Downsizing from a Tiny House to a Tinier House

I’ve found my next tiny house and I’m trilled about it! I’ll be living in a yurt in inner Portland. I’ve wanted to try out yurt living for several years, so I’m glad to have a chance now. I feel especially excited about this one.

My Home, Sweet Yurt is tucked in a sweet little garden space with a climbing rosebush growing over the arched entryway. Through the dome skylight one can see the top of a fig tree, bamboo shoots, and a nearby maple tree. After falling in love with the skylight in the sleeping loft of Brit’s Bungalow, I’m delighted I’ll be able to sleep with a view of the sun, the moon, the stars, the rain, and the clouds again.

At 114 square feet with no loft, the yurt is even smaller than the tiny house on wheels I lived in last year. So I’ll be downsizing from a tiny house to an even tinier house. I’m looking forward to the smaller space because it’s going to help enforce My Things Challenge and a simple lifestyle. Stay tuned for more tiny adventures!

The Proof is in the Practicum

(Check out a Teeny, Tiny Film about the project!)

Just over two years ago I began my Certificate in Sustainable Design & Building at Yestermorrow Design-Build School in Warren, Vermont. I started out with the three week core curriculum Ecological Design in the Built Environment. I returned to Yestermorrow that fall for the Less is More Class focused on designing small spaces and the composting toilets workshop. That winter I participated in the two week Natural Design-Build course, a hands-on class that enabled us to work with straw bale, light straw clay, and wood chip clay construction techniques as well as design considerations for natural structures. I finished up my coursework in February with a set of three classes: Sustainable Development Best Practices, Green Remodeling, and Invisible Structures. This last course has really stuck with me since it focused on the social, legal, and financial systems that support our built environment. The coursework exposed me to new ideas and information as well as a very practical building skill set. More importantly, it introduced me to a network of talented, fascinating, and inspiring people who encourage each other across time and space.

But I knew all along that the certificate practicum project would be my chance to show that I had synthesized the knowledge and was able to apply it. When my friend asked me last winter to help her design and build her Tiny Barn, I realized I could count tiny house building as my practicum project. I asked Dave Cain, one of my Less is More instructors to be my adviser and he agreed. In March I helped my friend build the shell of her Tiny Barn and this summer I’ve been a Tiny House Design-Building for Orange Splot. I’ve had the chance to take a tiny house from the shell stage to near completion. Between the two projects I’ve learned how to build a tiny house on wheels from foundation to trim!

Yesterday I presented my practicum project to a panel of critics at Yestermorrow. A former classmate of mine Emily Morris is a talented videographer and made a Teeny, Tiny Film for me, which was part of the presentation! I was able to Skype in from the tiny house I helped build so I gave a tiny virtual tour at the beginning of our conversation. The half hour went by quickly as I shared my story, my lessons learned, and my next steps. I was dubbed a “tiny house evangelist” by one of my former classmates who was also presenting his practicum. I’ll have to be careful with that, but I was honored.

I initially considered Yestermorrow a stepping stone in my path towards creating sustainable community, but instead it's been more like a springboard, catapulting me on to adventures and opportunities far beyond what I originally envisioned. Yestermorrow's Certificate in Sustainable Design-Build has introduced me to fascinating ideas, brilliant people, and a plethora of information that has proven invaluable as I've embarked on a career in sustainable design, build, and consulting. Thank you, Yestermorrow!

Packing Lightly vs. Packing Densely

I’ve never been good at packing lightly. This might come as a surprise to people who see the minuscule size of my luggage. I haven’t checked a bag on a plane, train, or bus since 2003. That fall I overpacked when I studied abroad in Florence, Italy. I brought a big backpack on my back, a small pack on my front, and I wheeled a big suitcase and a small one. Then I discovered that they sell shampoo in Italy, too. And clothes. Beautiful clothes.

