Small Living Journal

I’d like to begin by drawing attention to a distinction between Do-It-Yourself and Do-It-By-Yourself projects, because I think that there is major difference between the two. So for the purpose of this article I will refer to both DIY and DIBY.

The DIY approach is, basically, do simple things by yourself, and when the job gets demanding or daunting, get some assistance.

DIBY means that, essentially, you’re on your own. (So far I’ve persuaded three of my friends to come out and help me with my project. Evidently “help” in this case means drink beer and throw the cans around the yard. I guess I did get Matt to drill a hole).

For reference purposes, I’ve participated in several DIY type projects in my own small house endeavor, including transporting the house to Aromas, moving the house up the hill, wrecking a collapsed barn for salvage wood, building a deck, installing a woodstove, and plumbing the house. The common denominator in all of these projects was my father, whom I call Ironhorse. In retrospect, I regret not asking him to write an article for this edition, as I can think of no one more involved in DIY than he. But barring that, I think it will still be useful to contrast he and I.

Ironhorse takes a one-man bulldozer approach. He gets serious results and he breaks a lot of things in the process, which he then has to fix. Using this approach he has built and broken (and repaired) more stuff than anyone else I know. And he gets the kind of results you would expect from a coordinated team effort. But this technique requires great motivation, fearlessness, energy, strength, a refusal to take no for an answer, a high tolerance for both pain and filth, a bunch of stuff (which will soon be broken), and most importantly the know-how and determination to fix the wreckage that you’ve left in your path (or at least the stuff that you think is important). When it comes to DIBY, frankly, his method works.

I am not Ironhorse. I share his physical strength, endurance, and willingness to dirty and bloody myself, but lack his motivation, technical knowledge, determination, and natural inclination towards practical mechanical problem solving. By contrast I am more cautious, contemplative, dreamy, bookish, and academic. To be blunt I’m not a self-starter and without direction I’m prone to laziness and indolence. In the DIY world this isn’t necessarily a problem; it’s been my experience that I’m the ideal assistant for virtually any physical task (I have this idiosyncratic competitive streak that compels me to outwork everyone else on a jobsite). But unfortunately none of this translates very well to DIBY.

If you’re a dipshit like me, (who couldn’t even get this post up without assistance from his girlfriend who isn’t even writing an article this week – thanks Manda!), without proper direction you might install a window by sandwiching the nailing strip between the framing and the siding, instead of just nailing the thing to the outside of the building. This isn’t necessarily a horrible way to do it, but if you’re working by yourself it’s way harder to simultaneously suspend a window and frame around it, and it will take you hours and you’ll wonder how the hell anybody does it in the first place. Then when you’re all done someone who knows a thing or two will come along and tell you that you haven’t left enough clearance around the edges of the window to allow for settling and expansion, at which point you’ll just shrug your shoulders, cross your fingers and hope for the best, cause you’ll be damned if your gonna take the whole thing apart again now.

You see, what does not come naturally to me is the PRACTICAL vision and direction. Any of the individual tasks of measuring and cutting and drilling and nailing is no real problem, but it is in the putting everything together that I am weak. I can cut and glue PVC, but if you ask me for a 3/4 street 90, who knows what you’ll get? And when it comes to electrical I really don’t even have a clue.

I can gleefully design a hundred gorgeous tiny houses. But those designs are just that, designs. They are like long articles that don’t convey any tangible knowledge or understanding. They are FUN, no doubt, but there’s no guarantee they will ever be anything more. In Lloyd Kahn’s Shelter, one of the contributing authors cautions against excessively detailed designs, because unless you’re independently wealthy, you’re going to have to work with what is available to you. Improvising with available materials is part of what makes owner-built homes unique and charming, and over-engineering can easily become an impediment to the improvisational necessities of the real world.

This is one of the reasons why I particularly admire Jay Shafer. Here is a man who obviously delights in design, who is not a bulldozer, and who executes his well thought-out designs into delightfully proportioned, comfortable, and functional extensions into reality. I’m more inclined to draw a floor plan and then take my shovel outside and move some dirt around.

For another thing, all my commitments are to ideas, values, and principles. I avoid commitment to practice. If I have a concept, I will implement it in a loose, rough form but I am reluctant to finish anything. I prefer to leave things partly finished for as long as possible until I am forced to make a decision on them. For instance, my deck wraps around an oak tree, and one of the salvaged 2 x 12 redwood planks runs wild about a foot, angled along the tree. My original intent had been to chop it off in a straight line with the rest of the planks, but when I look at it, the angle harmonizes with the tree and with the planks on the other side and I simply feel no compunction to cut it off. Maybe someday I will, but for now I see no reason to.

