tiny houses in the snow

Nothing snaps me right out of a tired disgruntled wake-up like opening up the curtains to see this.  Bring it on, winter. Even more fun was showing Baby Pickles snow for the first time.  Is it snowing yet (if it snows at all, that is) where you are?

That last photo is the space where I want to build the mini-Wagen-house (my current plan is not to build a little house from scratch, but to build two Wägen together) that I described here.  I can’t fucking wait to get building on it.

Wednesday December 05th 2012, 11:42 am 8 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


german eco-villages: sieben linden

The number of people who live in Bauwägen in Germany is immense, as far as a tiny sub-culture can be immense.  But with over 130 Wagenplätze and who the hell knows how many others—living openly in eco-villages and secretly on garden plots and unofficially in backyards.  It all reminds me of the time when the magazine printed in the same office I often work from featured a photo of a woman in front of a Bauwagen.  I was astounded that a kind of conservative publication would feature such a thing.  My colleague had replied, nonchalantly, “Well you aren’t the only ones.”  Indeed we are not.

While doing some research for another project, I stumbled upon a German eco-village (for the German learners among us, that’s ökodorf) called Sieben Linden.  These folks bought a big plot of land in East Germany and are living it up eco-style, giving seminars and, yup, living in Bauwägen.  There weren’t too many pictures available, and I hope someday to visit and take my own, but for now, check out what they’re doing over there, tiny house-wise:

All photos (cc) flickr user A Moving Office

Thursday November 15th 2012, 11:12 am Leave a Comment
Filed under: conspiracies,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


tiny house movement: the t-shirt

When I think about it—and I often do—the fact that living in tiny houses has become a movement is kind of strange.  I mean, that used to just be the way it was, right?  Normal people didn’t live in huge McMansions.  Half of the time people were in homes that might be considered far too small for the number of people living in them. Nomadic peoples built shelters like the teepee.  Small houses were the norm.  Then we (in the western world at least and particularly in America) got all crazy and now couples live in huge, echoing structures that are so big they have to hire someone to help them clean.  Fuck that.

In Germany I don’t hear people talking about a “tiny house movement” so much.  Why?  Coincidence, perhaps, together with the fact that most of the houses here are really frickin old, also know as from “the time before McMansions became accessible to people below the upper upper class.”

But things got out of hand and now there’s a movement that’s bringing people back down to earth.  Well move this!  If you’ve been around for a while, you know that my partner, daughter, and I live in a tiny house on wheels in a community of folks living in houses on wheels (called Bauwägen).  There are 130 of these communities throughout Germany, and we celebrate the lifestyle.  It is a choice that has allowed us to live our lives on our terms, sans the kind of jobs that make us feel trapped and uncomfortable and miserable.  We celebrate it so much that when we made band t-shirts this summer, we decided to put a lovely drawing of a tiny house on them.  At the time all three band members lived in tiny houses and for as long as we’ve been making music we’ve been having practice in the same tiny caravans.  Not quite as small as this, but you get the idea. Tiny houses were in part responsible for us having found each other to make music in the first place.

So! If you love tiny houses, please consider buying our t-shirt! Even if you aren’t really into folk music (though if you are you can check us out here), buy ‘em for the beautiful tiny house on the front.  Or buy ‘em cause you love whiskey (the back reads: “no borders but whiskey,” which is a reference to one of our songs). We had a friend screen print a very limited number of shirts at his workshop in Berlin, in sand and charcoal, and once they are gone, they are gone forever. We’ve got S, M, L, and XL (no specifically “ladies” sizes, but I find the fit good, and you can always buy an XL and Frankenstein sew that shit).  And the Beard and I are currently living off of the money we make selling them, so you’d also be supporting some tiny housers and particularly Click Clack Gorilla in her further pursuit of tiny house online documentation.

how to order

Pick a size: S / M / L / XL

Pick a country (where we should ship the shirt) and note the price:

Germany 11.35 (euros)
Europe 13.45 (euros)
America 13.45 (euros) or 16 dollars

Click the link below to send us that amount via paypal. Include your shipping address in the notes, along with the size and color you would like. Wala!  If you would like to send money by some other means, just drop me an email, and we can work something out (nicolettekyle AT yahoo DOT com). UPDATE: The paypal donate button seems to have expired. So please just paypal the money to nicolettekyle AT googlemail DOT com. Sorry about that!



