The wheels and their cycles.

I have big, sad, beautiful news. The tiny house found her new home! After all the work, joy, and tears that came with building and living in her, seeing her off was rich with complex emotions. She held me for years when I needed it, enveloped and protected me. She also holds so many of the people dearest to me, past and present – people who gifted labor, lumber, love, truly uncountable blessings that made her into the exceptional home she is.

In building and living in her, she taught me far more than I ever anticipated: lessons of solitude, community, generosity, commitment, confrontations with the ways we desire to and actually live in spaces and the ache that attends the differences between. She continues to teach me what it means to trust, to change, to let go. In this moment, her most important lesson for me is that the spirit with and in which something is built shapes the community that eventually surrounds it. The tiny house, formed from love and passionate imaginings of more conscious and creative living, summoned her new owners. We all summoned each other.

She is now nestled next to an incredible family, on the edge of a beautiful grove, preparing to shelter a teacher as they found a forest school. The tiny knew I wouldn’t be able to joyfully let her go unless it was to continue the work for which she was built. She knew that because, in so many ways, we built each other. And I am so much better for it. Here’s a picture of her leaving where we called home and one as she settles in to her new one.

“Whatever good things we build, end up building us” – Jim Rohn

Though this special, special house has moved, my thinking about the tiny house movement has not left me. I am still very much invested in emphasizing the complexity of whiteness, race, and systems of oppression in our built environments – the ways our physical structures are built out of, re-establish, and also disassemble our social structures. For my part, I am still thinking in terms of #tinyhousesowhite, which I discussed here. But I will keep revising, adding, rebuilding (at this moment for an upcoming talk at Cornell, the history of utopias). Until then, look how these houses MOVE. They move me, they move themselves, and they can move the seemingly fixed social relations that define and sometimes damage us. THOW-WOW. 😉


The Tiny, she’s for sale, for REAL!

March 10th from 1-4pm!!!

Grab a tiny cookie, tour the tiny house, and ask any questions you may have of the owner. This is a limited offering, so make sure to stop by tomorrow and check out the spec sheet below in the meantime. We can’t wait to see you!


The tiny’s media appearances:

More photos:

I can’t wait to meet the tiny’s new owner – is it you???

I never named her, besides knowing the home as her and calling her “the tiny.” We built her so that I could pursue my PhD in Literature and the Environment, but, as is common in academia, I moved and could not take her with me. In a short five years, she has taught me so very much. The time has come for The Tiny to roll on 😉

The Tiny is a stunning tiny house, handmade out of reclaimed, repurposed, and local materials. Built by myself and many friends and family, this house is the product of many hours of labor and careful attention to every detail. I chose every small piece of the house, corners and woods and windows all from treasures I found, purchased, or was given. She is truly a work of precision and love.

The Tiny has been the inspiration for much of my own scholarship (here and here and here), has been featured in the films Small is Beautiful, on the Huffington Post, Christian Science Monitor, and others, and is frequently described as one of the most beautiful tiny houses ever seen.

All blessings must eventually move. And I know the tiny will move her next person. If you are that person, or you know who that person is, contact Aricha at or 541.749.7010.




This post is responding in part to Lee Pera’s excellent, honest, and compassionate piece ‘“Everyone’s Welcome’: The facade of the tiny house movement,” and the conversations her article has provoked. Read it if you haven’t!

I’ve been thinking and writing about the way privilege operates in the tiny house movement for a long time. A few examples of inequality built into the movement can be seen in the simple fact that it requires a lot of money to acquire or build a tiny house, and, in most places, you must own the land where the tiny is parked to be able to live in one at all. Only recently, however, has my scholarship on the movement been explicitly tied to whiteness. I have been thinking about how property acts a form of whiteness, as a manifestation and reinforcement of white privilege (albeit a reinforcement that, just like studs on a house, is often made invisible). Property functioning as an anchor for the shifting social construction of whiteness is nothing new. Claims of white supremacy were used to justify enslaving black people as property, or stealing land from native peoples under the same rationale. Cheryl Harris famously articulated whiteness as property back in 1993 and, in 1998, George Lipsitz developed his now formative idea of the possessive investment in whiteness. Both of these scholars note how whiteness is a form of property-privilege, just like wealth or education, and it is a self-reinforcing one: if a person is white-presenting, statistics have it that a good education, political power, social status, gratifying work, and even the power to shape and narrate their own history is more easily accessed… and, for the tiny house movement in particular, access to decent housing and asset accumulation correlates with a person’s racial category. A person’s “whiteness” was the necessary precondition to owning property. And though who is labeled white has shifted over time, the logic of private property was  the foundation for defining who did and did not count as white, and thus who was able to own property. Property made people White and their whiteness confers the right of title. See the circle? A fancy word for that is tautology. Property-White-Property, ad infinitum. 

