The littles love their tiny loft, and maybe the reading nook too.
When Sarah, my daughter-in-law, created these signs last summer I never imagined it would be over a year before two of our six grandchildren had a place to hold them up. Though the nook and loft are not completely finished, the end is finally in sight and as happy as I am, Brian is even happier.
The Reading Nook
Initially, I planned for the reading nook to be the size of a full mattress and closed off, in hopes of giving it a quiet, cozy feel. It didn’t take long, however, to realize that the eight-foot-long window/desk would barely squeeze into the remaining space so we switched the size to a twin. I was disappointed, but the tiny house was created mainly for writing, so I begrudgingly agreed with reality and here we are.
As I played with the idea of closing off this tiny twin nook, I came across a picture in Cottage Living that reminded me of the second-story sleeping porch in Thomas Wolfe’s home, located in Asheville, NC. Its surrounding walls, consisting mainly of windows, make for an airy, bright, and downright dreamy space.
So we decided to make an interior “window” that matched the other three inside the nook. Now, natural light shines through, lending an open feel to the entire tiny house. It may not feel quite as cozy but I figure the stack of vintage chenille spreads, fluffy back pillows, and a copy of Look Homeward, Angel in the corner will help readers feel right at home.
The Littles’ Loft
As an eight-year-old, I dreamed of creating a tiny space in my grandparent’s attic. It was a hidden world above their single-storied home, accessed only by a string that dangled from the door on the ceiling.
The rectangular-shaped attic was bookended by windows. On one side, an iron rod holding vintage dresses coffined in garment bags stretched for what seemed like miles. Brightly colored polyester pieces peeked out from their plastic as if to beg for attention.
On the other side, boxes housed Christmas for eleven months of the year. Grandmother and Granddaddy focused on family instead of fanfare, reflected in the content of the containers that held their decorations, and my memories.
Like the attic in their home, our littles’ loft in the tiny house will be accessible by narrow slats of wood that climb twice as high as their heads. Strategically placed bars across the front, a couple of bean bags, and a comfy throw rug will offer a nice spot to read, play games, or hide Hatchables.
While their tiny “hidden world above” won’t hold vintage dresses or Christmas storage, it will hold the potential to create memories they’ll not soon forget.
Yes, the loft and reading nook are tiny, but if my grandparents’ pocket-sized home taught me anything, it’s that the size of a home doesn’t determine the amount of love it can hold.
So, I’d love to know… what book would you bring to read in the tiny reading nook?
Because gratitude begins when we take notice.
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Okay, maybe our choice of flooring isn’t that surprising but it surprised me.
For over a year, I read magazines and pinned every floor that caught my eye, but this one never made it to the board.
It all began on a whim when we decided to “run in” to Liquid Lumbidators, as I call it, just to see what they had to offer. (This is like stopping by the Humane Society when you’re allergic to dogs but taking shots in hopes of one day adopting.)
Nothing stood out to me.
Until we spotted “Bull Barn Oak”. A few ideas began floating around in my brain while eying the sizable sample:
Its pattern⏤white, gray, taupe, with a dash of mint and distressed⏤is sure to give the tiny space an older feel. Or at least that’s what I hope. With many of the windows being the efficient type, it needs a little aging. An antique mantel can’t carry that mission on its own.
Because of the distressed pattern, the crisp white walls will be smooth and simple. Shiplap will crown the ceiling. The last thing I want is colors and textures vying for my attention when I walk through the door. Can’t we all just get along?
This last point is sponsored by Brian’s sanity and delight. The entire floor (all 144 square feet of it) can be installed in one day. #bestdayever And, it was on sale, saving us hundreds of dollars. Let’s just say that’s quite the blessing at this particularly pricey point of the process.
{The picture doesn’t do the floor justice but it’s hard to control the lighting in a Lumbidator sort of place.}
I admit to having doubts whiz past me a time or two because I’d planned to use a solid color in hopes of making the tiny space seem not so tiny.
But for every doubt, a smile emerged as I imagined opening my door to this funky floor.
I’m not an interior decorator, I just know what I love, and it’s not very often we get to choose a “major” purchase based simply on delight. Will our choice of flooring look as I imagine when it’s installed in a couple of weeks? Maybe, maybe not. But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
When is the last time you chose something based purely on delight?
Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 34:7
“At root, what God delights in about us is that we delight in him.” — John Piper
Thanks for stopping by the Tiny House on the Hill! If you’d like to become a part of our *tiny* community, skip over to the sidebar for more information. Every other week, you’ll receive a note from me in the form of a blog post, sharing how we might see God at work in our lives and how this can transform our lives, as well as others.
One of the monthly posts, like this one, sheds a little light on the process (no pun intended) of building a tiny space of my own and hopefully inspires you to consider a way of finding your own space.
I didn’t want insulation used in the tiny ceilings.
It cost more in both time and money, and studios shown on Pinterest didn’t use it (hello, white-washed beams). Need I say more? *wink*
But my husband, being the wise steward that he is, insisted. The hours spent writing + the depth to which I detest feeling hot = a quickly depleted electricity budget, so Brian dressed in his Oompa Loompa outfit and got to work.
You can see from the door color that he started this project months ago, one rectangle at a time. Now that the exterior is complete (except for my porch light), he’s oompa loompin’ right along.
I may not fully appreciate a prickly-pink shield around the walls and ceilings right now, but I know that day is coming. Stifling southern summers and bitter cold days will ensure this heart ends up grateful to the hubby who made it happen.
Receiving protection creates a grateful heart.
King David defined a grateful heart in Psalm 3:3:
But You, O LORD, are a shield about me, My glory, and the One who lifts my head.
When he wrote this, his son and former friends had turned against him. Some were saying there was no help for him from God because he didn’t deserve it. (2 Samuel 16:8) But it’s for this very reason that Psalm 3:3 sweeps our soul off its feet with the same excitement of a bridegroom carrying his new bride over the threshold.
I love this! David isn’t asking God to be his shield⏤he’s declaring that God is his shield. And in this truth, he finds rest, both spiritually and physically. (Psalm 3:5)
David doesn’t allow anyone or anything to cloud his confidence in God’s power of redemption.
He knows Whose he is, and that’s a shield of protection that no season in life, circumstance or person can penetrate.
Though the insulation will soon hide behind the walls, its protection will be evident in every season.
“…your life is hidden with Christ in God.” Colossians 3:3
May God’s power and protection be evident in every season of our lives as we declare that He is our shield!
With the interior work just around the tiny bend, my abstract ideas need to harden like concrete.
For instance, there will be the eight-foot-long desk but we’ve not yet decided on the materials. There will be walls, but will they be planked or smooth? And the floors, will they be wood of a lighter or darker tone? These are just a few of the questions tapping on my brain when I’m all tapped out.
Pinterest is usually my go-to when searching for new ideas. But last week, while facing a stash of multi-layered eye candy otherwise known as magazines, I spotted two letters⏤Ti⏤peeking out from the left side of a Dwell Magazine. Could it be? Why yes, yes it could:
I rescued the latest issue of Tiny Homes magazine and later turned the pages one by one, hoping to gather ideas into my concrete bucket. Some corners received the coveted fold-over while others were pleasantly ignored.
Here are some of my favorite fold-overs for various reasons:
Any time I spot a tiny desk in front of a window, I take note. It seems like many are bar height, maybe because it doubles as a table for those who live in their tiny abode.
These window boxes make the colorful Rainbow Row-inspired siding pop. Let’s just say there may be a patch of pink flowers peering in my windows down the road.
I learned there’s a tiny house community only minutes from my house (now I know of two!) Yeah, that Greenville.
A garden, be it veggies or flowers, doesn’t require a lot of space to be productive. One day, Lord willing, there will be a garden filled with hollyhocks, foxgloves, and other vintage flowers framing the tiny house. But first, a long strand of free weekends await, something we’ve not enjoyed for over a year. (For more tiny garden ideas, visit my Pinterest boards!)
And finally, sometimes it’s not so much about finding what you want to put in your space, but what you don’t want…like, say, these antler rails. Make it stop.
When the interior work begins, watch for specific questions on Instagram. I look forward to your feedback!
But for now, just for fun…what’s your favorite magazine? Do tell!
{Leave a comment to have your name included in a Starbucks giveaway. Enjoy a cup of coffee while dog-earing your own pages!}
Thank you for spending time at the Tiny House on the Hill today.
