It was, simply put, fascinating to me. I was captivated, intrigued, and I found myself imagining a life free from possessions. Thus freed, I’d have boundless hours to spend pursuing a carefree lifestyle. Oh, the ease with which my mind wandered through tiny spaces as I watched the cutest cubes and rectangles metamorphose into comfortable tiny homes. Turning to my husband as we watched yet another episode of a show about tiny homes on our giant-sized flat screen TV, I said, “I could live in a tiny home.” Without missing a beat he retorted, “Go ahead.”
The tiny home movement is a growing phenomenon. Young adults, people in transitional stages, senior citizens, and all sorts of folks are embracing a less traditional lifestyle. Yes, it seems tiny houses are the new McMansions only in miniature.
Watching DIY TV programs featuring tiny homes has inspired me to clean out closets, give away unused clothing, and donate books to the library. I find myself standing in the kitchen eyeing pots and pans and thinking, “Do I really need these?” or wondering, “Is that clutter?” Massive plastic bags of all manner of stuff, material possessions, have gone out the door headed to who knows where.
That’s what happens when you go small. You have to look at your stuff and consider what is really essential. It’s like packing for a long trip you plan to take but never return from. I mean, how many tee shirts does a person really need … or blue jeans, or shoes, or hair products? How little can one live comfortably with versus without?
I guess maybe the thing that fascinates me the most about these tiny homes is the creative use of the interior spaces. Storage under narrow stairs that lead to a sleeping loft are a feature, as are tables that fold open from where they rest along walls, sinks that double as small tubs for washing infants or clothing, and book shelves above door jams or hidden in under-bed crevices shared with a collapsible desk.
Oh, and then there are the designs. Tiny homes can be contemporary, modern, cottage, Tudor, cabin. Yes, just about any style except large. The more I watched the shows about tiny homes – some of which are located outside the U.S. – the more I fell in love.
And then it happened. A realization like a very deep, very real déjà vu washed over me as I realized: been there, done that. I had already experienced the tiny-home lifestyle, only that’s not what we called it back in 1980.
From 1980 until 1990, my son and I lived in a mobile home trailer complete with wheels hiding behind the skirting.
In those days, it was the most economical housing option I could find; one that fit with my income and my desire to not live in an apartment or sub-par rental home.
My father knew of an older couple retiring to Florida who had what he termed as a “cream puff” trailer. They were looking to sell. I was not really looking to buy and certainly not a mobile home at that time, but I was willing to humor my father.
Now, let me be clear. Living in a trailer park isn’t for everyone. The units are packed closely together and there are a number of rules one must adhere to in order for the property to function within the confines of the permit the town has granted. Also, humans packed closely together need rules for civil occupation of limited space. Enough said on that.
The whole unit was about 70-feet long from end to end. When I walked into the home, it was comfortable, clean, and certainly large enough for my son and me. The kitchen was about 15 feet long by 12 feet wide, with built-in cabinets, full-size appliances, and a new linoleum floor.
To the left was a living space with room for a sofa, a side chair, coffee table, and cabinet TV (flat screens had not yet been invented). Continuing on down a corridor that ran nearly the entire length of the structure was one tiny 8-foot by 8-foot bedroom. There was a nook where a washer and drier could be placed, and then the bathroom immediately after that. The rear end of the trailer was the ‘master bedroom’ with space for a double bed, built in drawers, and a closet. Plenty of space. No problem. Huge!
I purchased the home. It served us well for 10 years. But as my son grew into a young man, not only was space an issue, but also the structure was showing serious signs of wear and tear. It was by then more than 25 years old. Time to go.
We moved to Mattapoisett in August of 1990 into a real house for the first time.
Twenty-five years later, as I look back, I recall many happy years in that little place and I laugh because, in many ways, it was much more like camping out for a decade. No wonder a kid didn’t mind it. But I also remember the harsh winters when pipes would freeze or summers so stifling hot the dog would lie with his head practically hanging out a window in the hope a breeze might happen by.
Anyway, the issue of storage cannot be overstated. If you have stuff, even a little bit of stuff, then tiny living isn’t for you, nor would a tiny house suit me at this stage in my life. Even a double-wide couldn’t coax me out of my comfy nest, my first home, the one my husband and I have enjoyed all these years. But hey, wait a minute – he might have seemed a bit too willing to let me go.…
By Marilou Newell
