The Small House

We live in a small house--600 square feet small.

It was originally intended to be transitional, a weekend getaway kind of place where we could stay without issues about where to leave the "kids" (our dog and cat) while we explored and got better acquainted with the area. Then, when we sold our house in Cleveland, we could look for a "bigger smaller" place--i.e., smaller than the house in Cleveland that we're downsizing from (4 bedrooms, 2 baths, and nearly 3000 sq. ft. including the finished basement space), but bigger than this tiny "cottage." But the place has kind of grown on us, and now we're trying to figure out how to make it work.

We have one bedroom, one bath, a kitchen, and a living room. No basement. I have learned that that is considered almost "spacious" by "tiny house" standards--there is indeed a tiny house industry for people who want to minimize their footprint on this earth, and these homes range from about 65 sq. ft. (!) to 800 on the "high end." It's certainly a matter of perspective--considering the average size of a home in Tokyo (800 sq ft) or a tent in Haiti. Here in the US, we've been conditioned to expect MORE. In a consumer society, we rarely entertain soul searching about what constitutes ENOUGH.

Well, rowing against the tide, Tom and I are working on that ENOUGH thing. How much do we really need? I wouldn't call us pack rats, but when you spend 22 years in a large home, "stuff" accumulates to fill the available space. Downsizing from 3000 sq. ft. to 600--you do the math. There's not much room for "stuff." Are we ready to take The 100 Thing Challenge? No, we're a long way from there. But it's a good direction to be moving in. It's very liberating to sort through "stuff" and realize how much of it you don't need anymore--both in the physical sense and in an emotional, even spiritual, one.

We've built a garage--besides storage, it provides workshop space. (Remember, no basement here.) We really feel that we need a couple more rooms. The space is surprisingly adequate, even comfortable, for the two of us (plus the dog and cat), but it gets crowded if we have company or if I try to work on my crafts.

I know we're fortunate to have options we wouldn't have in other parts of the world about how much space we can occupy, but I don't know if we're really tiny house people. For a look at how four people and a dog can live in 180 sq ft--check out this article, with photos! I have a hard time wrapping my head around it. I've come to believe that smaller is better, but there's a lot of wiggle room in my definition of "smaller."

I don't miss all the cleaning.

Would you like to know about The Meatrix?

Winterized! Almost...

We cut the grass for the last time this year and put away the mower, garden tools, hoses, and outdoor furniture.

The new windows make storm windows unnecessary this year, though some weatherstripping around the front door would probably be a good idea.  

Got wood for heating the garage workshop, blankets, sweaters, coats, gloves, boots...

We don't exactly have the food thing  under control. Oh sure, Wegman's is nearby, but they're dealing with supply lines like everyone else. Stuff doesn't grow here in the winter--the food shares from our CSA stopped a couple of weeks ago. And while I've got a decent supply of potatoes, onion, garlic, and winter squashes at the moment, it has occurred to me  (many times) that if this eating locally thing is going to work out, we need to learn how to store up food for the non-growing season.

It's kind of scary to realize just how unprepared most of us are for disruptions in our (long) food supply lines--which can happen short term, in case of a really big snow or ice storm or other natural disaster, and longer term, in the event that a sharp increase in the cost and/or a drastic decrease in the supply of oil--which our entire system runs on, from factory farms to warehouses to markets. I read somewhere recently (if you'd like a really scary example)  that the city of Los Angeles has on hand at any given time (including in warehouses) only a three-day supply of food for its entire population. That exemplifies just how dependent we are on keeping the machinery in motion, nonstop.

Well, we can't go on this way. Oil is a dwindling resource, and the rapid industrialization of giants like India and China are giving us a lot more competition these days for what's left.  Not that you would know, from observing how our governments choose to deal with this situation, that we need to be moving in high gear towards alternatives in the way we live. I guess the thinking is that whoever kills off the rest of the competition is the winner. Downright Darwinian.

So, the proactive thing to do, if you're not really crazy about this "eat or be eaten" scenario, is to look around you and find your local sources of food. We're pretty fortunate here in Chautauqua county to have lots of farms. We can even grow some of our own food in our gardens, and that really cuts the supply line, farm to table, to a matter of feet--both in distance and means of transport.   Of course some of us will keep drinking coffee from thousands of miles away as long as we can get away with it!

