These days, building “on wheels” seems to be the trend, and in many regions it’s a subtle way to circumvent building codes. If a tiny house isn’t allowed in a particular town (due to minimum square footage laws, for example), but camping or parked RVs are allowed, tiny houses on wheels may stand in a gray area between the two. Should the authorities or complaining neighbors come knocking, or should you be suddenly overcome with the desire to plop yourself in a new locale, your home already doubles as a moving van. Just batten down the hatches, secure the breakables, and you’re ready to go! However, in order to be roadworthy, a tiny house must be built to handle high wind loads. Also, it can’t be over 8 feet 6 inches wide and 13 feet 6 inches tall; otherwise, you need special permits from the Department of Transportation to take it on the highway. Still, there’s a lot that can be done within the confines of such a small space, even with shacks that are not meant to be full-time dwellings, or those that will never hit the open road.
P lankbridge Hutmakers began in Richard Lee’s furniture-making workshop. He was searching for an “outdoor room” design that could be replicated yet have a custom-made feel about it. Inspiration came from an old shepherd’s hut that stood for many years on a hill close to where the writer Thomas Hardy lived, and soon Richard Lee and Jane Dennison had built a replica on a set of old wheels. The traditional shepherd’s hut, originally used by a solitary shepherd while tending his sheep, seemed to have potential for a wide range of modern-day uses. The duo’s fairly rustic reproductions later evolved into Plankbridge’s highly insulated timber-frame huts. Despite the modern twist, Plankbridge is still keen to keep true to the heritage of the originals, as you can see.
The vaulted roof of the Plankbridge shepherd’s huts, like that of many gypsy wagons and vardos of old, lends itself well to small structures, softening the effects of edges: you gain height and also eliminate the in-your-face lines that tell you, “Here is where the peak is, and this is where the walls top out.” It’s a subtle way to create a feeling of spaciousness. In addition, I really like the old-world-meets-new approach in their design, not to mention the timber framing, clean lines, and woodworking. It is simplicity in fine form.
T he Cub, a shed-roofed microhut on wheels, is something I toyed around with between projects for other clients. Could I design something affordable, simple to build, multifunctional, and able to be fastened atop a single-axle trailer? To complicate matters, could this structure be towed by my Chrysler minivan (the ultimate in super-cool vehicles, I know)? In the end the mission was accomplished, and this 40-square-foot trailer has weathered a few long road trips already, including a nine-hour round-trip trek to Vermont’s Yestermorrow Fair and back, dirt-road mountain pass and all. I originally built the Cub on wheels to take advantage of a permit loophole (it’s an “RV” or “trailer load” and not an accessory building) and never really intended it to be a gas-guzzling, not-so-aerodynamic commute cabin. Nonetheless, it has handled things rather well.
As for the build, since wind loads can be a concern when traveling, all the plywood is screwed and glued to the 2x4 framing, which is further strengthened with knee braces and assorted hardware. Since I love the trash-to-treasure spirit, I used a roadside find for the large side window and got the 100-year-old beadboard wall from a neighbor’s house that was under renovation. The entire ceiling is clad in old fence wood (the work of hurricane Sandy in a nearby town). Come to think of it, I should send a bottle of wine to the guy who let me take two trailerloads of this lumber off his hands for absolutely nothing! As for the bunk bed, it was designed at 6 feet 4 inches to fit my frame. It’s a little on the thin side, truth be told, so as not to sacrifice what little standing room a mere 5 x 8-foot trailer can offer. Remember, every inch counts when designing and outfitting such small spaces.
I’m very content with many aspects of the Cub, as, naturally, I chose them for my own tastes and reasons. Things I’d change? Well, I might build it a little shorter so I wouldn’t worry about it tipping over (although it’s never felt like it would, even at sharp turns). This would decrease both weight and lumber cost. Also, people rarely believe that I can fit in the bunk, but I’ve spent a few nights in it, and it works. Making this bunk lower and a hair wider might be a good move, but all in all, I’m pretty happy with it. The storage (or lower bed platform), which doubles as stairs to the bunk, also works out nicely. Basically it’s a poor man’s version of Japanese tansu steps (hollow stairs with storage within or under). This step (or steps, if you add a second box) is merely a wooden IKEA storage crate, which are affordable, good-looking, and very strong. But any wooden box, as long as it’s built soundly, would suffice.
H ere’s another case where art and shelter exist as one. Builder/designers Adam Szoke and Chris Boux started to envision this beautiful dwelling on wheels after picking up a travel-trailer frame at a scrap-metal yard. Using Google’s SketchUp drafting program to send drawings back and forth, they designed a comfortable, spacious, and versatile space within the confines of a 7 x 10-foot platform and very limited capital.
