Size Matters

 I think that is what you are supposed to title anything that has to do with size. 

As indicated earlier somewhere, this blog will be self serving. Me rambling about things rolling around in my head. This post is no different. 

I am a fan of small houses. It is rare that I look at a huge house and think, “I could live there.” It is rare but not unheard of. Some of the old mansions on Warm Springs Ave in Boise,  for example, particularly the more gothic homes with old trees and hedges, strike my fancy. But when I think about building a house it is often a tree house or tree house sized. Sometimes I think my ideal abode would be a one-room cabin with a bed, a table with two chairs, a sink and a stove -not unlike Thoreau’s cabin in Concord, Massachusetts. I would of course want a refrigerator but that could be outside under a tiny shed-roof to protect it from the elements. If this fantasy cabin ends up in bear-country then I would have to enclose the fridge to protect it from marauding caniforms, or doglike carnivores. Apparently bears are doglike. (Also, whales and dolphins are bear’s closest living relatives. That’s why they are always placed near each other in zoos.) This affinity for the small house would explain why I like the work of Andrea Zittel. I am sitting in a room in my house that could fit nine Zittel’s (an estimate) with room to enter and exit – more if getting in and out wasn’t important. Each one of those is a potential living space and nine of them could fit in one room in my home. For the record, I live in what is considered a small house in this country (name of country withheld).

The obvious difficulty with living in a small space is stuff. For example, I have a couple thousand records – vinyl records. Not only do they take up a lot of space, they weigh a lot. In digital form, they would be practically weightless. But then they would no longer be records. The idea or ideal if you will, of living in a small cabin quickly becomes a hording situation when I imagine a sweet, cozy cabin with all of my possessions in it. So I attempt to dispose – one way or another – of some of this stuff. Some stuff I need. But in reality I hardly need anything. But for the sake of this subject I’ll say that I need some of my stuff. The records, and therefore the record player(s) go under the need heading. You noticed the s did you? Ok. Perhaps I only need one, not six record players (but I really want one of these). The record player requires a couple other components in order to work: Amplifier or receiver (probably receiver because it has more functions, thus saving space), and at least two speakers. Then there are boxes and drawers full of photos. Those also go under the need heading. Many of them are family photos and some of them are my family. I have been known to acquire photos at thrift stores etc. of strangers. Strangers are not really the subject of said photos but as most photos are of people I do not know they are of strangers. I could look through these and dispose of the nonessentials. Like music, they could be digitized but like records, then they would no longer be what they currently are.

There are also the animals. Some live in the house but most require their own houses - so those buildings don't count for the purposes of this small house imagining. 

This could go on but I do not feel up to listing everything. The point is clearly that I have a lot of stuff and do not want to get rid of it. This brings up a solution that is also a problem. If I built this cozy cabin, the cabin could be for living and a storage facility could be for stuff. Just knowing the stuff is still there and still mine is half the allure. When I moved to Boston for school, I did not bring my record collection. For a few years, I didn’t have my record collection but I knew where it was (It was in a closet getting leaked on in my mother’s house - just C thru D). But having another building so I can live in a smaller building defeats at least one purpose; smaller footprint). But I am not getting rid of my some of my stuff. Most of it. I imagine this storage unit organized like a backroom in a museum. Shelves, flat-files, climate control. I would call it The Archive.  One drawer might be labeled, Socks: winter and another drawer, Skulls: birds, and a third might read Hard drives and or Battery Chargers. And the tiny cabin could be curated from The Archive’s contents from time to time – maybe every season. There could be a summer record selection and a winter selection. In the fall I could have my Eames plywood chairs at the table and switch to the rustic, handmade chairs in the spring. I’d switch Pendleton blankets four, no, ten times a year. 

When backpacking, one of the rules is that every thing that one packs must serve more than one purpose. For instance, I use the same titanium cook pot to cook with, eat from, and drink from. But at home not only must every item serve one purpose, I tend to have many items that serve the same purpose. I have 4 or 5 different coffee making devices, and I sometimes consider adding more, like this one. 

But this is all one really needs. A delicious cup of coffee was made for me by favorite mathematician, number theorist, statistician, chemist, amateur emcee, F. Butch Conlan, using this set up. 

Run, bike, hike

One of the goals I've set for myself for the next few months is to get fit. Pardon me for stating the obvious, but getting fit used to be a lot easier. Perhaps because I was fitter. The journey from fit-ish to fit was a short one. But the likelier culprit is my age. My age is older than it ever was. Running, which has been my go to fitness move, is harder than before. The first day running after a long time off is understandably difficult. My legs usually feel heavy and I tend to run little and walk a lot. But, in the past, that heavy feeling went away within a couple days. These days, these days of advanced age, the heavy feeling lingers. It comes and goes. Today for example, my legs felt heavy and I felt like I was slow but I was consciously trying hard. I ran 6 miles in 49 minutes and 23 seconds. I was trying for an hour and suspected that I had run for over an hour so, all things considered, I was pleased.