But again, our growing season here is limited, which means storing up food for the months when the local pickings are slim. I started small this year, to prove that I could do it--I made strawberry jam from local berries and applesauce from the fruit of our ancient gnarly backyard trees. Those jars of organic goodness are beautiful to look at, and we'll be enjoying them when the wind is howling and the snow is swirling outside our windows.


But we cannot live on strawberry jam and applesauce alone, so next year I'd better step it up and fill some jars and freezer containers with beans and greens, tomato sauce, and a chicken or two.

It's ironic that our progressive modern lifestyle with all its work-saving conveniences has left us so vulnerable when it comes to taking care of ourselves.

About this thing called community

What is this "community" we are seeking?  I find myself wanting to write about it, yet I haven't quite determined how to articulate it.  I'll be working on a definition and refining it as I go along, I think. Plunging right in, for now...

 com-mu-ni-ty:  a unified body of individuals: as  

a : state, commonwealth

b : the people with common interests living in a particular area; broadly : the area itself 

c : an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (as species) in a common location 

d : a group of people with a common characteristic or interest living together within a larger society

e : a group linked by a common policy

f : a body of persons or nations having a common history or common social, economic, and political interests  g : a body of persons of common and especially professional interests scattered through a larger society

We began attending the local Unitarian Universalist church here this fall, and it is proving to be the obvious choice for us (since we have been UU's for more than 30 years) as a network to plug into and find people with whom we have values and interests in common.

This week's sermon and post-service discussion was about Bill McKibben's book Eaarth, about the global warming crisis that most people are in denial about, and how we, as individuals and as a congregation, can respond.

It's exciting to have finally connected with some people--right here, locally, not on the internet!-- who share the very concerns which caused me to launch this blog in the first place.  There is promise for future discussions and actions toward living responsibly,even happily, with the new conditions we are already experiencing on our changing planet.  And I'm not feeling quite so isolated now.

When you move to a new community,  there's this whole watching and listening and getting-to-know-you process that takes place while you figure out who's who and what's what.  It's somewhat jarring to be the new kid on the block when you're accustomed to being an active,  known, and respected member of the community you came from.

Some people move around a lot during their lifetimes, often for employment reasons, and they develop a knack for unplugging from the old, plugging into the new networks, and instantly becoming part of the flow.

But Tom and I aren't those people. We're the type that tends to grow roots. This is only our third major move in our entire lives. It's difficult leaving "the people in your neighborhood" (I can hear the Mister Rogers song in my head) that you've known and trusted for so many years and moving on. A lot of people don't do this. We decided, for a lot of reasons, that we needed to.

Things don't remain the same forever, no matter how comfortable you may be. Family has always been an important part of our lives. They're the people that are still there when friends and neighbors move away--or die. We observed my mother's community evaporate around her as she outlived all of her contemporaries. Thank goodness for family.

So, facing retirement in a house too big and the kids too far away, we needed to be proactive.  They're still too far away, and no doubt there are more moves in our future. But for now, we've taken this step and this is where we are.

Becoming part of a new community, post-work and post-children, is uncharted territory for us.  So far, we've gotten to know some of our neighbors (especially the ones who have dogs), dealt with businesses, found places and activities we enjoy, but still don't have, for instance, a family doctor here. It will all fall into place in time. Circles will widen and overlap. In the meantime, in finding this church community, we have found an oasis of familiarity in the sea of change.  It's comforting.

To be continued, of course.

Our brave new world

We've enjoyed another beautiful week of autumn and a very busy, but great, weekend that included dining out with friends both old and new.  In our travels, we managed to visit the Chautauqua Energy Conference and Expo and collect a boat load of information. Rather, a couple of Wegmans reusable grocery bags full of information.  Lots of freebies, including a bag of compact fluorescents and weatherization goodies (window film, outlet draft stoppers, weatherstripping) from National Fuel, a coloring and activity book about water conservation, more reusable shopping bags, and the the usual reams of brochures and articles (I hope some of them were printed on recycled paper). It's going to take me a little while to read through and digest everything.

