As we walked into the county zoning and building inspection office, the very first thing that caught my eye was a paper sign, printed in bold font, saying: “Do not cuss, swear, or use foul language in my office.”
My partner, Jonathan, and I were there because we had received a Notice of Violation from our county to “cease and desist” all work on our property. That “work” was two tiny houses on wheels…and our desire to build a tiny house community on a scenic road in a small town.
Thankfully, I was not in the county office when I got the notice, because I used as many foul words as I could string together in an unintelligible, angry stream of swearing.
Which, after several minutes, I realized was not doing any good, and was scaring the bejesus out of my small dog, Baxter.
After I calmed down, we called the county and went in to set up a meeting to go through an approval process for our project.
At some point on our car ride over there, I realized this important Truth:
If I continue to see people who think or live differently than me as the “other,” then I am only perpetuating more fear.
I honestly believe that the tiny house movement can bring greater harmony to the world. Living tiny means being a pioneer in how we address our challenges with creativity, collaboration, and ownership. That’s why Jonathan and I are going all in building a tiny house community.
But I will say that my pioneering spirit has also meant that I tend to not want to deal with a lot of bureaucracy. That day, it felt like the Universe whacked me upside the head, saying: “You want to bring people together…Ok, TRY THIS.”
I don’t believe the Universe is “out to get me.” I believe that when you are ready, you are not only going to be gifted with amazing miracles, you will be gifted with tough challenges. Because only by leaning in to our greatest fears do we experience miracles on the other side.
And holy heck, I was up against my fears.
I had taken all my savings and purchased a beautiful six acres on River Road, just four miles from Shepherdstown, West Virginia, where I had been living in since 2011. I had run past that very property many times. As soon as I stepped onto the field, I knew this would be the perfect place for the tiny house community we were calling Tiny Haven.
It has been perfect…just not in the way I thought.
When we got to the county office, it turned out that the officials there were actually really helpful.
“Notice of Violation” sounded quite scary to me, but what it ended up feeling like was “come in and talk to us.” The planning and zoning departments in particular were doing their best to help us fit into something in the zoning ordinance. We all landed on “campground.”
The only challenge with that was that in our county, a campground is permitted on ten acres or more. We were on six. I thought that meant game over. However, there was an option: applying for a zoning variance.
So we submitted the paperwork for a zoning variance, which called for a public hearing a month later. What happened from there was something I was not at all expecting.
When I bought the property I did not realize I would soon be reading sixty-two pages of public comments from our neighbors, most of whom I had never met, expressing why we should not be there. Reading it caused all the blood to drain from my extremities and a sinking feeling in my stomach. The comments ranged from “these are just sheds on wheels” to “this is a trailer park” to “this area is meant for single family homes.”
I was never expecting to hear: You don’t belong here.
I believe that as a whole, humanity’s greatest fear is letting go. Letting go of attachment, letting go of control, letting go of identity, letting go of life.
So we as humans keep holding on. We grip so tightly to our version of how things must be that we feel threatened when anything new, different, or “other” than us comes into the arena.
We start to take actions to block, to defend,
to fight, and to leave people out, so we can feel like we are the ones in control.
I say “we” because it wasn’t just my neighbors acting this way. I was too.
In order for me to truly show up at the public hearing, listen to a room full of people say negative things about our tiny houses, our project, and us, and read comments on social media attempting to take me down me personally, I have had to let go.
I thought moving into a tiny house would simply require me to get rid of a lot of physical possessions. But this entire process has called me to let go of a lot of anger, fear, hurt, and shame. Not because I am good at it—because I have to in order to keep going.
Even though it’s a tough pill to swallow, getting angry at angry people just makes life suck more. Fear cuts us off from our true power. Our power to unite.
We cannot continue to build walls between each other and expect that to solve our problems. The only way to truly unite and face our challenges is to build bridges together.
I don’t believe this means being passive, rolling over, and letting people walk all over you. I also don’t believe this means that we are all going to be friends and get along perfectly.
I do believe it means standing up for our rights, speaking and making choices about what matters to us from a centered place, being present with what others have to say, and having healthy boundaries and accountability. I do believe there are ways that we can work together where no one feels stomped upon.
Nearly a month after I had walked shaky-kneed into the county offices wondering what a “Notice of Violation” meant, I was walking into a room full of disgruntled neighbors to hear the decision on our request to build a tiny house campground on our property.
Our zoning variance was approved.
To say I was surprised was an understatement. I thought we didn’t have a chance in hell with all the opposition. It felt like one small step for us, but one giant leap for the tiny house movement.
Now, in the weeks after, we are still deciding how we want to proceed. Yes, we can move forward with building a campground. But the more we have processed what just happened, the more we feel that a campground does not fit our vision. Tiny Haven is meant to be a community, a place to live interdependently. We do not want to be limited to 180 days and just renting spaces to traditional RVs and tiny houses on wheels. We want to be able to really live in these tiny homes. Even after going through this approval for this property, we are considering moving elsewhere to be able to fulfill our full mission.
But I have learned so much in this process – about zoning ordinances, potential complaints or concerns about tiny houses, and about myself. No matter what I do or where we take Tiny Haven, I always want to be building bridges instead of walls.
I believe building bridges is what Brene Brown says in her book “Braving the Wilderness”:
“…a call to courage. A call to move closer to each other, because people are hard to hate close up. A call to speak truth to bullshit, but be civil. And to hold hands, with strangers.”
It may feel intimidating, excruciatingly vulnerable, and the practice of a lifetime to do this, but if we are not building our world together, then we are tearing it apart.
If we don’t create a world where all of us belong, than the truth is that none of us do.
Building bridges in our world means that we affirm with conviction and compassion: “I belong…and so do you.”
Written By :: Danielle Larock for Tiny House Magazine Issue 77
