This one is about my foray into house building, and also gardening, and also self-sufficiency, and also simplifying my life, and also going green. There's a lot. It's hard to know where to start.
For the past five years, I lived in New York City, partly in Queens, but mostly in Manhattan. It was an adventure every day. An expensive, noisy, beautiful, stressful adventure. One evening when the city was really getting to me, I realized that over the course of five years, I had spent over $50,000 in rent. Now, I don't want anyone to get the idea that I regret moving to NYC. I'm sure it was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life. But during those five years of hustle and struggle (which, I know it's cliche, but is REAL) I started building a new idea in my brain. An idea of a small place entirely my own where I was the landlord and the super and the tenant all in one. Where I could have a doggie and a lot of outdoor space to grow my plants. And then I stumbled upon the tiny house movement.
I was instantly obsessed, and watched every single show and clicked every single pin on Pinterest that was even remotely about tiny houses. I was amazed to see what people could do with so little space. It was all so clever! And cute! But not in an annoying way. More like, a cool-kid-aloof-no-big-deal-shrug way. Like, "Yeah, my bed also doubles as a dining table, and occasionally a bathtub when I'm feeling whimsical, so what?" I wanted one!
Secret confession: I love to surprise people, especially by doing something they don't expect me to be able to do. It's the main reason I brought a snake home from the UAB reptile show when I was 12, played the drums in beginning band, and why I only buy cars with manual transmissions. You're damn right I'm gonna wire and plumb this house myself.
So I said adios to NYC, moved back to Alabama, picked a spot of virgin forest on my parents' 22 acres, and said, "Let's do it!" Unfortunately, I do not own a tractor, so I had to sit on the Mule and watch as Dad and his friend Terry knocked down trees with their tractors where my house was to go. I wished so badly that I could have participated in this part, but I had to swallow my pride and just let it happen. And honestly, I don't know if I've ever seen Dad have so much fun.
Another confession, though this one concerns the whole Humber family: If Dad asks you to help him, be aware that "helping" him consists of standing nearby while he does all the work himself. You may occasionally hand him something, but I think he just likes the moral support of having someone nearby. However, in regards to my house, Dad will be helping me. I am determined to do at least half of the work myself so I can understand how a house gets built and how it works from the inside out. Dad is my contractor and I am the apprentice. I am going to build this house! Even if I continue to leave bits and pieces of my own flesh and blood everywhere (concrete blocks will destroy you if you let them), and contract malaria from one of the thousands of mosquitos fighting each other for real estate on my legs, and all my limbs are covered in oozing pustules from the poison oak blanketing the property, I WILL MAKE A HOUSE! AND I WILL ENJOY IT! Whether I like it or not.
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