The house is based in Northern New Mexico and was designed for the grandmother of Bill Steen’s children and Athena’s mother. The grandchildren were involved in the construction and were able to show and develop there construction talents.

Benito worked on the building from start to finish, being there from the foundations through the walls andfinish plasters. Anything that was done with wood, from the roof to the finish carpentry and furniture.

The house itself, approximately 700 sf, is a tribute to Rina’s architectural design skills. The house is simple in shape, rectangular, but tastefully divided on the inside with curving walls that transform the angularity of the outside into subtle interior sculpture. As a whole, the little adobe house is a beautiful work of art and yet at the same time, ever so practical and functional.

The wood was local, as were the adobes used for the walls. The finish plasters were simple and elegant, a medium brown blend of finely screened clay with sand and straw. For me, one of the beautiful things about Rina’s little house is that, instead of being a cheap imitation (Santa Fe style) of the old pueblo style of building, her house is a thoughtful interpretation of the past and yet very contemporary. The comfort level is high, the passive solar design requires little to no additional heating or cooling.

To view more photos of the construction and see more of Rina’s house visit Bill’s blog.

Because of the lack of space in a tiny house, a separate bathhouse can be built nearby to hold a bathing area, hot tub or sauna.

This is not only for necessity, but as a tranquil space for relaxation. On my search for tiny bathhouses I kept running into these examples built from natural materials that I thought looked so beautiful in their environments.

One of my favorites was this cob bathhouse and its accompanying yurt created by Oasis Design.

Oasis Design is a family owned, home-based design consulting and publishing business near Santa Barbara. They’ve been developing original designs for living better, cheaper, and more ecologically since 1980. Their focus is mostly on water, wastewater and energy systems.

This bathhouse at the Chinati Hot Springs in Marfa, Texas is made of adobe and dates back to the 1930s.

And this bathhouse has a living roof and is located at the Center for Whole Communities in Fayston, Vermont.

A natural bathhouse can be a celebration of tranquility and privacy, but also can make us more aware of where our water is coming from or where it should be going.

By Christina Nellemann

Copyright © 2009 Tiny House Blog

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In the stark Texas desert, Patricia Kerns has created a small community of tiny adobe, cob and straw bale houses that snuggle right into the landscape. I first saw Patricia’s tiny houses in the book, Little House on a Small Planet. The dome of the Egyptian style guest house caught my attention because of its interesting shape.

Patricia’s little community in Terlingua, Texas contains six tiny houses: the main straw bale house, a shower house, a bathroom, the guesthouse, a cob studio and a new project which will house a kitchen and a great room.

The cob studio was built with Ianto Evans of the Cob Cottage company. The main straw bale house is a 20-foot circular structure. Her power comes from several solar panels and a small wind turbine. She uses rain catchment systems for all her water needs.

She also has a video tour of her property and its tiny houses on her website.

Her love of natural building and small spaces came along at a time when she wanted to simplify her life and become financial independent. She took a straw bale building workshop, and she realized that with her new skills, she could leave her career as an attorney and build her own house.

A few years later she is living the life of her dreams in the desert. She was kind enough to send me her story of building a life of simplicity:

Journey to a Small Place
By Patricia Kerns

My journey to a small place began with a simple desire for financial independence. Several years ago, having taken an early retirement from my employer, I needed to find a way to live on less than half my previous income. I had to reduce fixed expenses, especially mortgage/rent. The crazy idea that I could find some cheap land and build a house with my own two hands began to work its way into my head.

How crazy? I was a 40-something attorney whose only experience with a hammer was to hang diplomas. Being a woman, I didn’t even have a high school shop class to draw on for experience. I ran through these and other pertinent facts every day, trying to get the goofy idea that I could build my own home out of my head. When the chance to attend a workshop on straw bale building came along, I jumped at it, thinking I could finally prove to myself that I couldn’t do it. But that workshop, and several succeeding ones, made it clear to me that my dream could be realized.

