As it stands today, my home is a carcinogenic mass of trash and filth. So I figured that it’d be a wonderful idea to show it to you in 360º detail. Cause we’re at the end our rope, and brutal honesty is my catharsis. And, if I ever do get this horrible box looking more like a home, then it may serve as a neat before/after post.

Side note: Since I began building the tiny house (over six years ago) I’ve fantasized about re-activating my Facebook account and making one final string of posts. In this post, I would detail the beautiful life that I’ve worked so hard to craft. I would spew out that putrid, horseshit line, “Have the courage to try for your dreams, because you can do anything!” And though I might not have admitted it to you, every photograph and every line in this Facebook post would be curated to perfection – not a speck of shit to be seen in my adorable little Black & Birch Farm. Not a flake of dust in my glorious, perfect little tiny house – this picturesque little nest that I’ve hand crafted out of birch plywood and pixie dreams. And upon making this post, I would immediately start typing up another one, detailing how it was finally time for me to say goodbye to social media once and for all – to go live the rest of my days in sanctimonious harmonization with my true, actualized self.

Yeah well fuck it – not gonna happen. So instead:

Do You Like My Filth?

In this first image, you’ll notice an adorable little bunny, perched upon an important notebook of mine that he’s happily gnawing away at (he and three of his siblings have eye infections, which I’ve been treating with Terramycin – a magical substance which costs $240 an ounce). An attentive observer might notice the painters tape on the $600 window, which formed a crack several days ago (most likely when I was desperately attempting to get it open in 4º F weather, as the composting toilet vent had started backdrafting noxious odors during an experiment with a new range hood that I’m designing). Pyramids of shit stand atop lofty hills of shit, bordered by rolling fields of shit…because I live in a tiny house, where you don’t have any room for shit. And high up on the wall, you’ll notice the motivational sticky notes/affirmations that I’ve been writing each morning this past week, in a vain attempt to keep myself from leaping from the roof of this tiny house.

In the kitchen and entry way, you’ll spot more heaps of shit, an incomplete range hood, dead things hanging from the ceiling, and a sliding bathroom door made out of cardboard. There’s a basin in the sink to collect the water that comes out of the faucet, as the drain pipe that leads out of the tiny house has unexpectedly frozen solid. But I no longer really need that, as my fresh water tanks have also frozen.

On to the bathroom, you’ll notice the hard water stains on the shower walls, the exposed composting toilet vent pipe, and the unfinished wall behind it. And of course, more stacks of stuff, waiting to be placed on shelves that have yet to materialize.

Outside, one of the first features that you’ll notice is the garden of overturned toilets, surrounding a rusted cast-iron sink. Dubbed the “Blumpkin Patch” by one of the locals, this is actually a future fire ring / art installation, which has yet to be completed (or cold-weather-proofed, hence why I’ve turned them on their backs). Underneath the front overhang (which lies below the mattress), you’ll see more heaps of crap, left exposed to the elements. The stairs leading up to the front door are made from a few stacked pallets. And I’ve thrown a spare truck tire in amidst the garden of frozen grow bags, as a garnish. If you’ll look closely, next to the row of rabbit cages you’ll see an overturned fiberglass bathtub, surrounded by boxes and bits of metal roofing. That tub will eventually be a custom, wood-fired hot tub. Though for now, it serves as a cold-weather shelter for Godric, the free rabbit. He’s a silver fox that was released into the wild as an experiment, and has called my little space (which I’ve unofficially named “Godric’s Hollow”) home ever since. He still very much relies on the food and water that I leave out for him.

On the other side of the tiny house, you’ll find the chicken enclosure – which for now is actually just a 4×4 shantytown of pallets screwed together, with tarps to keep out the wind and the rain. You’ll notice a few chickens peeking out into the frigid landscape, waiting to see if I have any food scraps or sprouts for them before they take the plunge out into the arctic air. Behind the tiny house, you’ll notice more heaps of shit, as well as my uglier-than-sin bright orange water tank array (which has stayed mostly thawed, up until about 48 hours ago). Those will eventually be tied into gutters, to make up an off-grid rainwater catchment system. Eventually.

Finally, we again leap back over to the front of the tiny house, into the Bunny Corral, where a darting little flash of brown fur is making a mad dash away from the clutches of the giant, back to it’s warm little bunny nest. I absolutely hated having my rabbits cooped up in individual cages, so this was my solution – a colony setup, in which my two males have large 3’x6’ cages to run around and interact in, surrounded by a pen that encloses my four females and their bunnies. It’s largely unfinished. And as you’ll notice, part of the circulating water pipe has been removed. It froze and exploded three days ago, when I left the property for two hours. By some magical twist of fate, the electrical breaker to my tiny house tripped immediately after I had left, allowing barely enough time for the water to freeze and destroy my hard work. Guess we’re just going to have to do it again once it thaws! But that aside, at least my bunnies can stay warm and dry, and run around freely. We’ll get there – we just need time.

So that’s the grand tour of my tiny shit hole. Does it have potential? Sure. Do I foresee how or when it will ever come together into an instagram-worthy hipster’s paradise? Absolutely not. I feel rather hopeless about it at the moment, though the winter has forced me into survival mode, in which I don’t even have any remaining time, energy or resources to put towards making any of this look nice. Maybe we’ll get there, maybe we won’t. Maybe I’ll transform this tiny house into the Garden of Eden, or maybe I’ll light it on fire and go start a new life (with the animals in tow) in a new place, in a new town. Only time will tell. But it feels good to have shown you – in 360º panoramic detail – my current existence. It’s been tiring, having to try to explain to so many people why my magical-sounding life isn’t quite so magical. There are some things that words alone cannot adequately convey.

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