I can’t remember now what I thought I needed badly enough that I should schlep it on a three-month international adventure. What I do remember is how liberating it felt the second-to-last week I was in Italy when I took myself to Venice for the weekend with just my guide bag. Its contents I do remember: guide book, wallet, comb, toothbrush, toothpaste, extra pair of underwear, extra long sleeve shirt, cell phone, camera, and keys. These ten items became my ten essentials for travel. All my subsequent packing has started with this core set of necessities.

Three months of exploring Italy taught me that I needed very little to get around and that the less I brought the freer I would be to explore. The thing was, I didn’t pack lightly. I packed densely. The bag I brought was tiny, but it was full. When I pack a bag, I do pack it. When I load up a car it’s a game of Tetris. I think compression straps and bungee cords may have been invented with me in mind.

Since then I’ve fit my sleeping bag (and its liner), my work boots, my Carhartts, and everything else I needed for a week-long service trip into a carry-on bag. I packed mostly the same stuff for the three-week core curriculum for Yestermorrow’s Certificate in Sustainable Design and Building. (I discovered one doesn’t need more stuff for three weeks than for one.) I’ve done two-week vacations to Denmark, South Africa, and Benelux (Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands) with a carry-on. My favorite was probably my two-week trip to Thailand with an “overnight” bag. (You know, the one you put over the handle of your wheeled suitcase.) Granted, I did bring a few extra things back and that required picking up a new bag at the night market in Chaing Mai. But everything I brought along with me to Thailand in the first place fit into a very dense cubic foot of luggage.

I’ve employed similar dense packing strategies at home. I discovered I can put my plates inside my pie pan so they’re all easily accessible. I’ve added temporary shelves to my permanent shelves to maximize the space. I’ve placed hooks strategically to take advantage of vertical surfaces. I’ve added drawer dividers so I can keep things organized and fill each drawer to the brim. I use my space uber efficiently, so as long as I can cram one more thing into the space I’ve allocated for it, I figure I’m doing okay.

I guess that’s why My Things Challenge has been such a challenge for me. Whereas I’ve been a minimalist when it comes to space, I haven’t necessarily been a minimalist when it comes to stuff. For instance, I’ve felt good about keeping my clothing contained to a single dresser, but I haven’t stopped to question whether I will actually manage to wear all eight tank tops during our measly short version of a northwest summer.

Space and count are both quantitative measures, of course, but they ask me to measure differently. (I do try to focus on quality, too, owning fewer but nicer things.) I think I like dense packing better. I like having my container and the freedom to fill it with whatever I can make fit inside. But I’ve found the 100 Things Challenge an interesting game. It has made me consider my possessions differently and it has helped me eliminate some of the clutter so I have a little more wiggle room inside my drawers and cupboards. It’s given me a little extra space to let something else into my life. I'm leaving room for more of life's souvenirs.

Lina's Vision for Tiny Cohousing

 

After studying ecovillages, communes, and housing cooperatives for the past fifteen years, I’ve come to believe that cohousing is the most comfortable fit for many Americans interested in collaborative living. Cohousing strikes a healthy balance between common, private, and public spaces. It enables people to find a comfortable blend of privacy and interaction. Tiny House Communities would do all this on a micro scale, using existing infrastructure and affordable, sustainable homes. In fact, tiny cohousing may be our best bet for creating sustainable, livable communities within the constraints of our existing economy and built environment.

As I envision it, the ideal tiny cohousing site would be a piece of property in a convenient-to-services-and-transit location with a small existing house that could serve as the common house. (Some others might be more interested in a rural location and one of the cool things about cohousing communities is that they are located across the urban to rural transect so people can find one that suits their desires.) Somewhere around 4-6 tiny houses seems to me like it would be just right to create a sense of community while also keeping things manageable in an infill scenario.