Wednesday November 14th 2012, 2:47 pm 7 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,music,The Battenkill Ramblers,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


the further mad cap plans of click clack gorilla

At the beginning of fall a feeling of excitement creeps in alongside the new smells and colors.  The smell of dried leaves reminds me of the start of school, of hats dug out of closets, of new notebooks and pencils, of scarves and hot chocolate, cold hands and red noses. It is a season of transition.  The trees have changed their clothes and then stripped.  The ground is melting into a muddy paste.  The air shows me my breath in foggy clouds.

I thrive on change.  It is why I like phoenixes.  It is why I rearrange my living space at least once a year.  It is probably also why I find the idea of an apocalypse so intriguing.  I sometimes like to put myself in new situations, uncomfortable situations, just to watch myself struggle and learn and grow.  But sometimes, still, it is sad.  Like finding out that another member of your band will be leaving.  Sniff sniff.  On the upside, we also have a new bassist.  At the very least, I can already feel myself drawing energy from the reorganization.  (More here.)

On the home front, I am settling in.  Really feeling at home in a new place takes time.  There is no fast forward button.  There is always a period of slowness and sometimes sadness and adjusting.  Even though I have called this town home in the past, it is all different now.  Another challenge, another change, another new source of energy.

This I think, is the reason why I have been humoring some mad cap plans.  We still don’t have a Wagen for Baby Pickles, and the emptiness in the spot where we would be placing it and the crazy ass structures others have built in this community have gotten me thinking.  Why don’t I just build a fucking house?  Right there on that spot? It would be a tiny house, but it would mean having all our spaces under one roof.  It would mean lighting one fire and never having to go outside in the rain to get to the kitchen.  I could design it just the way I like it, perfect every detail before we moved in.

We have been dreaming of a tiny cabin—something like a retirement plan—but why wait?  Why not build a tiny cabin now?  I can’t think of any reason to put it off.  There is space.  We have our Wägen to house us while I start scrounging together materials (and to keep us mobile after).  The idea was to save money, buy land, then build, lalala.  The usual way.  The way that involves working lots of hours and always putting off the dream.  It has long been my philosophy that putting off dreams is always a bad idea.  Maybe one day we would have enough money.  Maybe one day we would get around to it.  But what if we didn’t?  Do I want to spend my life waiting?  Oh hell no.

When I mentioned this to the Beard he was skeptical.  But we won’t be mobile, he said.  If we get evicted or want to move somewhere else we can’t take a house with us.  It’s true.  That was always the plus of tiny Wagen life.  But I don’t like to live my life waiting.  Even five years would be long enough to justify the time and the money to do build an awesome tiny house.  And we don’t need to spend a lot of money.  We can scrounge.  I can hound the internet for free things (one of our new Platz-mates built a lovely kitchen add-on on his Wagen from a garden shed that someone had placed an add to get rid of).  I can take my damn time, and then I can get some friends together and build a fucking house.  Raise high the roof beam carpenter!

Monday November 12th 2012, 6:19 pm 5 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,tiny house livin'


tiny houses: living small, feeling big

You expand and contract according to the size of your dwelling. Have you ever noticed? Get a huge living space and you find yourself slowly working to fill it up. Move into a tiny house, and you’ll become obsessed with decluttering and going minimalist, even if only out of self defense.  Our Wagen dwelling was already small, and now it is shrinking.

In the summer, or any of the warm months for that matter, our house expands to include everything outside.  We eat outside, we sit outside, and sometimes we even set up an extra bed and sleep outside.  The size of our home swells from seven meters by 2 meters 20 to infinite.  Our Wagen house becomes more of our posessions’ dwelling than ours.

But as the cold approaches that space slowly begins to recede.  We eat a few more meals indoors every week; the chairs are wet.  It stops being light until 10 pm; we watch a movie rather than sit around the outdoor table.  It is like the ebb of the tide.  With the lap of each wave things contract another few steps until you find yourself living with three people in a shoebox.

This is the first year I have felt the Wagen constrict, and it is tempting to blame it on the fact that we now live here with three people, small as the newcomer may still be.  However, looking around today, it is pretty obvious that it has a lot more to do with the way we’ve set a few things in here up.  Today I found myself fantasizing about a complete renovation, about removing every single object inside, repainting, rearranging, and then only putting the most important, lovely, necessary items back in.

