Even as the size of the average new American house has more than doubled (from 1,100 square feet during the post-WWII housing boom to more than 2,225 by 1999), more and more people are also exploring small-space living. The structures pictured were made by Tumbleweed Tiny House Co. Think dollhouse (or rather, converted garden shed). In fact it seems so large that I’m currently contemplating spending part of my year in a structure about one third this size. On summer afternoons, it’s luxuriously spacious with its glass door thrown open to sunlight and all its denizens sprawled on the deck. On winter days, when I’m tripping over tails, wiping up muddy pawprints for the umpteenth time, and having accusatory canine noses stuck into my computer (“Mom, we’re booooored!”) the cabin sometimes feels as small as a shoebox. I work as well as live here, so I’m in this one room 24 hours a day, except when the critters and I are out dog walking, running errands, picking blackberries, or otherwise adventuring. Its interior space is about 360 square feet, including closets and cabinet space. The cabin has an exterior footprint of 409 square feetnine feet above the minimum my county requires for a residence. For the last three years I’ve shared a one-room cabin with a pack of dogs and one outnumbered but boldly unflappable cat. I live in the country, but my latest life choices have also involved living in miniature spaceswhich presents an additional set of challenges, both to the soul and to practicality.
Today I suppose you’d have to update the station wagon to an SUV, but the fact remains: To live successfully anywhere outside the mainstream of life you must have an unconventional spirit coupled with down-to-earth practicalitya combo that can be hard to find and harder still to balance.
Long ago, I read that to live in the country you must have the soul of a poet, the dedication of a saint, and a good station wagon.
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