The common house could have a living room big enough for gatherings and entertaining, a bathroom with a shower and toilet, and a washing machine. There would also be a room or two that could be rented as workspace for home-based businesses or reserved for the weekend for out-of-town guests. There might be a garage or shed that could be a common workshop. The members could share a grill, a lawn mower, and even a car or pick-up truck (which could also be part of Getaround, of course!) Perhaps there would also be garden space with perennials and fruit trees as well as plots where members of the community could grow annual veggies and flowers. Of course, the common house would also have that most important of rooms - a kitchen - with an oven with full-size cookie sheets, a food processor, a blender, etc.

People who lived in a tiny house community would have access to all these things, but they wouldn’t have to own all these things themselves. They would have an ownership share in caring for these common spaces and items because part of the rent for their parking spot would go to maintaining the common spaces. It’s fairly typical in cohousing communities to design smaller individual units and dedicate part of the space and money that would have been private to the common house and other common areas. Tiny cohousing would just push the envelope on this point.

The tiny houses would be private, providing a place of one’s own for each individual, couple, or family. People wouldn’t have to trip over housemates (or their neighbors dishes!) Since the common house would have some combination of bathing, toilet, and cooking facilities, the tiny houses could be fairly simple (more like detached bedrooms). In Denmark where cohousing originated, many of the units are rentals, but here in the United States most cohousing communities are owner-occupied. In a tiny house community the cost of a tiny house would be reasonable enough that people could either move their own tiny homes to the property or rent a tiny house located on the property.

It seems to me tiny cohousing would be a good option for compact, infill development in low-density neighborhoods. Since the tiny houses would most likely be on wheels they would be mobile, so they wouldn’t permanently alter the character of the existing neighborhoods. (Of course, with the right zoning codes fixed structures would work, too.) There would be flexibility to change the properties over time as the needs of a given neighborhood shifted.

Tiny house residents could come and go, moving to a different tiny house community on the other side of town and taking their house with them. Tiny cohousing could provide affordable housing for students or retirees. Families could live in a combination of tiny houses, with teenagers in their own tiny houses next door, testing their independence within the support of the larger community. Building a tiny house might be a rite of passage for some teens. (A few super inspirational teens like Celina Dill Pickle are already building their own tiny houses and they’re planning to take them along to college – these are smart kids are my heros!) The communities could be multi-generational and could draw people from a variety of backgrounds with different skill sets and interests.

Members of tiny cohousing could decide whether to divide the labor of maintaining the common house and the common spaces amongst themselves (and, if so, what system would work best for them). Or they could outsource this work, paying someone else to do it and creating local jobs. They could make choices collectively about whether to share resources such as tools, bulk food, or outdoor equipment like kayaks and bicycle trailers. They could also elect to have common meals, which could range from taking turns cooking for each other daily to having a weekly or monthly potluck. And, of course, they could develop traditions as all communities do: ways to celebrate birthdays, holidays, and the passing of the seasons.

Tiny House Community

Tiny house enthusiasts across the country (and perhaps around the world) are envisioning tiny house communities. (You can see my Vision for Tiny Cohousing here.) All of us think we’ve invented the idea ourselves. I certainly did when I first described it to another cohousing enthusiast three years ago. But then I found the Low Cost Community Housing Google Group which had some lively conversations but has been silent since 2010 when Marganne posed the question "Where do we go from here?" I think she and her blog Cohousing, Small House Movement were ahead of their time. These days, it's pretty common to hear tiny house lovers exclaim, “I have this great idea of creating a whole community of tiny houses!” After they get over the initial disappointment that they didn't invent it, they get excited that there are other people who want to do it, too. The Tiny House Movement has gained considerable momentum in the past two years and I think it's time for a rekindling of the conversation about tiny house communities.

Some imagine a tiny house community as a reinvention of the mobile home park. Some envision a glorified national park campground. Some describe something more like a collection of gypsy wagons. Still others fantasize about tiny house pods like Portland’s food cart pods. Some describe tiny house villages.