When we decided that Baby Pickles—though at the time she was about the size of a matchbox—would sleep in bed with us, we decided to enlarge our bed.  Originally it was flush against one end of the WagenWägen tend to be about the width of a mattress length—and so we slept with our heads against one wall and our feet against another.  For the new super enormo monster bed the mattress stayed in the same position, but we added an extra bit of foam at the feet, and laid across them in the other direction.  That is to say, with out heads against the narrow wall of the Wagen and our feet facing out into the room.  A couple of feet of space were lost, but it was so worth it.

Later, I built a shelf slash dividing wall facing the bed—a place for our television and clothing to live.  This made our Wagen feel like it was made up of two small rooms.  The effect was pleasant, but it increased the amount of time we spent dancing around each other trying to get in or out or to this shelf or that.  Still worth it.

Then the Beard built a raised platform that came out about 2.5 meters into the Wagen.  The reasons were twofold.  One: create storage space (under the platform).  Two: create a space where Baby Pickles could crawl on the floor without getting cold (the floor is the coldest place once the weather cools down).  Both have been successful, but while the Beard uses it often, I rarely set foot upon it.  So for me it has taken our Wagen down to a five-meter number, minus enormo-bed, a small space for one, let alone three.

Today we suffered yet another loss of space and an attack of the worst possible kind in any house.  Mold.  It had been growing on part of the wall under the bed for some time, and we had been postponing removing the boards on which it was feasting for lack of a car long enough to get us replacements from the building supply store.  But our spot in Frankfurt seems to be extra damp and when the Beard noticed that the instrument cases beneath the bed were all soaking wet, he took it as a sign that it was time to either act or sign the place over to the spores.  Action it was.

Air wasn’t circulating beneath our mattress, so his first move (after clearing everything out under the bed and throwing away a ton of stuff) was to move the bed a foot and a half away from the back wall to create some ventilation.  Now the bed is claustrophobically close to the dividing wall slash clothes shelves, and we’ve had to get rid of a number of things to make the situation tolerable.  But at least the moldy boards have all been cut out and thrown onto the bonfire pile.

With the house shrinking, I’ve gone into super efficiency planning mode.  I just hope that come spring I’m still motivated to put some of my ideas into action.  I’m seeing a fresh paint job, less chaotic shelving, and nets hanging from the ceiling to hold worn-but-not-dirty clothes and Pickles’ toys.  I’m also seeing some massive decluttering, starting with the flea market this weekend where we’ll be running a table.  And people say spring is the time for cleaning.

PS The picture above is an older one of our main Wagen.  I can only hope this winter looks as quaint.  So far it just looks like a hell of a lot of mud.

PPS I just realized that the bed expansion and the clothing shelf building happened in the opposite order, but oh well nevermind.

Monday November 05th 2012, 9:00 am 5 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,diy,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


and also, we have a new wood stove

Winter is long and grueling, in its way. But in its way it is also the coziest season. It is the best time of year for laying in bed under the weight of six blankets, for drinking tea and mulled wine, for the crackle of fires, for reading six books at once.

I have wanted a glass-fronted wood stove for a long time.  Once upon a time in Mainz we had traded wood stoves with a friend who had a huge stove but only needed to heat a small space.  We had a tiny stove and needed to heat a larger space.  So we used the big wood stove and he the small.  But before we moved we traded back.  It would have been fine, but.  Then there was this offer to buy a wood stove with a glass door from our friend.  I was all “hells yeah!” and after a little convincing, the Beard was too.

Cod, isn’t it beautiful?  I can see that from my bed.

It is an Italian brand, Nordica, and they make all sorts of wood stoves that sort of look like flat screen tvs with names like Plasma and Fireball.  According to the friend who sold it to us (never used) you can get all sorts of awesome wood stoves cheap at Italian building supply stores.

At first we were uncertain about how it would work.  With the kind of wood stove we had before, that most of the folks we know have, you have two doors.  One opens on the burning chamber, so you can put wood in.  Another, lower, smaller door, opens on the ash tray and the bottom bit of the burning chamber.  It means you can light all the paper you’ve stuff in under your kindling from the bottom, which is nice.  If you were to leave the upper door open it would smoke you out of the house.  You could also open the bottom door to get an extra stream of air running through, which makes for a livelier fire when things are starting to slow down.