Let’s be clear. All this talk about whiteness does not mean that white people do not experience systemic disadvantage like poverty. In fact, it is central part of whiteness to help white people believe in both the myth of meritocracy (therefor what is due them has been stolen) and that their disadvantages are due to other people, instead of systems of inequality. It functions by telling disaffected white folks that their hardships are due to concerns for “equality” as they appear in affirmative action or identity politics, instead of disadvantages due to structures of capitalism and colonialism that have always been interested in consolidation of power to benefit an elite few. Those elite are mostly white, mostly male, and mostly believe that they have legitimately earned everything they have achieved. Some may have. Whiteness does not mean all white people earn more than their share, or that all white people are treated fairly. Whiteness means that our current political, social, and economic systems have been built on THEFT of labor and land through slavery and genocide. The original beneficiaries of these thefts were white men. They had children, those folks had children, and generational wealth and power are real things – not perfectly systematic things, but systematic things nonetheless, built in to the systems that structure our lives (even the literal structures we live in). Not every person who is a police officer is a bad cop, not all legal codes aim to repeat and protect injustice, but both the police (originally the militia) and the law were originally conceived to secure wealth and power for white men, secure their right to enslave and to dispossess. Those original goals still express themselves. This is why #takeaknee is more offensive to some than a knee in the back of Freddy Grey. This is why “The president of the United States has condemned a football player more harshly than white nationalists. That’s why he’s a white supremacist.” Because the belief that “white people” are superior – white supremacy – is a foundational part of the US nation-state. Sometimes it is bafflingly overt. But sometimes it is insidious. Sometimes it is hidden in building codes or home loan policy – this recent article by Matthew Desmond speaks to these bureaucratic and institutional forms with great detail and clarity. Or, if you’re more in to the football strain of things, Spurs Coach Greg Popovich has something to say here.

Which brings me back to the tiny house movement, and some important conversations that have been happening in the communities to which I belong. The compassionate and committed Lee Pera of Boneyard Studios published this thoughtful and difficult piece on Medium. It has generated a lot of discussion, and a LOT of pushback, anger, and empty attacks. Thankfully, I have witnessed many counter this anger with patient and kind concern. I am really proud of this community for starting some of these difficult discussions about race, and for people interrupting white supremacy in whatever form. Thoughtful talk about race, privilege, whiteness, and justice must happen more and more and more.

I think it’s important that we remember that the tiny house movement, and tiny house communities everywhere, ARE political – we are hoping to work against systems of economic inequality, un-wise, un-fair, and nonsensical regulations and codes, and imagine different ways of living. ALL of that attention to systems, and the critique of systems that we live under, is at the very core of tiny house movement. We are BUILT to pay critical attention to the systems that we live in. It is time to expand the tiny house movement’s critique of economic inequality, capitalism, and corporate wealth to include issues of race. We are ready, we are response-able. Our communities are political. period. And I LOVE that about us.


Image courtesy of Lee Pera and Boneyard Studios

updates, uplifts, and up endings

Update: I didn’t sell the tiny! I am working with a friend to keep it on property through this school year. This means that my house will be looked after and loved AND still mine! Hooray. More updates to come once the house is settled.

Uplifts: PLEASE support The Tiny House Warriors. They are an important example of how tiny houses can be a more direct refusal of extraction economies. The Tiny House Warriors are Secwepemc people who declare: “Our Land is Home is a part of a mission to stop the Kinder Morgan TransMountain pipeline from crossing unceded Secwepemc Territory. Ten tiny houses will be built and placed strategically along the 518 km TransMountain pipeline route to assert Secwepemc Law and jurisdiction and block access to this pipeline.” Using tiny houses to fight oil culture AND support First Nations’ sovereignty! MORE OF THIS PLEASE!!!!  Read more and support them here.

Up endings: Oregon is on fire, Houston is under water, Hurricane Irma is barreling toward me, followed by José. All seems so unbelievably transient, traumatized, anticipatory of more and more and more dire events. It upends me to think about the amount of life and beauty that has already been lost because of human greed and stupidity and violence. But:


In radical solidarity, April


Coming Home


Almost every day I see a new city initiative to bring tiny homes to those who need them – not for accumulation, or even for saving money to secure a place in that shrinking category we call the “middle” class but for those who are truly in need: for the precariously housed, and the unhoused, for students signing their life away in student loan contracts, for the elderly who want and need to be close to family, for the young who recognize the insanity of a life working to pay for a roof you barely sleep under, for all those who want to envision different ways of being in places… new, different, and exciting examples are happening everywhere.