Or I’ll take a piece of material, say salvaged corrugated steel, and screw it up onto the ceiling in one spot, and just leave it there for a month or two, looking at it, until I decide whether I like it or not. If I like it, I’ll screw some more on there, and then discover that I’ve got to take it all down and put the siding up first.

I can accept these qualities in myself. From the beginning of this project Ironhorse and I had an agreement that this was to be MY project; he just didn’t have the time to help me. I can arrange for a few hours of assistance a month with things I just have no idea about, like plumbing or electrical, or maybe winching the house up a hill. But I knew that for anything to be accomplished I would have to station myself in the house, where ultimately the inconvenience of anything dysfunctional would force me to act on tasks. The downside of all this is that my 216 sq ft building has to serve as workshop, woodshed, and house, with mostly unsatisfactory consequences. And things get done, but they crawl along at a snail’s pace.

The purpose of this article is certainly not to discourage anyone from DIY or even DIBY, but rather to encourage readers to honestly assess themselves and their abilities, as well as their expectations for what they hope to accomplish and along what time-frame they require results. While I’m really not the ideal candidate for DIBY, I’m relying on necessity to be, if not the mother of my invention, then at least the driver of my production. Unfortunately, for the wannabe cynic philosopher, necessity is a rather lackadaisical driver.

The abundance of do-it-yourself books on home building and home repair on the market is an indication that the subject of DIY is of great interest to people.  And why not?  Being able to fix or build things associated with your home not only saves money, but gives you a great sense of pride and accomplishment.  Laying new tile in the bathroom, building a new deck or patio in the backyard, or even tackling building a whole house brings a whole new way to boost your self confidence, as well as protecting your pocketbook.

Working with wood, tile, plaster, paint, lighting, power tools, etc. is a great exercise for kinesthetic learners.  Reading instructions in a book is one thing, but actually using a power miter saw to install new baseboard or crown molding takes you from theory to the real world.  Working with your hands, and with quality tools, is very satisfying.   But the kinesthetic, hands-on, lesson only comes after reading some DIY book or article that has inspired you to actually pick up a hammer and try something.

You read a DIY book on building decks, let’s say.  Talk to a few friends or family who may have done a similar project, and jump right into buying materials at your local home improvement store.  Being able to interpret those drawings and instructions and apply them to your own personal building project is a great way to exercise that muscle between your ears.  And with every project you become more confident to tackle something bigger and more involved.

But, even though doing your own home repairs and building can save you a lot of money, the one thing NOT to skimp on is quality tools.  I have a friend who once tried to use a Leatherman tool (think Swiss Army knife) to cut the miters in some new baseboard molding she was putting in the bathroom.  I cringed.  But, at the time I didn’t want to say anything to hurt her feelings.  Sometimes the best lessons learned happen this way.  Trying to make do with inferior tools or materials until you realize you’re really wasting your time while in the end discovering how inferior your final results will turn out.

My best advice on all you aspiring DIY’ers out there is to buy quality tools, especially cutting tools (saw blades, drill bits, router bits, etc.).  Clean, fast, and safe tools will make your job go a lot faster.  Having a sharp saw blade slice through wood like butter is a pleasure you just can’t explain unless you’ve been there yourself.

Next is to ask a lot of questions of people who have done the kind of job you’re thinking of, and observe (or, better yet, take part in) someone actually doing it.  Sign up for all the free demonstrations at your local home improvement store as possible.  Even jump in on Habitat for Humanity building projects.  You’ll not only gain some basic building experience, but get a warm fuzzy by helping a needy family gain a home.

And, finally, know when to call it quits when it’s obvious you just don’t have the skills for a particular project.  For me it’s coping, the very precise cutting that’s involved in installing molding, specifically the inside corners.  The objective is to make that inside corner appear as if the two pieces flow into each other without any sort of gap.  For the life of me I just cannot make an accurate coping cut.  So I hire it out.

Also, if a job requires a lot of strength, like replacing windows, then it’s also a good idea to hire that one out too.  Last fall I had 2 very large windows replaced in my condo.  There was no way I would have been able to take on that job myself, especially considering one of the windows was on the second floor and required scaffolding set up outside.  These are good examples of when to hire out.

But, installing a new dishwasher?  You bet I’m going to do that one myself!  Which I really have to do in the next couple weeks as I’m putting my condo on the market soon.  Anyone interested in a cute little condo in a quiet neighborhood?

In the end, whether you end up with a gorgeous DIY remodeling job, or a complete mess where you have to hire a pro to take over, you will have gained such valuable knowledge—mostly about yourself.  And life isn’t complete until you’ve learn a few hard-won lessons about yourself.  For me the lessons learned in building a house have given me so much confidence to tackle just about anything.  There’s not much gained if you keep your nose in a DIY book all day.

