Thoughts on tiny houses

The living room in my cozy cottage.

Because I live in what should be described as a “spacious tiny house,” I’m curious about other tiny houses and spend way too much time looking at them online. My tiny house—I call it “the cottage”—is approximately 600 square feet, which really is spacious compared to some. I have a postage-stamp kitchen, a bedroom that was once a parking bay for a 1920s car (skinny—there’s only one way my standard double bed will fit, in a corner, and a king or queen would never fit), a walk-in closet bigger than any I’ve ever had (it was a tool shed in a previous existence), and a good-sized living area/office (I can seat seven in a pinch). Truly, it’s all the space I need. When I lived in the house where Jordan, Christian and Jacob are now, I was aware I only used the kitchen, bedroom, and my office.

My tiny kitchen deserves mention, because if I were wealthy and thought I’d be healthy and cooking for another twenty years (unlikely) I would have a professional kitchen designer come in and tailor it for maximum use of the space and ease in cooking from a seated walker. Due to zoning restrictions, I can only have appliances that I can plug in. Hence I have a large refrigerator, but no stove or dishwasher. I cook on an induction hot plate and a toaster oven, which means things like that leg of lamb I crave are impossible. You know all those skillet recipes that start on the stovetop and finish in the oven? I have to pass right by those too.

In my online prowlings, I’m not so interested in school bus conversions, though I admire the ingenuity, and I’m not at all interested in the process. I don’t need to see one more picture of the interior of the shell of a school bus. No, I’m more interested in those free-standing tiny houses. But I have several reservations, and the main one speaks to who I am and what I do for a living: most of those houses have no desk! Where do people sit to work at their computer, pay their bills, correspond with friends, keep a calendar. Never one to read in bed (hurts my neck) or take my computer to the couch (I lose concentration easily), I have made my desk the center of my world. I spend far more than the recommended hours seated here, and I almost always eat lunch at my desk. At dinner, we in effect have assigned seating—me at my desk, Jordan at the coffee table in the barrel chair to my left, Christian in the wing chair on the right of the table, and when he joins us, Jacob on the couch. My desk is also nicely situated so that I have a large window on my right and French doors straight ahead—on nice days I can almost bring the outdoors right inside.

I have other concerns about a lot of tiny houses: privacy almost goes without saying. The open sleeping is fine for one person or a couple but the loss of privacy for an intimate life must be a problem if there are children or guests. And that aside, loss of privacy, of some spot that is yours and yours alone, must be a psychological problem for many. Of course, living alone, it’s no problem. I find that daily I appreciate my privacy and, once out of the cottage, am almost always ready to return.

Two-story or story-and-a-half construction is a great idea for a tiny house, adding a lot of space. But that small space rarely leaves room for anything like a conventional staircase. As one whose whole life has been marked by a fear of heights and general bad balance, I could never do nine out of ten of those staircases, ladders, etc. I require low steps and banisters on both sides. And the open sleeping lofts? I’d been afraid of rolling out of bed and tumbling down into the main living area. Night-time trips to the loo would be complicated by a staircase!

When I first moved into the cottage, Jacob was about ten. I lectured long and hard about the necessity for neatness in a small space. Now, Jacob has moved on to a full social life with his buddies, and I rarely see him in the cottage, so I can’t blame him for the clutter. The fault is solely mine, but I am no Marie Kondo. My walls are covered with art, my tables and one big marble buffet with mementos and family pictures. Sometimes my cottage makes me think of the late nineteenth-century craze for miniatures. One of my sons says my cottage looks well lived in—I would change that to well loved. But that’s another thing that strikes me about tiny houses—they are usually uncluttered, at least the ones se see online. Perhaps they are dressed up for a photo shoot, but they often look impersonal with sparse decorations—maybe a plant or a picture here or there, but that’s it. (That is not true for bus conversions.)

So here I am, in my semi-tiny, cluttered cottage and ever so grateful to be here. How about you? Could you live in 600 square feet?

Part of my tiny kitchen.
I frequently feed full meals to four of us
out of this kitchen.