Since I have spent half my life studying cohousing, my favorite model for a tiny house community would be a tiny cohousing - a cohousing community composed of tiny houses around a common house. Check out Lina's Vision for Tiny Cohousing for a description of what tiny house cohousing could be like. For more information about traditional cohousing, please check out the Cohousing Association description.

Haunted by Unfinished Business

Moving is a great time to start The 100 Thing Challenge since you have to handle most of your stuff anyhow. But it is amazing how easy it is to just move that box/bin/tote/bag (again!) without actually taking a look through it. I’ve decided to leave no container unconsidered this summer. I’m taking time each week to dig through my stuff to prep myself for My Things Challenge. It’s been fascinating, but also disconcerting. When I moved into My Summer Garden Cottage two weeks ago I began my inventory for the 100 Thing Challenge. My plan is to inventory my things, decide how many things I want to live with and make a list of them, and then to spend the next school year living with those items. As I unpacked I recorded each item as I gave it a spot in my new home. I got through the kitchen, bathroom, clothes, and books with no problem. But by the time I got to my crafts supply bin, my toolbox, and my paperwork tote I was wiped out. I was totally overwhelmed just looking at these three containers. I couldn’t muster the mental and emotional energy to deal with them. So I took a break and decided to come back to them later.

First thing Saturday morning I fortified with a good breakfast before tackling my craft bin. Sifting through and considering its contents brought up nagging questions like these: When was the last time I painted with watercolors? Do I even like the fabric I’ve brought with me in my last two moves? Will I ever have the heart to pick up #2 needles again after burning out on knitting socks two years ago? What is this thingamajig anyhow and what in the world was I going to do with it? These are tough questions for me. Especially that last one, since some of the items in my craft bin have been in there for about twenty years now! If I haven’t done anything with the thingamajig by now, chances are really good I never will get around to it. So I’m surprised it’s so hard to consider getting rid of art and craft supplies.

Some of these materials remind me of certain times in my life and projects I felt a strong compulsion to tackle once upon a time. I was inspired a couple years ago to make a wind chime out of found objects. Another time I was motivated to make a skirt from some pretty fabric a friend picked up abroad. During my international travels I have been diligent about collecting gelato spoons and ticket stubs for my scrapbooks. But I never got around to these projects so now their unused components just make me feel guilty. My interests have shifted. This summer I have my Summer Dream Job building a tiny house, which is requiring plenty of creativity. I’ve found a new art form and a new outlet for my craft.

Unfinished scrapbooks, a lonely wristwarmer with a half-completed mate, unhemmed pants all taunt me. I’m a finisher by nature. I like a sense of accomplishment and I like having things wrapped up. My craft bin doesn’t say “look at all this potential!” It says “look what you never finished!” I’m tired of being haunted by the ghosts of projects past, present, and future. So I’ve decided that I need to do one of two things between now and my next move: I either need to address this unfinished business and devote time to these projects or I need to let them go so I can focus my space, time, and energy on other projects and ideas. Some things I may come back to. Some things I may not. Either way, I hope my craft projects and I can rest in peace.

Switching Routes

Since moving to Portland I’ve lived in three different places, each just three blocks from the last. Yet, I’ve found these small shifts have changed which bus route I’m closest to, so I’ve switched bus routes each time. I’ve really enjoyed my newest bus route because my transfer point is much more bustling. I can stop to pick up groceries on my way home without going out of my way. The start of my bike route is slightly different, taking me through new parts of the neighborhood at the beginning of my daily commute, but most of my bike route remains the same.

Last spring I was in a Geographic Information Systems (GIS) class and my group’s project was to map public amenities and access to them via bike routes and transit. I was not surprised to discover that my neighborhood, Cully, is one of the least well-served neighborhoods east of 82^nd Avenue. There are great things happening in Cully including a new park, a farmer’s market, a new business overlay zone, a couple urban farms, and, of course, Cully Grove. There are many large lots in Cully, so there are folks with double lots, big gardens, and backyard chickens. If I were interested in the urban homestead lifestyle, this would be a great neighborhood for me. I think it’s pretty neat that a place like Cully exists within the inner city. But this low level density cannot sustain as many urban amenities as a more compact development.