I began planning my home’s design as I sought land and prepared to move to a small desert community in the Big Bend area of southwestern Texas, far from any big cities. As I developed the design, I realized that the house would have to be very small if I wanted to complete it myself. I originally considered this to be a limitation, one I was willing to accept. I imagined that my standard of living in terms of creature comforts would decline, but accepted this as a small price to pay to free myself from the burden of a mortgage. I got some excellent advice at one of the workshops I attended: record the amount of time I spent in every area of my home for a week. I was living in an 1100-sf home when I conducted this experiment. I was amazed to find that there were two rooms in my home where I rarely set foot. I realized with a shock that the primary purpose of those two rooms was to store furniture that I had only purchased so those two rooms wouldn’t be empty. This was a happy realization, since all I had to do to cut my space needs in half was to sell furniture!

I sold every piece of furniture I owned, had multiple garage sales and made a few deposits to thrift shops. After two months of shedding stuff accumulated over twenty years, I packed what was left into a 10 x 6 U-Haul trailer, hitched it to the back of my truck, and headed for Texas. I had never felt so free in my life. It was the first sign that living in a small space wasn’t going to be the dip in standard of living that I had imagined.

I spent the first three months in Texas camping out of my Suburban in the National Park while looking for land. This was a good start to my new commitment to minimalism. In January 1998, I moved onto a piece of unspoiled desert land halfway between the communities of Lajitas and Terlingua, Texas. I erected a 16 x 16 foot army tent, built a composting toilet and solar oven, set up a solar shower and camp stove, hooked up some solar panels for power, and I was living in the lap of luxury.

It took about two months to get my foundation built and the straw bale walls up, just in time to have a place to get out of the severe winds that whipped across my land in February and March. I had no roof, no windows or doors, and no floor, but I had a comfortable place to sit and read or play my guitar while the winds howled by “outside.” I could never before have appreciated such a humble shelter. It seemed like heaven to me.

I spent six months finishing the exterior, roof, door and windows, then moved into the house while I finished the interior. I had designed a space that included a bedroom, a small computer nook, and a larger sitting room. The design was a circular space trisected into three areas. Between the three areas, instead of building walls, I built shelves that pass through so they can be utilized from either side. This gave me a great deal of storage in a small space. The bed is a futon on a plywood board that flips up to reveal storage. I also designed a built-in sofa in the sitting area with storage underneath. I learned a lot about effective use of small spaces for storage by visiting numerous trailer sales lots and observing their use and design of space. All of my interior furniture is built in, using cob (unformed adobe) and scrap wood.

I decided not to have the kitchen and bathroom in the main house, but rather to leave them for a second project. I haven’t regretted this decision, and continue to be happy cooking on a camp stove or in a solar oven, and using a camp shower and composting toilet. The climate here is quite mild, so this might not be feasible in a more northern location. I learned to live with so little during my journey here that every addition now seems like an unaccountable luxury.

The most beneficial consequence of my decision to build small became apparent as I networked with other self-builders. I was able to complete my home in the same amount of time that many people used to build larger structures, but using much less labor. This allowed me to like the home and continue to like it as I worked. I never felt overwhelmed by the process. My little casita and I have remained fast friends, and I have nothing but good memories and good energy invested in my home.

As it turns out, there was no lowering of my standard of living – not in creature comforts, not in any other way. I have learned to be greatly appreciative of every little comfort, and I enjoy what I have now far more than the four times as much that I used to have. My home and possessions serve me and shelter me, and are never a burden that require more than I am willing to give (such as a 30 year mortgage). I am well on my way to becoming sustainable on this land and a small home is part of what allowed me to see my way there. Now, when I am inside large enclosed spaces, I feel lost, disassociated and adrift. I wouldn’t trade my casita or my experience of creating it for a mansion any day.

Note: I wrote the above article five years ago. Since then, I have completed a small bathhouse of adobe and a small office building of cob. In addition, I have a large shade building (one day to be a kitchen/living room – if I ever think I really need it…) by which I catch enough water for my needs. I remain mortgage-free, and have no utility bills. Visitors stop by occasionally and say “gee, isn’t it HARD living like this?” I’m not sure what they mean, but I guess it’s that I have a composting toilet, cook outside and have no television. I think back to when I had all those “luxuries” in my life, and what it was costing me to sustain them. No, it isn’t hard!

By Christina Nellemann

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