For now, check out Time Magazine’s recent article on tiny houses for the homeless in Portland here.

More personally, in the beautiful Fall in Eugene , we held the first Sustainability and Housing Justice Forum. This event explored the intersections of HOUSING JUSTICE and SUSTAINABILITY and offered opportunities for community organizations, activists, and volunteers to connect. The event also featured a CONESTOGA HUT on site, open for the public, as a way to learn more about the simple and transformative solutions for the unhoused in our area. Activists, academics, students, scholars, and many community members came together to connect, idea share, and discuss how we (all different versions of that word) can do better. It was inspiring and encouraging. If the tiny house does nothing else, it helps us reimagine.


The history of the tiny house on wheels is as old as the wheels underneath them; that is, they emerged almost simultaneously with automobiles. They are, as a friend so astutely noted, the American Dream collapsed into one mobile object. It should be no surprise that much of the (justified) critique takes up the fraught nature of the American Dream: issues of access, privilege, whiteness, property, consumerism, etc. It’s all there.

There have been many take-downs of the movement as of late that are ill-informed, hasty, and seem to be working more as click bait than journalism. However, there are smart and nuanced critiques as well.

In my opinion, one article in between those poles is here.

And today, a compelling critique from Jacobin here.

I’d LOVE it if y’all compare to my chapter written over two years ago and send me your thoughts!

Critique should make us more thoughtful, more responsive. Hip hip!


the force. of space, honestly.

Admission: I haven’t seen the movie yet, but because it’s everywhere in our cultural imagination, it is shamelessly used here to get attention. Working?

Warning: Like the movie franchise, this post keeps going.


As family disperses and the new year closes in, I am reflecting on how fast the last three months have gone. Almost every weekend during that time, I’ve meant to write this update. But, as a testament to the effectiveness of what I have to update about, I have been busy. New friends, new geographies, new goings-ons.

The last three and a half years I have been living in the tiny, parked in my grandmother’s backyard. Living in such close proximity with family has many benefits: support for the bad days, kitty-sitting for the gone ones, and quotidian remembrances of the days upon days gone by which all add up to make me. In this space, the first few years in the tiny were incredibly challenging but even more so insightful. I wrote through a lot of both on this blog. I learned to confront, more materially, my privileges of idealism, of impatience, of pride. I learned how comforting it is to have a grandma’s shoulder to spill tears over and then go straight to sleep, how special it is to stare up from my bed at two trees planted by my aunt and uncle when they were kiddos, how fortunate I am to be able to experience place, and history, and family, through an enduring plot of (historically stolen) land.

But. That specific spot, nurturing as it is, is also located about a 20 minute drive from campus. I hate commuting and looked so forward to biking when I moved here. Yet, I found myself driving almost every day for the first three years living in Eugene. Moreover, because the tiny was parked so far away, I rarely left my house once I was home. My life quickly became even more insular than the misleading quotes of Thoreau on tiny house blogs make his (and our) life out to be (see here; Walden was built in Emerson’s woodlot on Walden pond and Thoreau ate at the Emerson’s house almost every night; Thoreau’s mother and sister did his laundry [see here]; and Thoreau was NOT the proponent of self-reliance that American myth has made him to be [that was Emerson]. My point: Thoreau, albeit imperfect, was far more radical, community and land oriented, and critical of the idea that anyone could “go-it-alone” but we often misread his “live-deliberately” as a solo endeavor. It never was.).

After more than three years of living in isolation, this summer I became more and more unhappy. I was crying a lot, complaining even more, giving in to negative energy and giving it out as well. I hit a breaking point.

To be fair, I could feel it building over the last year. I wrote less, reflected less, grew less. Here I mean both senses of “grew less”: the tiny house was not giving up her lessons to me as easily – she and I settled into a largely unconscious relationship that I became accustomed to – AND I grew less in the sense that I became energetically smaller, or less full in my livingness-nesses. I discovered that what made me, me had slowly atrophied. Now, this degeneration was: 1) Not the tiny’s fault but my own – it was easier to ignore the sides of me that sews, crafts, hosts dinners and poetry readings, cooks, stores stuff for random projects that I then spread out to get to making, all this was easier to forget than to find a new way to do it within the space of the tiny or seek out a space not my own. Also, 2) Not a sudden shift – I had my eye on a particular neighborhood ever since moving to Eugene, a neighborhood close to my favorite bar, coffee shop, pizza place, university, PEOPLE.