I’m studying sustainable urban planning, I’m crazy about small spaces, and I travel by foot, bike, transit, and car share, so being in a more compact area is a better fit for me. Besides, I appreciate a lifestyle that involves interacting with my surrounding community. When I visited my little sister last spring I was amazed at how nice it was to walk to the grocery store and the coffee shop in just a few minutes. For my next abode I hope to find a place in a much more dense area. I’m curious to see where it will be!

Oh, the Joys of Homeownership

Last weekend I returned to the two-bedroom bungalow I own in Walla Walla to transition it over for new tenants.  It was a long, hot weekend with temperatures reaching 102 both days. I found myself reminded both how much I love my house and how much time and energy it takes to maintain a piece of property. What a difference there is between caring for my two-bedroom bungalow and caring for tiny house on wheels I rented for ten months!

I purchased my bungalow in a fantastic tree-lined neighborhood in late 2007, just before the housing market took a nosedive. For four years it was my home, sweet home. The house itself is charming with arched doorways, coved ceilings, wood floors, beautiful original 1920s windows, and a wooden kitchen countertop with a drain board. However, it was really the location that convinced me this was the right house for me. My garden cottage was just a few blocks from my job at Whitman College and a short walk to downtown Walla Walla along tree-lined streets. There’s a duck pond across the street and a creek running through the back. I also have fantastic neighbors – the kind of neighbors who stop to chat, who keep an eye out for each other, who trade garden and pet care when the others are camping, who throw an annual block party in the summer and a holiday party in the winter, who help each other out during a windstorm that drops trees on houses and cars.

I learned an enormous amount about building science, remodeling, and retrofitting as I worked on water and energy efficiency projects. I insulated the attic, walls, and crawl space, replaced inefficient windows and doors, installed Energy Star appliances, repainted with low-VOC paints, and added programmable thermostats, an exhaust fan, and a ceiling fan for improved indoor air quality. I dug my own trench when my water main broke and had to be replaced. We decided to replace the entire plumbing system while we were at it. With the help of some talented folks I also tore out a wall, relocated the bathroom plumbing, and moved an exterior wall to create a laundry nook off the bathroom for a stacked washer and a dryer I could use during Walla Walla’s foggy months. (It turns out the chain link fence which I never liked much came in handy for drying clothes outside during nine months of the year. It was also great for growing peas and beans!)

Over the course of three summers I transformed a weedy and barren landscape into a vibrant food forest by tearing out my lawn and planting vegetables and flowers. I loved sitting on the front patio I created, behind a screen of sunflowers and ruby red dahlias, sipping homemade grape juice, watching the bees and butterflies, and plotting to preserve the bushels of pickling cukes and tomatoes overflowing from my raised garden beds. I enjoyed lounging in a hammock under the solar trellis I built, which provides shade for the southern side of the house, support for my tomato “trees,” and may someday also support solar panels. I delighted in selecting seeds, planting my ten dwarf fruit trees, a wildflower meadow, and a variety of berry bushes and Japanese maples. I marveled at how quickly the sage, thyme, oregano, chives, and valerian filled in among the flowers and trees. I built a chicken coop and run and raised chickens from day-old chicks. I also learned to identify Calliope and Rufus hummingbirds as well as several of the finches that frequented the garden. I liked watching the bats come out at night and listening for the hoots of the screech owls. Once in a while I’d even see a great blue heron or a hawk near the creek.

