Do you own your stuff, or does your stuff own you? How much stuff does one person really need to be happy? These are questions I’ve been asking myself for several years now. I live in a 3,300 square foot house in suburban Dallas. Six months ago, I read Marie Kondo’s excellent book on organization, “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up,” and started to eliminate the extraneous stuff, and there was a lot of it. My primary motivation was to not be embarrassed after my departure from this mortal plane about the amount of stuff I’d accumulated. I don’t want whichever relative gets stuck with the chore of disposing of it to shake their heads in disbelief. Plus I’d read with alarm E.L. Doctorow’s book “Homer & Langley,” about the hoarder brothers who were found dead beneath their piles of stuff. Plus my maternal grandmother was a bit of a hoarder. Best to nip any genetic predisposition in the bud.
Per Ms. Kondo’s instructions, I’d hold each item in my hands and ask myself, “does this inspire joy?” If the answer was “no,” then out it went. Ten jumbo lawn bags of stuff departed the house and made the journey to Goodwill or the trash bin. Now when I open my closets and drawers, I can actually see the stuff, AND it’s stuff I like!
So when I read the first article about the tiny house movement, and saw pictures, of course I was intrigued. Almost everyone I know is intrigued. How much space does a person really need to live and thrive? I don’t think I could reduce 57 years’ worth of possessions down to 400 square feet on a full-time basis, but the idea of spending August in a tiny house with a water view, somewhere in western Washington state, is immensely appealing.
Over the years, I’ve attempted to concoct a reason to be in Seattle or my hometown of Olympia in July or August, typically with no success. The summers in Dallas are scorchers, and there comes a time around the first part of August when even our wonderful, backyard swimming pool feels like a hot bath on a hot day.
This year, the excuse was to meet my sister-in-law in Seattle to help her with her genealogy project, then spend two days in Olympia to see my cousins. Eureka! Bridget and I had already figured out the Seattle hotel, but where would I stay in Olympia on my own? I’d tried most of the standard-fare hotels in the Olympia area, and I was really hankering to have a location on the water, preferably a B&B with kayaks available. When I got on AirB&B (for the first time!), I found the ideal spot: a darling tiny house with a partial water view, within walking distance of Tolmie State Park. The rate was about the same as what a standard hotel room would cost, and I’d get to try out a tiny house. No kayaks were mentioned in the description, but I probably wouldn’t have time for that anyway.
The Quiet & Cozy Tiny House, owned by Brittany Yunker, is five miles and four roundabouts from the Marvin Road exit off of Interstate 5. I left the roundabout-free Olympia area in 1989 and since then the roundabout idea has exploded. I’m proud that my fellow Washingtonians were concerned about the environment before the red-alert on climate change.

Brittany’s tiny house was exactly as described. It has a partial water view from the loft. Her parents live down the driveway and have a panoramic view of Nisqually Reach and Drayton Passage in the South Puget Sound from their front yard.

Brittany encouraged me to use the fire pit, halfway up the driveway, and to feel free to sit in the chairs or the hammock on the lawn with the spectacular marine view.

I heaved my Texas-sized suitcase up the steps of the tiny house, removed my shoes (a house requirement), and settled in. I unpacked and put my clothes in the closet and food in the refrigerator. There were easy-to-follow instructions on the urine-diverting, composting toilet and I had no problems with it. AND it never smelled.

I walked down the drive, crossed the lawn, and tried out the view location, which was spectacular. I went back to the house and ate the prepared dinner I’d purchased on the way in, although cooking in the kitchen would have been very easy, then I sat and read in the fire pit area at dusk.
Something rustled in the trees, and when I looked up from my book, a large raccoon was looking back at me from a nearby tree branch! We eyed each other suspiciously for several minutes before he disappeared.
The house was very quiet and I managed to climb up the ladder to the loft bed, open the shade of the skylight and look at the stars before falling into a deep sleep.
At 2 a.m., a light went on downstairs and I was immediately awake. Intruders? I trained my flashlight on the illuminated spot, put my glasses on, and then the light that was shining in the door went out. I listened and there was no sound. No one was jiggling the door, and the house seemed secure. Maybe the neighbors just got home and turned on their garage light.
In the morning I turned on the water-heater, made coffee, and walked the short distance to Tolmie State Park where I’d played in the tide pools as a child. It is still beautiful and conservation efforts have preserved the tide pools that teem with life.
The water was hot by the time I got back to shower. The shower-head has a “pause” button on it, similar to those on boats, and I wished I had one on my shower at home. Think of the water that gets wasted!

The rest of the day was spent seeing family and I didn’t return to the house until dusk. I was sorry I hadn’t arranged to stay there longer. When I walked up to the front door, the porch light turned on automatically. Ah ha! Mr. Raccoon must have been lurking and triggered the light the previous night. Mystery solved. Just call me Sherlock Holmes.
I would most definitely stay in Brittany’s tiny house again. The experience made me realize that 124 square feet is probably too small for more than a week, but I could be happy in a much smaller domicile than what I’ve got. I know that how much I have is too much, but just how much is enough?