While winter storms raged outside, Adam and Chris worked in the shop, milling old cedar fence panels and weathered fir boards for siding and windows. They even went so far as to build and frame their own custom windows, which was time-consuming but proved to be a big money-saver in the end. The abundance of light-colored wood inside comes from specially selected construction-grade 2x4s and 2x6s that Adam and Chris planed down to the required dimensions. “Remilling was a lot of work,” says Adam, “but when you have a lot of time and very little money, it’s well worth it, especially for the final look.”
From conception to completion, building the microcottage took almost nine months, the bulk of the time taken up by the interior. “Because the space is so small we had to consider every square inch of detail,” explains Adam. “We had a lot of fun creating unique solutions, like the four-fold table, the modular bench seat, or the pull-out step boxes and floating step shelves.” The tiles over the sink were made from an old piece of aluminum from a water tank, brushed and burnished. Chris’s masterful inlay work even includes “a small hidden gem box held in by rare earth magnets, which can only be spotted if you know exactly where to look.”
Well, upon first glance, the Gnomadik’s main attraction, fittingly, is Adam’s handcrafted, one-of-a-kind door. Beyond that, I love the dual-purpose shelves/steps in this little cottage on wheels, and the fact that in a mere 7 x 10 feet Adam and crew have managed to fit a five-seater kitchen table, a sleep loft, and a rather beautiful gravity-fed water system for the kitchen sink. The secret compartment — I’m a sucker for these things — adds a bit of childlike fun to the whole design.
“ B y the time the tiny house concept found me,” Angela Ramseyer says, “I had already become something of a cyclical downsizer.” She had left her Seattle desk job to take up residence in a 100-square-foot Whidbey Island tool shed, so she wasn’t fazed when the cabinetmaker next door asked if she’d be interested in building a tiny house on wheels. Instead, she was hooked.
Angela had no prior carpentry experience, but she “scraped, scavenged, and toiled” and gradually learned to handle the tools. Initially she had trouble finding a suitable used trailer, so instead she acquired a temporary set of axles “in order to ward off permitting questions.” She was eventually led to her trailer a year later by two escaped horses who ran up her driveway: “I went to tell the next-door neighbors about their horses and there spied the rusty, peeling, flat-tired, rotten-planked trailer of my dreams moldering under a refuse pile.” She bought it, got rid of the rotten decking, regreased its bearings, replaced the tires, scraped and repainted the frame, and rewired its brake lights. One year later, the little house was lowered onto its new foundation.
Scavenging for materials became one of Angela’s favorite parts of the project: “At first, learning to see these things was like hunting for mushrooms. You go to the places where they would ideally lurk and look for hours in vain. Finally, as you’re just about to give up, you spot one! The second find becomes easier. Then you eventually develop an eye for it and begin to see salvage finds everywhere.” These items add character to her home. Her favorites include the loft’s half-round leaded window and an old woodstove door covering the cook fan.
The Mighty Micro House features great use of bright colors and open space (helped by the dormers in the loft). Curtained cabinets, such as the ones under the sink, are a great technique to cover the clutter within. They take up almost no space and weight; can easily be changed out when a new look, color, or style is desired; and, most importantly, don’t eat up “swing space” — you just push them aside to gain access to the stored goods. Oh yeah, they also cost far less than cabinet doors and are far easier to install!
A nother one of this book’s tiniest structures, the Professor’s Pod was an exercise in building from recycled and salvaged materials. The client, an NYU sociology professor, approached me out of the blue, looking to buy one of my original cabins, the Hickshaw. Dragging this shelter out of the Vermont woods during mud season proved difficult, however, so we struck a deal to build him a newer, better, and “bigger” structure. This pod on wheels can be rolled by two people and now resides by a pond near a vacation cabin in the woods of New Jersey. It’s an escape in which to read, grade papers, and relax.
With a front wall that opens up for fresh air and a view, a large awning-style window (found on the side of the road), and recycled flooring, the Professor’s Pod is certainly a budget build. Especially eye-grabbing is its rear “wild wall” made up of scrap wood cut into 13-inch segments. This technique allowed me to cut back on material costs, use what would otherwise have ended up in a landfill, and give this simple and boxy structure a kick of visual fun.
The wild wall, while more time-consuming to build than a wall made of plywood sheathing, has worked well for me in many cases. It’s also just entertaining to put one of these walls together and watch a pile of junky scrap wood become a mosaic art piece. In addition, the Professor’s Pod marked the first time I ever used smoky-colored Tuftex polycarbonate roofing (for the front wall), and I’m glad I did. This tinted material offers a little privacy but also allows in some natural light while not overdoing it. A solar-cooked NYU professor isn’t what I was going for.
W hile not necessarily my favorite structure, the Gypsy Junker is probably the one that’s gotten me the most media attention over the years, including a three-page Home and Garden cover story in the New York Times.