There seems to be a lot of emphasis on conserving energy, with government rebates as incentives-- Energy Star appliances, more efficient heating and cooling systems, better windows and doors, more insulation, tankless hot water heaters, etc.  There's also a tantalizing array of wind,solar, and geothermal options now available, and a "green" building (including straw bale construction) industry gaining ground, although the current costs of these technologies are prohibitive for most people.


In the gadget department, on the other hand, there are many fun, cool, and affordable little solar gizmos available, and there was a vendor who had a variety of them on display--various kinds of chargers and lighting, including this awesome little blinkie for bicycles.

Speaking of which, I would like to see more on transportation alternatives (not just hybrid automobiles) at future energy shows, as well as a presence of the local food/grow your own and compost/recycle elements. Surely these must be recognized as important components of saving energy and saving our planet.

Side note: there was a solar cooker on display, and coincidentally we had a conversation with someone at our church over the weekend whose daughter is involved with the Haiti Solar Oven Project.  We talked about the simplicity of making your own with aluminum foil as the reflective material (this seems like something I should have learned at Girl Scout camp), which led to my googling and finding an amazing variety of plans online.

I may now have to conduct some experiments of my own.

Glorious autumn

This past week has been a picture perfect illustration of why I love this season so much. And, except for the one day that it rained, we've spent most of it outdoors.

The fall colors have reached their peak. There are few things more beautiful than the tapestry of brilliant reds, oranges, and yellows (intermingled with the deep green pines) against a clear blue sky. When backlit by the setting sun, they glow like fire.

We walked on the beach (where our dog charges the incoming waves and tries to bite them, then looks baffled because there's nothing but water in his mouth), on trails in the woods and across a field, had a picnic lunch at an overlook park, did some cleanup in the garden, just any excuse to breathe in that crisp autumn air and partake of all the natural beauty.

I'm compelled to pick up individual leaves and wonder at them. The maple ones look painted.

Yesterday, on a drive through the rolling hills of this amazing countryside, we came upon an award-worthy photo op sight (too bad we left our cameras at home)--two young Amish farmers standing in their horse-drawn wagon in a field, against the back drop of dozens of wind turbines on the ridge that lay beyond.

Wind farms have been springing up in western NY in recent times. Wind is something we have in abundance, and is only likely to become stronger as our planet warms. This particular installation, in Wyoming county, produces enough energy to power more than 33,000 homes. Clean energy.

One cattle rancher who receives lease payments from the power company to host one of their turbines on his land (about 1,500 feet from his house) says the noise is minor. And, "the cattle actually seem to like it."

10/10/10 and Eaarth

I've been away with limited internet access this week while our new windows were being installed.

I feel remiss in not having written about the 10/10/10 Global Work Party events, but I'm a neophyte as far as organized events go. I'm still learning and getting plugged in to the pulse of what's happening out there.

Today's events are the culmination of a call to action by 350.org, founded by environmental activist Bill McKibben to raise awareness about the need for us to restore our atmosphere, rapidly, to less than 350 parts per million of CO_2.    

This is regarded by scientists, climate experts, and progressive national governments as the safe upper limit for carbon dioxide in our atmosphere. Already we are at 392 ppm and moving toward tipping points and irreversible impacts such as the melting of the Greenland ice sheet and major methane releases from melting permafrost.

This little video animation makes the point succinctly:

Since our policymakers lack the political will to take the necessary actions in a timely fashion, today's events constitute a grassroots demonstration (thousands of local events worldwide) that says to governments, Look! This is what we're doing. It's time for you to get to work too!

The closest thing to local that we have going on today are a variety of events sponsored by the SUNY Fredonia Campus Climate Challenge. Buffalo is hosting a bicycle workshop, for volunteers to rebuild bicycles and get them back out into the community.

And by the way, if you don't read anything else all year, you MUST read McKibben's new book, Eaarth.  It is an absolutely essential guide to the new era we find ourselves in. Old habits die hard, but they do not work anymore and we must have the courage to change. Not the kind of rah rah campaign sloganeering change that swept up so many people in the last election, but the real kind that means each of us has to start behaving differently.