Read The Small House Book Online
Authors: Jay Shafer
I called my next home XS-House (as in,
“extra small”). It measured about 7’ x 10’.
Like Tumbleweed, it was on wheels, it had
a steep metal roof, classic proportions and
a pine interior punctuated by a metal heat-
er on its central axis. A bathroom, kitchen,
and sleeping loft featured essentially the
same utilities as my previous residence.
Unlike Tumbleweed, there was a four-foot
long, stainless steel desk and a couch, and
the exterior walls were clad in corrugated
steel.
All things considered, my move westward
XS exterior (page 19), loft (above)...
went smoothly. Gale-force winds broadsi-
ded my tiny home all the way from Omaha
to central Nevada, but both the house and
the U-Haul came through unscathed.
I parked in front of the Sebastopol Whole
Foods for three days. The U-Haul was al-
most due when a woman approached to
ask if I would consider parking on her land
to serve as a sort of groundskeeper. I would
live just yards from a creek at the edge of a
clearing in the redwoods. I would pay noth-
ing and do nothing other than reside on the
property. I was lodging amongst the red-
... and downstairs.
woods by nightfall.
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With my fear of having to live on the streets allayed, I built a new house
and sold the XS before I had even settled in. I call my most recent domicile,
“Tumbleweed 2.” At 8’ x 12’ with a steep, metal roof over cedar walls, it looks
just like the first Tumbleweed on the outside. I reconfigured the inside to ac-
commodate a couple of additional puffy chairs and a five-foot long, stainless
steel desk. I have been living in this house for nearly three years, and I have
no intention of moving out any time soon (see pages 24 and 130 - 137 for
photos).
The Method and the Madness
My reasons for choosing to live in such small houses include some envi-
ronmental concerns. The two largest of my three, hand-built homes were
made with only about 4,800 pounds of building materials each, less than
100 pounds of which went to the local landfill. Each produced less than 900
pounds of greenhouse gases during a typical Iowa winter. And, at 89 square
feet, plus porch and loft, each fit snugly into a single parking space.
In contrast, the average American house consumes about three quarters 1of
an acre of forest and produces about seven tons of construction waste. It
emits 18 tons of greenhouse gases annually, and, at more than 2,349 square
feet, it would most definitely not fit into a single parking space.
Finances informed my decision, too. Quality over quantity became my man-
tra. I have never been interested in building anything quite like a standard
travel trailer or mobile home. Travel trailers are typically designed for more
mobility and less year-round comfort than I like, while most manufactured
housing looks too much like manufactured housing for my taste. Common
practice in the industry (though not inherent or exclusive to it) is to build fast
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and cheap, then mask shoddiness with finishes. This strategy has allowed
mobile homes to become what advocates call “the most house for your mon-
ey.” It has, in fact, helped to make manufactured housing one of the most af-
fordable and, thus, most popular forms of housing in the United States today.
This is pretty much the opposite of the strategy I have adopted. I put the
money saved on glitz and square footage into insulation, the reinforcement of
structural elements, and detailing. At $30,000, Tumbleweed cost about one-
sixth as much as the average American home. Only about $15,000 of this
total was actually spent as cash on materials. That is less than half of what
the average American household spends on furniture alone. The remaining
$15,000 is about what I would have paid for labor had I not done it myself.
The cost of materials could have been nearly halved if more standard ma-
terials were used. A more frugal decision, for example, would have been to
skip the $1,000, custom-built, lancet window and install a $100, factory-built,
square one instead. But I was, and I remain, a sucker for beauty.
The total cost was low when you consider I was able to pay it off before I
moved in—but not so low when you consider that I sunk over $300 into every
square foot. The standard $110 per square foot might seem more reason-
able, but I succumbed to the urge to invest some of the money saved on
quantity into quality. As a result, my current residence is both one of the
cheapest houses around and the most expensive per square foot.
Still, my main reason for living in such a little home is nothing so grandiose as
saving the world, nor so pragmatic as saving money. Truth be told, I simply
do not have the time or patience for a larger house. I have found that, like
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anything else that is superfluous,
extra space merely gets in the
way of my contentment. I wanted
a place that would maintain my
serene lifestyle, not a place that
I would spend the rest of my life
maintaining. I find nothing de-
manding about Tumbleweed. Ev-
erything is within arm’s reach and
nothing is in the way—not even
space itself.
Tumbleweed 2 (above), Williamsburg, VA (next)
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Have nothing in your houses that
you do not know to be useful, or
believe to be beautiful.
- William Morris
A Good Home
A small house is not merely as good as its larger correlate; it is better. A home
that is designed to meet its occupants’ domestic needs for contented living
without exceeding those needs will invariably surpass the quality of a bigger
one in terms of sustainability, economics and aesthetics.
Sustainability
Under no circumstances does a 3,000-square foot house for two qualify as
“green.” All the solar gain and reclaimed materials in the world can never
change that. At 2,349 square feet, the average American house now emits
more carbon dioxide than the average American car.
2
Our houses are the biggest in the world—four times the international aver-
age. Since 1950, the median size of a new American house has more than
doubled, even though the number of people per household shrank by more
than 25 percent. 3 Not so long ago, you could expect to find just one bathroom
in a house; but, by 1972, half of all new homes contained two or more bath-
rooms. Ten years later, three-quarters did. More bathrooms, more bedrooms
and dens, bigger rooms overall, and, perhaps most notably, more stuff, have
come to mean more square footage. America’s houses have, quite literally,
become bloated warehouses full of toys, furniture and decorations, and a lot
of things we may never see or use.
As prodigal as this may seem already, even a space capable of meeting our
extravagant living and storage needs is not always enough. We still have to
worry about impressing a perceived audience. Entire rooms must be added
to accommodate anticipated parties that may never be given and guests
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The “American Dream”
who may never arrive. It is not uncommon for a living room to go unused
for months between social gatherings and, even then, quickly empty out as
guests gravitate toward the informality of the kitchen.
Until recently, the issue of over-consumption was conspicuously absent from
mainstream green discourse. You are unlikely to find the answer to sprawl of-
fered in a sustainable materials catalogue. Accountable consumption stands
to serve no particular business interest. Building financiers and the real es-
tate industry are certainly pleased with the current situation. Bigger is better,
from their perspective, and they are always eager to tell us so.
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If you do only one thing to make your new home more environmentally sound,
make it small. Unless supporting the housing industry is the kind of sustain-
ability you hope to achieve, a reasonably-scaled home is the best way there
is to make a positive difference with real estate.
Economics
“Economical” means doing only what is necessary to getting a job done.
Anything more would be wasteful and contrary to the inherent simplicity of
good design. An economical home affords what is essential to the comfort
of its occupants without the added burden of unused space. Excess and