30
Visionary
fort collins courier
:
winter 2014
A Tiny House Getaway Article & Photographs by Molly McCowan
I
open my eyes to the crackling of the wood stove, cozy in a 110-squarefoot tiny house nestled deep within Pike National Forest. Outside the multi-paned window that takes up the entire east wall, mountain chickadees and red-breasted nuthatches are busy visiting the bird feeder and searching for runaway seeds along the moss-covered ground. At 10,200 feet, the sun shines through the windows with an intensity I don’t notice back home in Fort Collins. The light here feels whiter as it illuminates the splashes of yellow that the aspen leaves give off among the green of the surrounding forest. My cousin built this tiny house more than 25 years ago; a refuge from modern living. Outfitted only with a wood stove, the house has no running water or electricity. These “necessities” aren’t given a second thought here, however. The house is fully stocked with almost anything you
could possibly need. Many members of my family have keys to this place, and on each visit it seems to collect more decorations, food, cooking utensils, and blankets. You want for nothing here—baskets hanging from the ceiling are filled with food, toiletries, clean linen, candles, and more. Every nook and cranny is home to something useful, and every drawer is a treasure chest. Even though the outside air chills, inside it’s warm and cozy enough to walk across the rug-covered floor in socks. A built-in ladder takes you into the loft, which is home to a queen-sized bed. Most of the night is usually spent on the ground floor, however, until headnodding sleepiness dictates otherwise. Evenings are perhaps the most enjoyable time in this tiny house, filled with the routines that come along with backcountry living: chopping wood, building and maintaining a roaring fire in the wood stove, lighting candles and oil lamps, reading, playing Scrabble and gin rummy by lamplight, talking, watching the moon move across the night sky. Life is simpler here, and richer because of it. No phones, no email, no Internet. No buzzing and chiming of electronics demanding my attention. Just the sounds of the birds; the quotidian routines of making meals, tidying up, and preparing for nightfall; the days filled by lying in hammocks among the gentle sway of the trees.