This project started as a challenge to myself. Could I construct a microcosm of a dwelling using almost nothing but junk found roadside? The Gypsy Junker is named for its slight resemblance to a gypsy wagon and is, in fact, made of junk. It was built over several months as I hunted and pecked for build-worthy goods. Truth be told, I never really “looked” for stuff or went out of my way for any of these pieces; I just happened upon them when en route to places I was headed anyway. With wine-bottle microwindows, flooring scraps, freebie windows, forklift-pallet siding, and even a washing-machine side panel as an outdoor table, the Gypsy Junker was a fun exercise in seeing what could be done with “scrap ’n’ crap.”
This cabin was intended as a weekend camp cabin (my son’s very first campout was in this little shack) or a backyard office (where I worked on some designs). I used it on my YouTube channel as a video tutorial on what could be done with absolute junk. While the project was partly a commentary on excessive wastefulness in the US, I was also attempting to urge people to take several ideas from this build and run with them, and perhaps try them out on a larger scale. Since the launch of the video tour, several Gypsy Junker–like cabins have been constructed around the world.
To fund future builds and videos, and to clear out space on my limited chunk of land outside Boston, I ended up selling this hut — in what became a bidding war — to a very talented and established graphic designer from the greater Boston area. It couldn’t have found a better home.
I feel the desk/bed two-in-one works particularly well in the Gypsy Junker. The bed, “long enough for Shaquille O’Neal,” as I joke in the video tour, was set at a height comfortable for desk use, complete with a large window. I also love the use of clear polycarbonate roofing. It brings so much needed light into this tiny space; it’s easy to install, lightweight, affordable, and durable; and it lets the occupant view the tree limbs swinging in the wind, right overhead.
A micro-office and a nap nook on wheels, Mimi Day’s Henrietta was inspired by my own Gypsy Junker cabin and Tiny Yellow House series on YouTube. It’s little more than a closet on wheels but has lots of character and coziness. While it might be a tight fit for those of larger stature, it works very well for its owner. One of the smallest structures in this book, at 4 x 6 feet, it sits atop a mail-order yard trailer (one that supports well over 1,000 pounds) but is still long enough that Mimi can sleep on its cushioned floor. Best yet, when Mimi tires of Henrietta’s location and seeks out a new vista or the shade of a tree in the summer heat, she simply hooks this tiny slumber shack to her riding lawnmower and drags it elsewhere. Being on wheels, it’s not a “permanent structure,” either, so something like this could be built almost anywhere, without town or county permission.
This little structure is not a house (many of the structures in this book aren’t, at least not in a traditional sense). But a hot plate, coffeemaker, and toaster oven could be shoehorned into this mobile room without much difficulty. I suppose, given the reasonable price to build something like this, that one could also build another to serve as a kitchen, and yet another as a bathroom with a toilet and shower. You could have a whole little wagon train of moveable dwelling units, scattered across a picturesque plot of land — all mobile and all on a small budget.
I love that the Henrietta is built atop such an affordable yet durable yard trailer. Brand new, it was reasonably priced at around $200. I just might be inspired to try it in the future. The large window is great too. Imagine orienting this toward a lake or a mountain vista. The natural light in here could be dang magnificent. And this is another microhut that could be lifted or assembled on a tree platform, easily. A deck surrounded by railings, an Adirondack chair or two, and you’re enjoying life, a book, or the sun, up among the birds.
T his gypsy-wagonesque inn was dreamed up by Jean Marc Labrosse and hosts guests in the Seattle area. The project took a little over a year to contemplate and complete and was built entirely in Jean’s city driveway — the beauty of small structures!
“We wanted to create a low-tech trailer made from sustainable materials,” says Jean. “No plastics were used anywhere in this build.” The wagon is 10 feet long and 7 feet 8 inches in diameter with a 3-foot tongue; the curved walls help it feel less tiny. With a queen-size bed on the upper platform and a smaller kid space below, there is room inside to sleep a small family.
Jean estimates that this little cabin weighs a ton or so — too heavy to tow on the trailer it was built on — even though it was originally intended for camping. “My need to use every bit of my wood supply got me in trouble,” he says. “There also was the worry that during transport a rock would fly up and break our beautiful homemade stained-glass windows, so we ultimately decided to ground it at home in the garden.” When they later decided to list it on airbnb.com, there was a flurry of activity. “Not only has the structure paid for itself, but it’s afforded us the luxury of being able to go on a few vacations.”
Jean’s Gypsy Wagon is such a simple yet sophisticated structure, and I mean that with the utmost respect. The outside, with its ornate homemade windows and bright color, seems to set the stage for something fancier, but once inside you’re greeted with a more natural, rustic feel — and it’s no disappointment. The double-level sleep platforms are great for such a small space and make it possible to sleep two adults and two kids. Not bad for something so darn small!
