Tiny houses
And big ole me
It’s been at least twenty years since I first toured a “tiny house.” Actually, probably more like 25 years, now that I think about it.
Way back when, after my divorce and the idea of moving somewhere other than Gillette, Wyoming, I tinkered with the idea of going tiny.
I moved to Utah in a blizzard, arriving on March 1, 2002.
My daughters followed behind after the school year ended for them, and while I set up a two-bedroom apartment in the town of West Valley, Utah, I explored the idea of buying another house.
Once my daughters arrived from Wyoming, it became clear to me that buying a house would have to be put on hold until I knew where my relationship with my boyfriend, Joel, was headed.
It actually went straight into the bin after just two months.
But that’s another story.
For about 6 months, though, my daughters and I lived in this two-bedroom apartment in West Valley. It was a tight-fitting situation, but there was a pool, on-site laundry, and it was close to my job.
We had to move into a three-bedroom after my mother came to live with us because my two girls, my mother, and I just couldn’t fit into a two-bedroom apartment comfortably.
Fifteen months after my mother moved in with us, she was back at my sister’s house in southern Utah.
On my way to work one morning, I passed by an RV lot, and there was a row of “tiny houses.” I made a mental note of where it was located, and on the weekend, loaded up my girls and went back to tour the little houses.
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I had been watching everything I could find on YouTube about the Tiny House revolution and all of these people who were “going tiny.”
I. WAS. HOOKED.
The fascination of downsizing is something that sticks with me because my belief system is such that I know we over-consume.
Because my youngest daughter’s favorite color is blue, of course, that was the first “tiny” we viewed. Everything about the little HOW (house on wheels) was immaculate. A downstairs bedroom, small kitchen, small living room, and not one, but two divided sleeping areas in the upper loft.
My mind immediately imagined buying this tiny home for the less than $40,000 it was advertised for, plopping it on a parcel of land, and living a less-stressful life.
But I gave birth to two Geminis.
It’s like having four children, where two are standing. My oldest daughter is much like me in the way that she collects piles of yarn, pretty things, and anything that catches her eye. She’s also messy.
My youngest daughter is the polar opposite. There’s absolutely nothing extra in her life, just exactly what she needs to have a comfortable life and nothing more.
This was a dynamic that would immediately squash the idea of a tiny home for the three of us.
Oldest daughter’s shit would inevitably invade the youngest daughter’s space, and there would be hell to pay on all borders.
Some Saturdays, I will sit with my eyes glued to the screen, watching YouTube (TM) video after video of “Tiny Houses.” My passion for their “cuteness” is still very much alive within my heart.
The home I bought in 2019 is considered a “small home” because of its thousand square feet. In my house, I have two full bathrooms and two bedrooms. It really IS all the space I need as an aging, single woman.
But I have stuff. A lot of it. So, watching videos on how people manage their storage and space constraints in a Tiny House helps give me ideas about how to make room in my own small home.
One day, I predict I will become a hermit in the Highlands of Scotland, living out my life in a “Tiny House” amongst the heather, afternoon clouds kissing the tops of the Glen Coe, with a couple of cats and my yarn.
It’s going to remain a dream of mine until I can make it come true!