The new wood stove just has one door, the big glass door.  Well, that’s not true.  It has a lower door as well, but it only opens onto the ash tray, and you can’t get at the bottom of the burning chamber to light the paper from below or poke a dying fire with a stick.  Maybe it would smoke a lot, every time we fed the fire?  Maybe it would be a big pain in the ass?  Maybe the glass door would be black in a minute flat?  Nope, it was awesome.  Is awesome.

You do have to clean the glass regularly though, if you want to keep enjoying the view (about every four days and water doesn’t cut it).  It is like a little nightlight, flickering pleasantly, then fading to a low, deep glow throughout the night.  We have practically stopped watching tv (though this has a lot to do with Baby Pickles) and now we have the fire.  Remember when I went on about how fires are the original television?  Still think that.

Thursday November 01st 2012, 11:28 am 6 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


one tiny wagen house

Isn’t she purdy? Just wanted to share in my Mainz Wagenplatz I-miss-you nostalgia.

Thursday October 04th 2012, 9:00 am 2 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


speaking of tiny kitchens

While I am on the subject of tiny kitchens… This is the cute teeny tiny little kitchen the Beard and I were using before we left Mainz. Glad I thought to document it before we blew off on the wind. How to do a kitchen when you only have three by two meters.

Thursday September 20th 2012, 9:00 am Leave a Comment
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


new and improved tiny kitchen for three

I am head over heels. I have been using my Wagen as a kitchen since I finished building back in twenty ten. But it was always complicated. The Beard and I had very different visions of the perfect kitchen, and I jumped ship on ours. He loves communal kitchens, full of people and chaos. And while I like eating with people, I don’t really like cooking with people or cleaning up with people. Better said: I don’t like dealing with other people’s chaos.  (And I’m just as sure that most other people don’t like dealing with mine, or with my anal retentiveness on the subject of wandering utensils.)  There is a good reason why kitchens tend to be a conflict point in every communal project ever.  When it becomes too much for me I stop cooking and start eating really poorly/not at all in an attempt to avoid the headache completely.  No fun at all.

(A Johnny Hobo/Pat the Bunny/Wingnut Dishwashers Union song called Jesus Does the Dishes comes to mind. “But have we made it anywhere at all if the dishes are never done? If we can’t live without dishwashers, how can we live without cops? And so you’re asking me, who does the dishes after the revolution? Well, I do my own dishes now I’ll do my own dishes then. You know it is always the ones who don’t who ask that fucking question.” Oh Johnny Hobo, always spot on brilliant I heart you forever. You can listen to the song here.)

Once upon a time we were in a kitchen group with five(ish) people, called die Hölle (hell.)  One by one everybody jumped ship, putting tiny kitchens in their Wägen until only the Beard was left.  These days, somebody lives in the Wagen that once housed our dirty dishes and bags of noodles.

Not wanting to be in a kitchen without a group, the Beard moved into a kitchen called the Spiesser kitchen (Spiesser is a slang-y word for a conservative person, someone who might be a bit anal retentive, but it isn’t a nice word for any of that).  It was the same kitchen where the refrigerator lived where I kept my milk products.  I didn’t want to join the kitchen group, it was practically empty anyway, its owner being in Switzerland for most of the year.  Then suddenly it wasn’t empty anymore, and three people had reanimated it.  But then there was all my stuff in the fridge, disappearing and not being replaced as if I was.  And there was the Beard, cooking almost all of our meals.  The Beard took over almost all kitchen duties around my third month of pregnancy, and I was slowly sucked into the group, like it or not.  Not!

I like having a kitchen all to myself.  I like knowing that everything in my kitchen is something I find beautiful, something lovely pulled from the trash or bought at the flea market or, in very rare cases, carried from America in a suitcase.  (This is how I have been able to stop hating doing dishes.)  I don’t like it when things from my kitchen disappear into other kitchens, never to return.  I don’t like it when I have to carry things back and forth between my kitchen and another kitchen in order to cook a meal.  I like having a fully stocked pantry, and I sometimes sit and stare at my rows of glass jars, filled with beans and lentils and noodles and raisins and flour, and feel content.  I don’t like it when I buy something nice and it disappears and is either never replaced or replaced with something that didn’t cost as much and doesn’t taste as good.  As I write this I am discovering that my kitchen is the calm little center that I need in order to face the world.  Without it things fall apart.  Starting with my eating habits.

