A tiny home doesn’t have to stay tiny. Learn about the updates this author made to her own tiny house, addition after addition, as she shows how to build your own cabin from a tiny house.
My tiny house construction began during a particularly bad week when I was 28 and suddenly found myself single after a brief marriage. It was more a distraction than a plan; I was simply miserable, and my mother insisted we start the cabin I had talked about building. She dragged out some 2x6s from my father’s inventory and pounded them together. When my father came home, he made a few suggestions, and for the following year, he worked with me every Sunday, sharing everything he could about building. It’s a wonderful thing to have your father all to yourself every Sunday. We measured and sawed and nailed; we took breaks to eat cookies; we listened to “A Prairie Home Companion” — all this while we built my future home.
Now, 29 years later, I’ve lived almost half my life in a tiny house expansion that started out as a 384-square-foot home and, after four additions, is now 1,600 square feet. One thing is certain: There will be changes in life regarding a person’s needs, capabilities, income, and pets — all of which will require an adjustment.
From this perspective, I realize a tiny house doesn’t have to remain tiny. It can grow as your needs grow and as your income increases. Avoiding a mortgage with a slow tiny house expansion can help you cut your home expenses by more than half. Having a long-term plan can also help you avoid costly mistakes. I avoided the mortgage, but I could’ve used a long-term plan. I didn’t know anything about tiny house construction at the beginning of this journey, but I paid attention. I’m grateful for the lessons from that adventure, though many decisions cost me later.
How to Build Your Own Cabin
I constructed my house next to my parents’ barn, where we had power, wood, and tools. My mother suggested a 12-by-16-foot dimension, because it was divisible by 4 and plywood comes in 4-by-8-foot sheets. My father and I spent days cutting trees and sawing beams, 2x4s, and boards on our sawmill.
My house is built in a post-and-beam style. After a year, when the house was an enclosed building with electrical and plumbing, I moved it a half-mile up the road into a field at the end of our 200-acre farm. My brother, Dan, is a professional trucker and has moved many buildings, including large 100-year-old houses. We jacked up the 17-foot-tall, two-story house and slowly added blocking until it was about 3 feet off the ground. I took that opportunity to scramble under the house and insulate the floor by putting 2-inch foam board in between each floor joist. Dan backed his flatbed trailer under the house and slowly reversed the process, jacking the house down onto the trailer. Once the house was tied down and secure, Dan drove slowly up the road. I followed along on foot and, with a long wooden pole, raised the electric wires as he drove under them. When he got to the field and his truck didn’t have enough power, my father hooked his tractor to my brother’s truck and pulled him the rest of the way.
Once the house had arrived at its permanent location, I connected the power from the telephone pole to my electrical box, giving power to the house. I dug a ditch and connected the main waterline from the well to my pressure tank. It wasn’t exactly plug-and-play, but it was pretty exhilarating the first time I ran water. My father recited the 23rd Psalm, confirming that our “cup runneth over.”
Considerations Before a Tiny House Addition
In the field, we set the house on rocks to keep it out of the dirt. I will forever regret this decision. At that point, I viewed my house as a cabin I’d live in, not a home where I’d spend the rest of my life. There’s a reason houses are built on foundations: Foundations don’t move. As winter came and the ground froze, the house shifted. This wasn’t necessarily a problem until I properly built my first addition on a concrete footer, which didn’t move. Because it was attached to the tiny house, which was sitting on rocks and heaving with the frost, the entrance between the two houses pulled at each other, which cracked the Sheetrock, wrinkled the wallpaper, and created windy crevices between the two buildings. Once I realized the problem, I built concrete posts under the original tiny house — not an easy job with only inches of crawl space.
I was always fascinated with the concept of a mobile home being a self-contained box. (The tiny house movement had yet to begin.) However, I didn’t like the stories I often heard about frozen pipes. I chose to locate all exposed plumbing on the indoor exterior of the walls instead of inside the walls. I did this to keep the plumbing warm to reduce the risk of freezing and for better access. I installed the pressure tank in the house too. The only thing I had outside the house was a waterline entering the house through an insulated box. This is another selling point for a basement: a place for all the waterworks.
To capitalize on space, I installed the shower under the stairs, a toilet next to it, and the pressure tank lying on its side under the base of the stairs. This way, all the plumbing was in a row. Although this was efficient plumbing-wise, it created the world’s smallest bathroom, which can be embarrassing when company comes over. There’s not much room to stand.
When I added a 16-by-20-foot living room, I made sure no plumbing was installed outside the original tiny house. That was intentional. Years later, when I was a pilot and left for weeks at a time, I built a removable wall to section off the original tiny house, allowing me to heat only the original room with plumbing.
Thirteen years after I built my house, I met and married John. He has a great eye for aesthetics, and with his income, we were able to make some important and beautiful improvements to the house. We installed a granite countertop and sink. We changed out a couple of cheap windows that were causing massive heat loss. We also put railings on the stairs, which we now wonder how we ever lived without.
Born in 1926, my father was deeply affected by his experience during the Great Depression, and I followed his lead, so where we could save money, we did — with used windows, Texture 1-11 siding, a homemade door, and thin insulation. Living with these decisions, I realize you either pay now or pay forever.
My home sits on a hill with magnificent views and equally magnificent winter winds. I needed more insulation. I never liked the look of Texture 1-11, so I decided to insulate the tiny house from the outside, and then side it with board and batten to match my addition. I put 1-inch foam board insulation over the Texture 1-11, then added the boards. It made a noticeable improvement in warmth, and the house has a nicer, more uniform look.
My father was a great teacher. The only job I hired out during my tiny house construction was to have the well drilled. My father showed me how to wire an outlet, and then I ran all the electrical wiring. He showed me how to shine copper tubing, add flux, and flow solder. I shined and soldered all day. I pushed forward with ignorant enthusiasm, because I knew if I got in over my head, my father would bail me out. This proved to be the greatest gift of all.
With the gifts and the knowledge my father gave me, I realize that even though my husband and I are in terrific shape at 57, things change. My father, who was always fantastically capable, eventually struggled to do anything for himself. If age can change my father, it can change anyone. We plan to build one more addition that will include an accessible bathroom and bedroom. It will also attempt to fix the feeling that the house is one box connected to more boxes. Houses need a plan, and most good plans include a circular path. Our final tiny house expansion will incorporate that.
My father passed away recently, three weeks after his 94th birthday. It was tough losing him, but everywhere I look, I see his love, his lessons. I see the beams he showed me how to notch to fit into the joist hangers. I see the stairs, with each step resting in its groove that he showed me how to create with a Skilsaw and chisel. He taught me so much, and I’m so grateful. I’m the luckiest girl to have had him as my father; I have a home to prove it.
Kitty Hall-Thurnheer lives in Ithaca, New York. When she isn’t working on her house, she rides and trains her Icelandic horses.