Homeownership brought me great satisfaction, so it was difficult to leave my beloved abode when I moved to Portland to study urban planning. However, I knew a house is only sustainable in the context of its community.  Our transportation, food, and educational systems all matter, too. Walla Walla is a resilient community in many ways, with great potential to be more sustainable. My time working with sustainability initiatives in Walla Walla eventually convinced me it was time to pursue a professional degree in urban planning. After several years on the board of directors for a food cooperative, the Sustainable Living Center, and the Sustainability Advisory Committee for the City of Walla Walla, I realized it was time to take a bigger step towards my life goal of creating more sustainable community. I wanted to focus my attention on the big picture, not just making one very small place more beautiful. As I departed for Portland I was glad to leave my garden bungalow in the hands of fantastic tenants and under the watchful eye of caring neighbors. I’ve been looking forward to heading back to Walla Walla with a tiny house I can park in my nice long driveway. I like the idea of having the flexibility of renting out one and living in the other, depending on which one suits my needs at any given time.

Yet, last weekend as I spent a two long, hot Walla Walla summer days scrubbing floor boards behind the stove and fridge, doing paint touch ups, and tidying up the yard, I was shocked by the reminder of how much work it is maintaining an 830 square foot house on a 50x100 lot! The four years I lived in my bungalow I – like my wonderful neighbors – spent most evenings and weekends either doing home improvement projects or working in my garden. I poured heart, soul, time, energy, and money into my property. Over the years, whenever one of my neighbors had a homeownership disaster (the dishwasher breaking, the basement flooding, the windstorm blowing shingles off the roof, etc.), we would joke, “Oh, the joys of homeownership!” There are, of course, many joys to homeownership, but these were not them! There seems to be an understanding among homeowners that these personal disasters are outweighed by the personal delights of owning a home. A year ago I would have agreed.

But now I’ve lived in a tiny house for ten months. Now I’ve lived in a city that prioritizes sustainability initiatives. Now I know the benefits of providing access without requiring ownership. Portland has invested in its public transportation and bike lanes, revised policy to accommodate urban farms, and created a citywide compost system. It’s the only city I know of that has marked skateboard routes throughout the city. Now that’s an endorsement for active transportation! Meanwhile, the tiny house I rented for ten months took very little work. It is well-built and simple, requiring little maintenance and just a few minutes of cleaning each week. The reminder of how much work it is to maintain even a small home on a small lot has me thinking again about how building small is even more powerful when it's combined with community. My perspective has shifted over the course of the past year. I’m more fascinated than ever by the prospect of Tiny Cohousing, a collection of little homes that share in the benefits and responsibility of caring for a little place in this big world.

Playing with Fire

This week two families I know tragically lost their homes to house fires. Although both experienced major losses, one of the house fires will be covered by insurance and the other won’t. My friend’s family lost many irreplaceable possessions including photographs and a cherished collection in addition to their dear pet cat. Although these items can never be replaced their insurance money will help them start over. On the other hand, Kim lost her almost completed tiny house and insurance won’t cover it. I posted a letter from Dee Williams in the hope that tiny house enthusiasts would be able to help, just a tiny bit. I’ve felt the sadness of their losses this week. Other than making a small donation to Kim’s rebuilding fund and checking in with my friend who is helping his family, I haven’t been quite sure what to do. Today I’ve realized that one thing I can do to make sure something good comes of this tragedy is to continue the conversations I’ve had with Dee Williams and other tiny house advocates about finding a way to insure tiny houses. It may be that we can find an insurance company that will take on tiny houses. It may be that we create an insurance collective so that the tiny house community can be self-insured. We’re not sure what form this will take. If you have any ideas, contact us!

Meanwhile, as I think about what my friends have lost I realize that mentally at least I’m playing with fire. As my family friends start to consider how they will start over, what they will purchase with their insurance money, I’m thinking about what I would replace if I were in their shoes. It’s interesting to realize that some of the items I own I love so much I would replace them with exactly the same item. I love my Savvy Rest mattress, my three Gregory backpacks, my black Teva boots, my Wustoff knives, my Nau raincoat. There are a few irreplaceable gifts from loved ones – the quilt my sister made for me, the bowl a friend made the year she apprenticed as a potter, the tea pot from my mom. I couldn’t replace them with precisely the same thing and that would certainly make me sad, but at least they have functional equivalents. So as I think about what I own and what matters to me, I’m going to continue playing with fire.

