If you’ve followed the blog since the beginning, you know that the process of homesteading (aka turning a mousenest + vacant land into a liveable place to call home) has not been all solar panels and functioning plumbing. I’ll be the first to admit that I fantasize about a master bedroom the size of Oklahoma. We chose to do this, in large part because of our love of nature and my unhealthy obsession with Tiny House Blog (oh, did I mention leaving our jobs?). Sometimes I want to take a chair to the a-frame wall until it falls down just so I can have a little elbow room. Other times, I can see how we’ve grown from being so smashed into small spaces and am grateful.
When visitors come, I remember how novel, sustainable, and finicky our lives are at Circular Lodgic. We know exactly how much water we use each day, and it’s not much. We think about our heat often and aren’t wasteful about it. If you leave the door to the porch open for more than 1.5 second in winter, you might turn around to see me and Bryan rushing to shut it tight behind you. You’ll also probably have cold feet. On the other hand, you might hear the coyotes howling as you make your way to slumber, and you can watch fire dance inside the woodstove as it warms your feet.
Dearest Katelynn posted Hipstercrite’s blog on my Facebooks the other day and I laughed maniacally in the little computer lab assistant office because whatsherface over there nailed it. She’s asking what many people wonder about living tiny (it’s okay if you no longer think we live tiny–don’t care until you try to feed more than two people in the kitchen) and poking fun at the ridiculousness of how tiny house denizens portray their lives. Exhibit A: My kitchen always looks like this (when I pick it all up specifically because I need a photo of it or someone is coming over):
She got this part right too, much to my delight: “Do you have a tiny river that runs behind your tiny house? I bet you do. I bet your whole Goddamn property is whimsical.” Yep.