One morning on the way to our now second home, Lowes, I asked, “Can we brainstorm some ideas for a tiny house name?” (Here in the South we name everything—RVs, cars, property, and tiny houses. It gives us the opportunity to feel all warm and fuzzy about things that are anything but.) It didn’t take long for Brian to blurt out “Lil’ Red Writing House.” Immediately, I began scanning the Internet to see if the name was available. I wanted to claim it as my own because that’s what only children do. It’s our love language.
The Lil’ Red Writing House was perfect, except for the fact my tiny house would not be red, or even close. I had envisioned a white Folk Victorian with all the fancy trimmings, reminiscent of my great-grandmother’s home. Hers sat on the corner of a Mayberry look-alike street with the town’s country store next door, which worked to my advantage on Thanksgiving afternoons when my cousin and I traded coins for candy.
The name Lil’ Red Writing House could work if I incorporated a red item—sometimes obvious, sometimes not—in every Instagram post. Red plastic tape outlined the dimensions of the house, a red clipboard clamped down design drawings, and a red arrow pointed to the mantle stored in our barn.
In addition to the red snippets of color in the tiny house images, I considered painting the front door red. Surely that would nip the my-tiny-house-will-never-be-red issue in the bud.
But there’s something about a front door. It’s the first thing the eye is drawn to when looking at a house, especially a tiny one.
And this front door wasn’t just any door. For the sake of energy efficiency, it was one of only three vintage exterior pieces that Brian agreed to install.
Vintage doors sell locally, but during a prior visit to my favorite salvage store in Brevard, NC, we discovered a covered outdoors section full of old doors and windows. We took note of our find. A few months later, we returned to select and fetch our door.
Along one long wall, doors lined up stiff and straight like soldiers. I knew what I wanted in a door, and Brian knew what we needed. Glass and character topped my list. Door width and price topped his. Details, details. Because the space along the front of the tiny house is tight, the chosen door needed to play nice with its only neighbor, a black-paned antique window. From the window’s size, unique design, and well-worn texture, it was obvious that she was accustomed to attention, leaving little room for the practicality of a common door.
The wall offered up a nice assortment—ornate doors, ordinary doors, and even 1960’s doors with the three tiny rectangular peek-out windows arranged like stairsteps. After flipping through dozens of common-colored doors, a barn-red “soldier” stood to attention. Her size was spot-on, the price was better than expected, and the top-half, divided into four glass panes, paid homage to the past.
We loaded our find in the van and headed home down the windy mountain roads. Oblivious of the amount of time it takes to build a tiny house, I assumed the door might spend a month or two in the barn—not the time required to bring life into the world.
In the weeks that followed our trip to Brevard, one truth became apparent. The door felt like home, but the color choice felt forced. Though a catchy name, Lil’ Red Writing House never captured my heart. It’s not that I have anything against the color red. I love the color red in ripe cherries, rubies, and red velvet cake, but not so much on the vintage door I planned to enter every morning.
When I walk up the hill, unlatch the iron gate, and step onto the front porch, I want to see a color that not only catches my heart but also makes it downright giddy.
From past experience, I knew this color to be chartreuse. I’d chosen it for the back door of our former century-old home. Without fail, this whimsical color made me smile, even on the grayest of days. If I still wore my mood ring from the 70s, it would morph into pink at the sight.
Months after our trip to Brevard, the day finally came to rescue the red-door-no-more from the barn. A forecast predicting several inches of snow encouraged us to build the frame indoors. New doors come with their own frame, but the oldies don’t. In this moment, Brian second-guessed our decision to go vintage.
A kit from our local building supply store helped, but like most vintage finds, the door was quirky. Both the locking mechanism and hinges were topsy-turvy. Brian removed and adjusted the hardware so the door would swing inward from the left, opening up to the main space of the tiny house.
The following weekend, we took the red-door-no-more off the hinges and hauled her down the hill. She had an appointment with Sherwin William’s Frolic SW 6703. With one dip, the paintbrush took on the appearance of a lemon-lime Popsicle. Slow and steady, every crack and crevice filled until she became what she was meant to be—a vintage-chartreuse-half-glass-chock-full-of-character front door for the Tiny House on the Hill.
Giddy up!
Alas, she only wears one coat of paint, but soon there will be two.
Have I told you lately how much I love having you along on this journey?
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