Upsizing from a Tiny House to a Cottage

It feels strange to be living in a whopping 600 square feet this summer after spending last summer downsizing to live in a tiny house on wheels. It's not as though I'm bouncing around in an empty box with my voice echoing off the walls because My Summer Garden Cottage was already fully furnished (down to the garlic press!) In fact, I thought about not unpacking at all, since I'm planning to move again at the end of the summer. But I decided that this summer is a good time to make my inventory and prep myself for the 100 Things Challenge. People have asked what it's been like transitioning to a "normal" house again. After all, my downsizing process required a lot of intention.

Upsizing hasn't required much thought. I didn't have any reverse culture shock. But it does feel luxurious to have all the creature comforts of a house that's rooted to the ground instead of hooked up in a parking spot. It's pretty nice having hot water instantly available instead of having to wait for a four gallon tank to heat up so I can do my dishes or take a shower. I've had the option to shower in the tiny house but usually showered at the gym at school since I'm a bike commuter (and the four gallon tank makes for a pretty short shower!) I've continued mostly using the showers at the school gym this summer, too. When I do shower at home now I don't need to do anything with my graywater, but I can't help thinking that sending it straight to Portland's combined storm and sewer system isn't the best! Speaking of which, transitioning from a composting toilet to a regular flush toilet didn't require any special consideration since I've been using flush toilets everywhere else. (It does feel a little wasteful though. Read Potty Talk to see why.) It's easier to live this way because I don't need to deal with my systems. But I adjusted to the simple living aspects of a tiny house just fine. In fact, I kinda liked the interaction with water, compost, and propane because it made me more conscientious about my consumption and waste.

Transitioning from a small space to a larger space has also gotten me thinking about space-efficient design again. On the one hand, I love the open, spacious feel of the cottage. I think the garden setting and the big windows play a big role in that, as does the open floor plan. But it seems bizarre to have so much open space inside when functionally the cottage is a studio just like the tiny house on wheels. I think it was actually easier to cook in my tiny house kitchen because it made such good use of vertical space. Everything was always within reach and most of it was visible, too. I miss that efficiency. (I'm also trying out living without a microwave this summer. That's been a bigger adjustment than I'd expected! Instead of thinking ahead about hot water, I'm having to think ahead for hot food! I like cooking and I don't eat many prepared foods, but it is much quicker to heat up leftovers in the microwave than on the stove.) It was nice to have a full size oven when I had a friend over for pizza the other day, but I'm pretty sure we would have been happy with personal pan pizzas cooked in my toaster oven, too.

I also feel like the layout of this space is a little strange because a guest encounters the bed before the living room. The front door opens onto the bathroom and the sleeping space which are more "private" spaces and then onto the "public" spaces of the kitchen and living room. There's no divider between the sleeping space and the great room (probably to preserve long diagonal views and create a more barrier-free design). I'll have to ask Bruce and Carolyn about the design decisions on the layout. I imagine they must have had a good reason for the layout they chose, but I think I'd probably do it differently if it were my place.

Another thing I've noticed is that I've switched my transportation habits - again! Since moving to Portland I’ve lived in three different places, each just three blocks from the last. I have stuck to the Alberta-Going bike route at each location. Yet, I’ve found these small shifts have changed which bus route I’m closest to. From my first tiny house parking place I would take the #72 through the Alberta Arts District and then switch to the #8 or #9 to go downtown for school. At the second place I parked the tiny house I would walk over to the #71 and then transfer to the MAX to go downtown. Now I'm closest to the #75 which goes through Hollywood so I've been using that as my transfer point to the train to downtown. Of the three I like this combination best because Hollywood is a great place to stop and pick up groceries on the way home!