Though it wasn’t a sudden break, it felt like that. I woke up one morning and just knew I had to change the way I had been living the last three years. I didn’t have enough money to pay rent on someplace new. I didn’t know how I would make it work. I just knew I needed to get out of the isolation, into the thick of the beautiful communities where I live, and back to cultivating my whole self. I knew it needed to be immediate, before I had time to find a place to move the tiny.

After one day of hiking on it – I climbed, wrote, meditated – I knew I needed to rent an apartment in that neighborhood I so loved. For the length of the hike up and down I repeated one word: trust. Though I knew that moving out of the tiny was financially irresponsible, and given the many interviews and writings I have done about tiny house movement, it felt a little fraudulent, but I knew I had to do it in the deepest form of knowing. I had felt this sort of feeling before – the crushing weight, the fear of knowing what I need to do but no idea how the seemingly irresponsible decision would turn out, the promise of transformation but the first necessary leap into the void. I moved in on September 20. Trusting that the path would appear in the nano-second before my stride touched forward.

It did. Within a month I found a wonderful person to rent the tiny house and a roommate for my new apartment, making the year break from the tiny house an affordable one.

And, that promise of transformation came through once again. I feel full, abundant, grateful. I am incredibly, incredibly happy as I plug more deeply into community, bike everywhere, and frequent the coffee shop and bar on foot. Life these last three months has been very, very good. I am still unsure if the good is because I am out of the tiny space, or because I am closer to town than where the tiny was parked. I would venture to guess that most of the positive change is just location.

There are, though, some WONDERFUL things that come from the actual space of the apartment: baths! on site laundry! couch! BIG clothes closet!! coat closet! full size refrigerator!! All these things, though, are available in a carefully planned tiny house. Which is another long-term dream: build the perfect one for me, knowing what I know now about what I need to live abundantly.

I do miss the comfort of the simplicity of the tiny, though. To me, she is like a person, and I miss her company and cradling comfort quite often. It helps that she is occupied by a wonderful women who adores the space and a kitty, too. So the space is getting love – even in my absence (and maybe because of it). Here are a few pics of the tiny at her new home:



So, this has been another enormous lesson that the tiny has gifted me: nothing is permanent, space is changeable, we are teachable, and life longs to be energetically lived.

Go get it, people! Happy holidays, and happy early New Year!

Housing Justice and University Life, oh my!

Firstly, early in negotiating life in the tiny, I did some writing to help me sort through my thinkings. One of those writings turned into a little something that was included in the 2015 issue of The Ecotone: Journal of Environmental Studies  (pgs 16-18). I’m still not quite happy with the piece, but that’s both a testament to the never-done-ness of writing and because living in a tiny house continues to change me.

Nextly, a recent article focuses on university students (myself included) who have chosen a tiny house as a way to *begin* to afford higher education. While a tiny house cannot solve skyrocketing tuition, it can certainly ease some of the strain. Check it here.

Most importantly, I am so proud and excited to announce the Forum on Sustainability and Housing Justice, October 16th in Eugene, Oregon.


Continue reading

Late > Never

Waaaaay back in April, the first ever Tiny House Conference was held in Portland, Oregon. Though I didn’t attend all the sessions, I was present for the premier of Small is Beautiful (a gorgeous film I’ve written about before – see below). Attending the screening, I was overwhelmed by how many people were there, how open everyone seemed to considering ways the movement can grow in responsibility and to more creatively engage with the ideals that gave rise to the movement way back when (the “when” is super debatable, see this – page 298).


One lesson reinforced by the conference was – as cliche as it may sound – the greater the gifts, the greater the responsibility. Tiny house villages for the homeless are popping up all over; tiny house dwellers are finding more creative and ecologically responsible ways to build and live in community; people are constructing with more reclaimed/upcycled/repurposed materials; the general awareness of the movement is growing; people inside the movement are asking how they can do it better.

I am reminded. When we experience the blessings of being a part of a group, a relationship, a place, we must honor that being-ness with not just our presentness, or whole self, but with questions of how to better our whole self – how to grow as giving back. To engage, we must do more than show up; we must be willing to listen, learn, and loosen the grip on “comfort” – a guise for excess ego that, quite believably, parades as necessary.

Small is Beautiful now available!

The documentary Small is Beautiful is now available online! Find your preferred method here and get to watching this stunningly vulnerable and inspiring treatment of three different tiny house builds.

I’ve said it before, but I will again: this film is the most honest depiction of what is transformative about building a tiny house – and the most radical potential inside the movement itself. Watch it and revel!