service, not retiring altogether), but by having my basic needs covered, I have much more flexibility in what I choose to do and how I incorporate my work life with the rest of my life.
All of those life changes and transitions happened this summer. It’s been a crazy time: I was simultaneously making several 12-hour trips up to either build or move belongings, transferring major work projects to new staff, cleaning out and organizing work files, saying my goodbyes to the places I’ve lived and the dear friends I’ve worked and played with for the last 25 years, coming to grips with leaving and starting over in a familiar but new place and a much different lifestyle, learning the ropes of life on a blueberry farm, getting my head around the idea of “retiring” (and all the endless bureaucratic forms that entailed!), building new friendships and connections in my home-to-be, packing up and cleaning my apartment, and actually moving and getting settled in with all that requires. On top of this, I set myself a goal of finishing the exterior of my house so that by the end of August I could move it out to it’s initial parking spot behind the barn and spend my 50th birthday night in it.
These next three posts chronicle some of that experience, as seen primarily from a tiny house perspective. Looking over the photos, I realize that in some cases I was too busy living to get pics of key moments and friends so there are some missing events. I also noticed how much we tend to only photograph the good times (of which there were many in the midst of all the chaos). What you don’t see in these posts are the agonies of indecision about how to proceed with the next step, the many months of elevated cortisol levels from too much stress, the pouring sweat from climbing up and down ladders in 100 degree weather, the few times I broke down in tears of frustration when things broke or didn’t go together as planned or deadlines passed unmet, the sore muscles, late nights, and utter exhaustion. But then, really, who wants to look at those photos? Just know that those untaken pics really should be part of this to balance what appears to be a perfectly graceful handling of major life changes. Lesson: social media never really tells the full story. Continue reading
This is another epic post that interweaves several themes lately on my mind: visceral and spiritual design, pursuing passion, connectedness, wabi sabi, reflection, simplicity and, as always, art, nature and transformations. If you are designing or about to start construction on a tiny house, and are a hurried and pragmatic sort, skip down to the 10 tiny thoughts section; otherwise, come take a meditative stroll with me and see why Tassajara has been such a formative part of my tiny house journey…
nothing on the paper
but cherry petals
~ Jane Reichhold
I love the word burgeon. I use it a lot in reference to my growing tiny house. It means to bud, sprout, put forth, develop. It originates from the late 1200s, Middle English for bud or plant shoot, deriving from the Latin word burra – wool or fluff, presumably from the down covering certain buds. To me it also represents imminent potential and those powerful forces of nature that make all things come into their own.
My recent sixth building stint was both a revel in a full spring blossom riot and a lesson in accepting that everything must take its natural time and course. You can’t hurry a bud. And sometimes you are your own bud. And sometimes you just have to be patient with yourself.
To my Bay Area friends interested in tiny houses – Dee Williams will be in town twice in May! On May 4th, she will be reading from her new book, The Big Tiny, at the Book Passage in Corte Madera, and on May 17th she will be teaching a one-day tiny house workshop. This is a great opportunity to meet one of the big pioneers in the Tiny House Movement. Who knows, you might just get so inspired your life could radically change (not that I know anything about that – ha!)
The Big Tiny book launch and tour
Take a Dee Tour and shake up what you thought a life should be: Dee Williams kicks off her national book tour on Earth Day next week in Washington D.C. To read about her book, see her tour schedule, or order a copy, visit The Big Tiny page on the PAD website.
PAD Tiny House Workshops
Dee will be teaching a one-day Intro to Tiny Houses workshop in the Bay Area on May 17th. If you are starting to think seriously about building a tiny house, this is a great opportunity to learn about technical and design issues that will help you be better prepared. Visit PAD’s workshop page for more information about this class, as well as the two-day workshop in Portland at the end of May.
NOTE: The early registration discount for the Bay Area class ends April 21!
Dee in the New York Times
The New York Times just did a great feature on Dee today with wonderful photos of her tiny house. Check it out here.
I’ll also be at the two Bay Area events along with other tiny house enthusiasts. Hope to see you there!
UPDATE: I just learned that the Bay Area workshop will be at The Crucible in Oakland – very cool. There will be a mixer after the workshop for the general public (5-7pm), so come join us! I’ll share more information on this as it becomes available.
To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.
~ Arundhati Roy, The Cost of Living
I’ve never kept a journal. There was that little red one with silver gilt lettering I got when I was seven or eight. I kept it around for awhile because I was fascinated that it had an actual lock with a key I could hide away. I scribbled a couple deep, earth-shattering secrets in it but couldn’t be bothered after that, leaving pages and pages accusingly blank. The key got lost. I made several attempts later in high school and college but just felt way too self-conscious writing about myself. I also lack discipline. I decided I was not born to write. Continue reading
I just got back from a whirlwind weekend in Atlanta for a friend’s cd release party (check out the band Roxie Watson: “When you have a group of women who are natural story-tellers, who soothe their aggressive musical chops with beautiful harmonies, temper their rock-n-roll sensibilities with an understanding of Appalachian tradition, and come off as a little bit Keith Richards, a little bit Bill Monroe, you get Roxie Watson.” – Lisa Love, Georgia Music Magazine.)
While I was there, I was telling them about how my journey to tiny houses was influenced by Robyn Davidson’s camel trek across Australia (On camels and tiny houses) and the funny coincidences that have arisen from that (On camels, cameras, courage and kindness). This morning, up early due to jetlag, I got to wondering when the movie based on her memoir, Tracks, was due to open. I found the trailer and was very happy to see that, for the most part, the scenes and images look very true to what I pictured in my mind’s eye upon reading the National Geographic article back in 1978 when I was thirteen, and my many times reading Robyn’s book:
Something strange happened on my most recent build stint. My house became real.
I had thought it was real before, as the walls went up and the roof sheathing and layers of foam went on, but I was wrong. It took up space but it only had the faintest of heartbeats, personality, soul. It had vacant eyes and a bald purple head. I loved it anyway.
But this time, with only a little prodding from me, it came into its own. It now has a full roof and windows and a crazy smile. It’s still without siding and a door, but now there is a definite sense of interior and exterior, a defiant assertion of self. I feel like my child has just sprouted a wispy beard and gotten a driver’s license; it’s both amazing and a little terrifying.
The last few weeks have been a time of big changes and a girding of loins. Of peering through the dark. Of confronting fears and planting seeds and taking leaps of faith. As I look back on my fifth build stint and the pictures I took, there’s a preponderance of grays and black, of clouds and drizzle, of cold metal and granite rocks. Of shadows, winter twilight and aluminum crutches.
But burgeoning beneath all of this are oranges and reds, warm light and glowing wood, budding friendships, camaraderie and familial love, and the promise of spring and of becoming, bubbling up like lava, inevitable, molten, raw.
“My advice for designing your tiny house? Follow your gut.
There are many valid approaches to design such as the pragmatic (function) or the aesthetic (form), but these tend to be rational processes using the cerebral cortex, the thinking part of your brain.
Here’s the thing: if you want to live happily in your tiny house over the long haul, you need to tap into your amygdala. That’s the more primitive part of your brain that triggers your immediate visceral, or gut, reactions to sensory input.”