Tiny House Sanctuary

It is a cool July morning in southern Illinois and strangely, the air we wear is low. Yeah. Humidity. Summer between the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers is unbearably sticky and my white railed veranda is my sanctuary. I love coffee in the mornings there while the sun thinks about burning the mist off the water on a nearby pond.  

Three years ago, Jim and I thought it would be a great idea to leave the comfortable home where we raised two kids, four exchange students, my elderly father, multiple dogs and two cats, and downsize.  One thirty foot dumpster, a moving sale, three trips to Salvation Army, and donating everything else to friends and family later, we moved a couple of boxes and our 96 lb. Chocolate Lab Lex, into our new 574 sq. ft. home.

It is a lovely little cabin on a quiet, rolling green half-acre hill. There are huge shade trees, eye-popping flowers (planted myself), birds and butterflies of many species, deer and squirrels.  The cicadas are always harmonic and bees nestle into the homes they’ve expertly engineered above our heads on the porch. Lex clandestinely meets with a nearby family of skunks in residence.

Getting out and meeting people became a priority, and we made new friends right away.  Suzy became a fast friend and someone we can always rely on. We get together every week, sharing stories about children, grandkids, hiking, the weather.  We haven’t had the honor of having her as our cabin guest yet, but she graciously lets us visit her place when we like. We’d have missed out on her friendship and banter with the other women who work at Suzy’s Laundromat seven miles down the road if we had a laundry room.

We wouldn’t be laughing about how my hulking husband can turn the hot water full blast when he turns to the right or the cold water off when he turns to the left, in our camper-sized shower right next to the toiletsinkhotwaterheater, if he hadn’t lost 80 lbs. and become quite svelte.  As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure we’d still be in a large house with a regular sized shower, Jacuzzi tub, and double sink with lots of lighting and cabinets, wondering what it would be like to live in a tiny house.

Once we settled in, I had a dinner party that first fall.  Nothing but the best for these five girlfriends. We ate on my granny’s china and bellied up around my father-in-law’s beautifully restored Air Force trunk, all while sitting on the futon, two hardwood chairs, and a lawn chair.  Very cozy and time-saving all in one–only one person could get up at a time, so that person was server, replenishing sangrias and refilling plates until another needed to trade places with her to go to the loo. I don’t think they really noticed the stove and refrigerator spilling into the parlor.  Jim went to a local restaurant/pub so he could sit AND eat. Husbands sure can be difficult like that.

The second dinner party was held off the veranda the following summer, under a huge Ash tree my forester husband says won’t last long because of Emerald Ash Borers.  Our neighbors brought a Santa tablecloth, as I had figured I didn’t need tablecloths during the downsize, to place our BBQ chicken and Corelleware on. It was delightful!   We supped, chatted, and swatted flies and mosquitoes until the wee hour of 6 p.m.

Now that we have held our third and final luncheon under the same Ash tree (still there), we have become quite the hosts.  Our menu and tableware have simplified as much as our lives: pizza served from the box, eaten on Dixieware, with beer dug out of a cooler.  Ah, life doesn’t get any better. Who needs a kitchen table?

Now back to this cool morning on the porch.  As I look around and enjoy the view from my sanctuary, Lex lazing on the lawn, I realize it took much gumption to uproot our lives and begin over with less things, less bills, less anxiety.  And some days we actually have more.  More peace. More tranquility. More freedom.  I recommend everyone give it a try. Unload all those things you don’t know what to do with and that won’t mean squat to your kids when you’re gone. You may find yourself better for it.  More time to read too, in a tiny metal house, because there is no where else to use my phone. Unless standing in a window. And I need my phone to use as a hotspot to use my computer. To type stories.  The gosh darn metal doesn’t allow things like telephone and Internet signals to easily penetrate it. And it looks like I’ve missed a call from our contractor to add 300 more sq. ft. on to our beloved sanctuary.