Over the summer I went to a screening of a new tiny house documentary called Small is Beautiful, held at the Woolly Mammoth theater in DC (a perfect venue), and hosted by Boneyard Studios, a local group dedicated to tiny house living. I was excited to see this documentary - I think it was seeing the first documentary of this kind, called Tiny, that helped to reinstate my interest in building this little house. But this one was different. It served as a sort of speed bump, seemingly meant to make people stop and question if this is something they really want to do. I recognize the need for that - it's a commitment, and one that just about weekly I get slightly (or more) scared of. How am I irreversibly directing the course of my life by doing this? WHY am I doing this? What do I hope to achieve?
I can't answer these questions fully. The questions are more apparent than the answers, at the moment. Yet, at the same moment, I carry with me momentum that does not want to be disturbed by this asking. My brain tends to go into overdrive generally in life, questioning everything (specifically itself) but I won't let it do that here with this project. And I am fully aware that is because the process of building this little house is immensely....enjoyable. What service do I do for myself to question that?
We've been amazingly lucky to have gorgeous fall weather on work days to keep us company while building for the past few weeks, right up to the complete enclosure of the house. My lovely and amazing friend Michelle, who is always up for just about any sort of challenge (we are also challenging each other at the climbing gym as often as we can) has seen the tiny in all its major phases, and so didn't miss the roof framing and sheathing last weekend. That was completed only yesterday, and now the house is fully sheathed, an unbuttoned coat waiting for Autumn to take over - as it is tonight with a chilly, steady rain. I feel very protective of this newly created object though, and have a tarp covering it until it gets a more permanent enclosure.
Part of what I love about this process is seeing the house evolve, and that doesn't always mean into something more beautiful. The house is enclosed, and it's fun to sit inside and imagine its possibilities, but it also just feels like a slightly damp plywood shell. That's a little gross, but it makes me excited to see how it transforms again into something brighter...The windows come soon, and I know as soon as those go in (at this rate it will take a month to figure out how to do that) the house will transform again...