One of my (many) obsessions, along with saving animals, books, and Downton Abbey, is tiny houses. If you follow my Facebook feed long enough, eventually you’ll come across a photo (or a few dozen) of various tiny houses that have captured my attention. Some of these miniscule abodes are fantastical, hobbit-like creations, while others are situated in trees – with incredible views. But the ones that really grab my attention are those that are solidly tethered to the ground. They’re here – just tiny.
It’s a bit of an odd hankering for a mother of 6 and it’s only come to light in the past few years.
Actually, it’s been since we got our chickens.
Maybe I want a tiny house in my life as a way to get away (if only for a few hours) from all the chicks and their constant activity in our (very) big house. Even though there is a lot of room, they all seem to be able to find me (especially when I’m working) and ask me questions like “Where’s the peanut butter?” A – where you left it, or “What day do I have soccer practice? A- on the days your coach told you.
Maybe I’m entering a period in my life where roosting in a quiet, warm space is beginning to sound like a good idea. A really good idea. Just like our hens, I’m not enamored with the idea of walking on snow and ice, instead, give me a comfy space and a down blanket and I’ll catch up with you in the Spring.
Or maybe, like some of the adult hens in our flock, I simply want to have a few minutes of peace and quiet, a chance to capture a thought, or read a chapter – to recharge myself, before I go back and face the needs of my flock.
Getting a tiny house is not practical right now. We’ve got kids in college, school trips that need to be paid for, and we’ve got medical bills that call our name. Instead I’ve carved out a small space in the back of a room and I use it as my office. It’s close enough to be around the kids but protected enough to give me some space.
It works for now, but I’m not giving up my dreams of someday having a tiny house to call my own.