Well.  Well!  Once Baby Pickles entered the picture, I started wishing we could have a kitchen, the three of us.  Then all of our food and our utensils would live in one place.  They wouldn’t disappear because there would be nowhere for them to disappear to.  Things from the fridge would only disappear into the mouths of someone I love.  For obvious subjective reasons, I can stand it when those people eat the last of everything and never replace it.  Then it doesn’t bother me at all.  But it isn’t enough for me to just like someone.  Then they need to replace things!  Sometimes I wish this didn’t bother me, but ho-hum, so it goes.

AND NOW MY DREAM HAS COME TRUE!  Ha!  Ha I say!  How often can you write that sentence and mean it?  Not every single day, of that I am sure.  Which brings us back to me being head over heels.  For our new kitchen!  We moved to Frankfurt, my Wagen became our kitchen, and I have been in an amazing mood ever since.  I have cooked every single day.  I have stocked the shelves with gleeful abandon.  I have sighed in happy contentment.  I have been unable to shut up about how happy our new kitchen situation makes me.  So here I am: kitchen blah blah blah blah kitchen kitchen kitchen!

Which, at long last, brings me to the entire point of this post.  Pictures of the kitchen!  Look at her go!

In the picture at the top you can see that we now have a fridge (annoying when it comes to electrictiy usage, though practical now that I eat meat and a lot of dairy), and that we still don’t have a stove. Our future stove is currently in Karlsruhe, waiting to hitch a ride to Frankfurt. In the meantime, we’re still cooking on the biggest electricity waster of all, a single electric stove plate. Here’s a second perspective:

This is me cooking breakfast on the electricity waster. Leftovers from last night’s dinner (red quinoa and roasted vegetables) with eggs. Mmm. Quinoa makes me really happy. So do baked sweet potatoes. Who needs a flat screen tv or a billion dollars when you can get so much pleasure out of a 3 euro bag of grains and a root vegetable?

My book shelf, which doesn’t have much to do with the kitchen-ness of my kitchen, but which I love a lot. Yey.

In transforming my Wagen into an exclusive kitchen Wagen (as opposed to an all-purpose, bed, work, and cook Wagen) I also added these shelves. My table/desk used to occup the same space. Once I remove the bed, a table and chairs will be joining us as well, at the very back.

Pickle is now old enough that I can sit her in her chair, and she’ll play contentedly while I cook. This makes me almost as happy as the kitchen does. Eggplant!

Wednesday September 19th 2012, 9:00 am 8 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,tiny house livin',wagenplatz


settling: after the move

In every battle of the wills so far, my new space phone has won. At the moment it is winning at preventing me from removing photos and videos of our move and putting them on my computer. My computer pretends that nothing is connected to it when I attach space phone’s usb cord. This is why I have been silent on the matter of moving, the one thing I absolutely can’t wait to tell you about. Go figure. But look at that! Those are our two Wägen in their new spots in Frankfurt! So green! So far apart! So many far better pictures soon to come!

It has been ten days since we arrived, most of which the Beard spent working aka I have spent alone with Baby Pickles aka not so much settling has happened just yet.  The Beard has jacked up the red Wagen, and he also built some lovely steps while I was away one evening, as a surprise.  Pre-new steps we were vaulting into the Wagen on a very wobbly construction that threatened, emptily as it turned out, to toss me on my face every time I climbed them carrying Baby Pickles.  Our midwife, who never liked the steps we had on either of our Wägen before, would be very happy.

The to-do list remains, though its contents have changed.  1.  Finish painting my Wagen.  (The unpainted spot was blocked by a tree in Mainz.)  2.  Put my Wagen up on blocks.  (Walking into the Wagen is walking down hill, currently.)  3.  Put in a stone walkway between Wägen.  (The muddy season is coming.)  4.  Build a new shed.  (Big enough to house our baby bike trailer, baby carriage, and all the tools we’ve accumulated, particularly in the last three weeks.)  The little things aren’t even worth listing until those items are checked off.  The thought of just one day when I could do things involving both hands and no baby sounds like winning the lottery.  But I don’t harbor any illusions about winning the lottery either.  So, stolen five minutes by stolen five minutes, it will come.

Who wants to come over and babysit Pickles while I work?  (And then who wants to invent a teleporter so that I can have fun company and babysitters from all over the world all the time?)

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Tuesday September 18th 2012, 11:11 am 9 Comments
Filed under: conspiracies,daily life,tiny house livin',wagenplatz