Happy building!  Feel free to stop by my website Small-House-Building.com and say “hi”.

“Do-it-yourself” is not a phrase I naturally associate with myself.

When it comes to home renovation and improvement projects, my traditional mode of operation has been to put in some extra hours at my comfortable desk job and then use the extra income to hire someone who–I at least hope–will have a clue and some experience with what needs to be done.

This approach has proven less than fully successful over the past year, however.  For example, I ended up with the roof of my house being missing for several months during the rainy season in Portland, and I’ve had projects go significantly over budget.

I’ve finally reached the level of exasperation with outside help that I’m beginning to take my first tentative steps into the realm of “do-it-yourself”.  I may not know what the heck I’m doing.  But at least if it’s me doing the work, I know someone will: 1) Show up when they say they will and 2) Be keeping a close eye on expenses.

As I’m still a relative do-it-yourself newbie, I wanted to use this issue’s article to introduce you to one of my tiny home heroes–Zoey.  Zoey is in the process of building her own Tumbleweed Lusby. She writes about her experiences on her blog, TogetherWeAreOne.com.

The Small Home Movement is beginning to see an increasing number of examples of couples and young men building their own tiny homes on wheels.  However, with the exception of Dee Williams and Elizabeth Turnbull, I’m not familiar with other public examples of women who’ve chosen to take on such an ambitious project by themselves.

(Just to be clear, I believe women are just as capable of building their own home as men are.  I just wish there were more readily-available examples out there of those who have done it.)

Needless to say, it was inspiring to me to discover a woman who had next to no building experience; help in the form of a supportive partner; or financial resources to work with; decide to make her dream of owning her own mortgage-free tiny home into a reality.

I have been following Zoey’s blog since it began last July.  What I particularly appreciate about Zoey is that she doesn’t sugarcoat her experience.  When something goes wrong, she writes about it plainly.  And then later, when she’s successfully turned things around, she reports how she was able to resolve the issue.

By being able to follow Zoey’s trials and tribulations, I’ve come to learn that a misstep doesn’t necessarily mean the calamitous end to a journey.  A false step is simply a false step.  It can be corrected.  And one tentative step and a time, if you simply take the time to figure it out and don’t give up, you will get to your destination.  Moreover, the closer you come to reaching your dream, the more people who will want to join you in the journey.

Zoey was kind enough to do an interview with me for this issue of SLJ.  In it she covers a wealth of information that is useful for aspiring do-it-yourselfers.  She talks about how she was able to learn and master the building skills she needed, keep expenses low, and recruit help when it was needed.

The full podcast runs 25 minutes.  You can either user the player on the SLJ site, or it can be downloaded and played on iTunes where you take advantage of some additional features, including the ability to jump between chapters.  I hope you enjoy it.

A heartfelt thank you goes out to Zoey for taking the time to record this interview for our readers.

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Note: You can follow Zoey on both her blog and Twitter.

Standing in front of a typical 2,500 square foot 21st century home, there may be few who would think to themselves, “I can build one of those.” But, if you were to put someone in front of a 150 square foot small home, the reaction might be quite different. Even though the large and small houses may be functionally equivalent (kitchen, bathroom, living, dining, and bedrooms), the scale of the small home project can dramatically alter the perception of what is possible in terms of building one’s own house.

That, in my view, is one of the beauties of the small house movement. At a time when so many are beginning to recognize the benefits of living in smaller spaces, they are also thinking, “Maybe I can build one of those myself.”

For two and a half years I have been writing a blog called “Building Gypsy Rose.” Like so many rookie bloggers, I began with the sole purpose of keeping family and friends apprised of my latest crazy ideas but the readership has grown and now includes many who have begun their own process of designing and building a tiny home. (Yes, you can!) Looking back over my blog entries (again, primarily aimed at family and friends), I’ve come to realize that for the do-it-yourselfer a bit more detail might be in order.

In this article I’d like to expand a bit on a component of my home that has prompted much interest and many questions in the blog – the foundation.

Gypsy Rose is of the rolling variety. Her foundation has wheels. Certainly not a novel concept, but the design considerations involved with building a four-season, traditionally constructed house within the constraints of highway-legal dimensions on a roadworthy chassis have not been given the same treatment as the more common poured concrete platform. Needless to say, I couldn’t find a lot of literature on the topic and had to sort out the details on my own.