Cycling is another fitness hobby I engage in, but it requires more prep time and more stuff. Special shoes, spandex clothing, helmet, repair kit, pump and snacks etc. Whereas running simply requires feet. OK; shoes, shorts, t-shirt. And a hat and gloves in cold weather. Cycling does appeal to the gear (toy) lover in me. Bike parts are pretty seductive things. When I visit a new city I seek out bike shops just to look. They are like museums, museums of the new or the now - either one. I like camping stores for the same reason, all that neat stuff. I never buy any of it but I like to look. In truth, to digress a bit (or maybe I'll just change the title of this post) I am a firm believer in ultra-light backpacking. When I think back on backpacking trips, or trips in general, I remember the stuff I brought but didn't need, like that third pair of underwear or that second pair of pants. Or that book. If I am hiking far, I have no time to read. I walk, eat, and sleep. Very little is required to do those things successfully. Yet part of me wants every version of camping stove ever made. Last time I backpacked I used a stove made from an aluminum can and it worked great. A couple tablespoons of denatured alcohol, fire and five minutes later the water is at a rolling boil. When Yvon Chouinard, founder of Patagonia, was asked if all that gear was necessary he said no. I wish I knew the exact quote but the gist of it was that you can go out and enjoy nature, adventure etc. without Gortex, or any of the fancy stuff he manufactures. I think he even said he hardly uses any of the stuff his company sells.

Dick Proenneke was not exactly a minimalist but I like his style:



Yesterday a backpack from Gossamer Gear arrived in the mail. It weighed less than the envelope it came in. $24 seemed cheap, or a good deal rather, for a backpack but when I held it in my hand it felt like a lot of money, and pound per pound it was. This tiny backpack was definitely more expensive, even on sale, than gold (not literally). But gold is heavy and pretty useless on the trail and it hardly ever goes on sale, so I guess it isn't a fair comparison. This backpack is not for long excursions, in fact it is the kind of backpack you could carry in your backpack or your back pocket. It would be a fun challenge to see if I could use it for a weekend trip. The obvious drawback with super lightweight gear is that it is not as tough as other gear. If I were to use it with any serious amount of weight inside, I would be tempted to bring duct tape for inevitable repairs. Duct tape is heavy, so I might as well use a tougher, heavier bag. It reminds me of the old adage, the lighter your bike the heavier your lock. If you have a 15 lb bike you need a 10 lb lock to protect it. If you have a 20 lb bike, a 5 lb lock will do. I am not a math person but every way I approach that word problem, I come up with 25 lbs.

Adventure Car

Lately I have been lamenting the loss of my Volkswagen camper van. "Loss" is not an accurate word for what happened to it; it was sold to a guy named Anthony in Placer County California.  Lately I have been captivated by the Vanagon. The front view, the full frontal, is graphically captivating with three small circles in a row: headlight, VW emblem, and finally, other headlight. And those in a horizontal line in the center of what is often a lovely shade of brown, butter-yellow or orange. Delicious. (I do not normally use the word delicious when not talking about food. I usually say yummy). 

These images are borrowed from the Internet. If I can improve on these,  I will return them to the Internet and replace them with my own. 

The van I had was a 1965 camper van in my favorite car color, beige. There was no poptop but it did have a sink, tables, a closet, a bed and an icebox. It was the best vehicle for adventures (vehicle based adventures) that I ever had. The one glitch with a car of that vintage was that eventually everything had to be replaced. Sometimes it was a simple thing like the starter. Other times it was less simple but still simple for people of a certain skill type, e.g. people who are as good at putting things together as they are at taking them apart. Those less simple things included the clutch, transmission and engine. I recall driving from Arcata, California to Auburn, California, having to hold the gear shift to keep it from popping out of gear. Which makes enjoying the drive unlikely. One spring break, on a trip to San Diego with Dr. Matt, we ended up stuck in a traffic jam. It turns out air-cooled engines do not like to idle for hours. When traffic finally started to move we heard a bang coming from the back of the van and for the rest of the trip the car was running on three cilinders - but three out of four isn't bad. When I was back home I asked a kid in my figure drawing class how his spring break was. It turned out he was in a car accident on I 5, the car accident, on I 5. I told him he owed me an engine.

I'm the kind of guy who prefers form over function, so those glitches were nothing compared with how great the van looked to me. And when it worked, it worked well. It was like a great tent on wheels. And with no engine sticking out the front it was easy to parallel park.

This sabbatical and AHI fellowship has gotten me thinking about travel, adventure, camping - the stuff Lewis and Clark did. So I fantasize about a vehicle made for just that purpose. I know what you're thinking, Lewis and Clark had canoes. I like those too.