My father lived on a boat for a big part of my childhood, a fact on which I blame my love for tiny, cozy little spaces. There is a deep comfort to be found in being tucked away down in a little burrow-like hobbit hole, where everything is dark and woody, and rocking slowly on the calm waves of the night time. I feel as though no one can find me there, and I can while away the hours reading, snacking, napping, lounging...I guess this is revealing my anti-social tendencies more than I anticipated.
I can’t help but wonder if these tiny houses might not be able to offer me that same feeling of sanctuary, but this time in my own back yard (if I had one). Or maybe we could just move into one entirely, and jettison all of our unwieldy furniture and possessions. I’m not sure if it would work the same way as the boat, since it does not offer the freedom of taking off into the morning light, headed for anywhere. But they are darn cute anyway.