Vacation In A Not-So-Tiny House
I needed a vacation! Sometimes, getting away has less to do with Instagram postcard-worthy photos and more with breaking a daily routine by being someplace else. But, now that I live in my new old big tiny house it was also a chance to compare it to a small (but not tiny), old (actually historic) house. How have things changed?
I live by the Salish Sea, the water that neighbors the soggy cities of Vancouver and Seattle. The two US ports were protected with forts about a hundred and twenty years ago. Defenses against naval invasions needed lots of shoreline, which also happened to be scenic. Lots of concrete was poured into massive installations that weren't easy to tear down when technology obsoleted them a few decades later. Welcome to the impermanence of military spending.
Acres of land cleared for parade grounds are punctuated with buried concrete buildings that housed big guns and tons of ammo, but which now are left as tourist attractions. The forts also housed hundreds of soldiers. The houses that housed the soldiers weren't buried. They were simple and now are quaint antique vacation homes available for rent. I rented the Hospital Steward's house for four nights (five days).
Officer's quarters tend to be the best to rent because they don't have to deal with shared barracks and baths. For less than $130/night I rented a two-bedroom, two-story house that was a surprise.
The pleasant surprise was how well it was designed and maintained. Today, I am sure you can hire an architect and designer to create simply elegant interiors. Keep it simple, by concentrated design. The house was built in 1900, probably hired someone to design the fort's buildings in bulk, and yet was naturally simple and therefore naturally and frugally elegant.
It is bigger than my 391-square-foot tiny built in 2006, but much of the extra space was necessary for a lifestyle that had more to do with hauling and burning wood and coal. Lighting wasn't originally electric. Outlets had to be added. Ventilation schemes blocked off. Originally, there were doors between all of the rooms, whether for privacy, kid control, or temperature regulation. That also meant room to swing was necessary. It was also a more formal time with a third of the ground floor dedicated to a dining room. The kitchen is also a third of that floor, and in such a remote location, probably meant a big pantry. The other third is the living room and the stairs to the second floor.
The place is big enough for a small family, so the extra room made more sense.
The not-so-pleasant surprise was the steep staircase that led to the bedrooms and bathroom. The height of the rooms was elegant and a reminder of times when heating was through burning something, which meant tall ceilings got the smoke out of the resident's way. It also meant a much taller staircase. They couldn't include a broad staircase or deep treads, so, at least for me, it was a hand-on-railing climb to the only bathroom. If the bathroom was on the first floor, I would've slept on the living room couch simply to avoid making the climb several times each night. The realities of getting older. Instead, I camped upstairs at night and spent the days downstairs.
A vacation is an opportunity to break old routines and try new ones. Considering what I saw, it seems possible to do something similar with a modern tiny house.
Skip the formal spaces. That has less to do with tiny houses and more to do with modern informality. It was a reminder that I miss a piece or two of upholstered furniture, but it was also a reminder of the lack of a need for formal dining. Living alone can mean losing the living room, but a family could still use a family room. Go to your room may be something anyone would want to do if they didn't want to sit through someone else's entertainment.
Better heating means lower ceilings, though high ceilings can also allow for lofts. Imagine what it was like to maneuver around a pot-bellied stove in the dark.
Those steep stairs would be shorter. For the right residents, a tiny house ladder may suffice.
The kitchen was easily four times the size of the one in my tiny house. It was more than large enough, though I do miss the workspace and pantry.
Like in a modern tiny house, they shoehorned in the upper rooms to the point that a shower requires a crouch, and walking around at night can mean bumping a head into a sloped ceiling.
As I wandered around, I repeatedly thought how I'd redesign the place. Modern appliances and expectations are easy to imagine. (Install wi-fi or enjoy a digital detox.) With some of those improvements, the house would feel at least twice as large.
But, it wouldn't work for me. House design can be academic and abstract. My reality includes a wobbly knee that reminds me to take stairs carefully. I'll spare you the details of life with a bladder that's been used for 66+ years.
I enjoyed my stay. Parts were luxurious. The house was peaceful, quaint, and quiet. The view was a little wobbly because antique glass isn't exactly flat, but that was a reminder of the accomplishment of surviving over a century of wind and rain. The classic style was relaxing. It wasn't trying to show off or distract, even in the formal areas. It was quiet. There were very few electronics glowing or whirring. A modern-day background hum was gone, and it oddly took some adjusting. (I have one friend who couldn't sleep in the country because city sirens were comforting reminders that people were there to protect him. The silence was scary.)
I was glad to be back. The nearness of everything in a tiny house is comforting. As I've mentioned before, having so much within Arm's Reach is a luxury. Familiarity is comforting. So is the intentional living that is required, which meant not having to look past distractions that are in most homes filling voids and empty walls.
It was also a reminder that, while I don't need the big kitchen or formal dining room, it is a house that would be far easier to host a party in.
We build ruts in our lives through running in the same routines. Sometimes, the best way to see our routines is to go somewhere else, anywhere else, simply to be able to look back and see what we miss and what we should miss - even life in a tiny house.