Back in the 60’s and 70’s the builders of “hippy trucks” used well-worn trucks or buses as a starting point, but many of today’s tiny home projects begin with a trailer that can be detached from the means of locomotion. Of those, the most commonly used is what is often referred to as a utility trailer. The larger trailers of this type may be rated at 7,000 or 10,000 pound gross weight capacity and can be purchased new for between $3,000 and $5,000. When I first started conceptualizing Gypsy Rose I envisioned using a utility trailer as a starting point. A closer look at my design parameters, however, led me to what I now believe is a more suitable alternative. Rather than adapting to a trailer that was meant for hauling landscaping equipment or automobiles, I decided on a custom-made, purpose built foundation for my tiny home.

We begin with the challenge of building within the dimensional restrictions of a vehicle that can be towed down the highway without needing a special wide-load permit. In Vermont, my tiny house is limited to an 8.5-foot width and a 13.5-foot height. The length (20 feet) was determined by the physical limits of the intended towing vehicle and the road I had to navigate to the land where Gypsy now rests. With those dimensions in mind, here are some of the considerations that were factored into the trailer’s design.

• Weight capacity: This was a tough one. When I started building Gypsy I didn’t have any idea how much she’d weigh when all was done. I ended up selecting axles rated at 3,500 pounds apiece. Using two axles, I have a capacity of 7,000 pounds for my home. (If I had to do it again, I’d have gone with a pair of 5,000 pound axles for a 10,000 pound capacity.)
• Frame material: For strength and rigidity, as well as ease of attaching the floor joists, I went with 2” x 6” box steel (as opposed to angle iron or I-beam cross-sections).
• Hitch size: The minimum for a tiny house of Gypsy’s size is two and five-sixteenths inches.
• Wheel size: I used 16” wheels capable of handling (the still unknown) weight of my home.
• Brakes: Surge brakes are commonly used on trailers. (The requirement for brakes varies by state.)
• Tongue weight (the amount of weight that rests on the hitch of the towing vehicle): This should be about 10% of the gross weight. For a tiny house that tips the scales at 5000 pounds, the tongue weight should be 500 pounds. Tongue weight is altered by how the weight of the house is distributed over its length and by the positioning of the axles along the frame. If the axles are placed too far back you’ll end up with too much weight on the hitch. If they are placed too far forward you will have less weight on the hitch but it will cause the towed trailer to handle poorly (dangerous!). Gypsy Rose’s configuration ended up with a tad too much weight on the hitch due to the fact that the heavier rooms (kitchen and bathroom) plus the tool shed (an afterthought) brought more weight forward.
• Ground clearance: If you’re trying to squeeze two levels of living space into the 13.5 foot overall height, the lower the trailer frame can ride while still negotiating the obstacles on the highway, the better.
• Floor joist attachment: This was the consideration that more than any other led to a custom-built trailer. Most utility trailers come with a frame that is designed to accommodate a thick plank bed. Small house builders often construct their floor joist systems on top of that bed – quite commonly out of 2×4’s. Well, here in Vermont where wintertime temperatures get darned cold, I knew that I’d need more insulating space than what is offered by a 2×4 cavity. At a minimum, I needed the room provided by 2×6 floor joists, but if I’d built it on the bed of a utility trailer I’d be subtracting more precious inches from the space I needed to accommodate the combined height of the first floor and the sleeping loft above. I ended up having the trailer built with 2” x 6” box steel in a configuration that allowed me to bolt the joists alongside the steel frame members without losing any interior space to the floor joists. As you can see in the accompanying photos, my trailer frame is completely integral to the floor joist system. The plywood sub-flooring rests cleanly on both the steel and wooden surfaces.
• Fender wells: I didn’t want my trailer to come with any. I preferred the ability to integrate the fender wells into the interior of my home – again to avoid any unnecessary loss of interior space. On Gypsy Rose, the surface of the exterior siding is on the same plane as the outside edge of the trailer tires and the wooden fender wells were constructed as part of the wall/floor framing.
• Taillights, etc.: I didn’t want my home to sport taillights and a license plate holder so I opted for fixtures that can be temporarily screwed to the underside of the trailer’s aft end for use only during transport.

With all of the above in mind, where does one find such a one-of-a-kind specialty rolling frame on which to build a tiny house? I ended up hiring a friend who is in the business of manufacturing custom boat trailers, but there are many custom trailer manufacturers that one can choose from. (Although I would not recommend it to the inexperienced, one could buy all of the components I’ve listed above from readily available sources and, with welder in hand, assemble a trailer in true do-it-yourself fashion.)

What about cost? I paid $2,600 for my custom-made trailer but that might be somewhat lower than average due to the fact that it was a long-time friend who did the work for me.

Foundations aren’t glamorous. In the end they are mostly hidden from view, but beginning with a well-designed trailer frame was an essential first step in my Gypsy Rose project.

To read more of Kevin’s small home adventures, visit his blog, “Building Gypsy Rose .”