It's been a slower start this year, for the winter. Yet Zack Giffin and Molly Baker have been getting their tiny house ready, driving her to the mountains and skiing anyway. We wanted to show you some of their new season, from the beginning.
Tiny is leaving the flat-lands in 2013 (http://ortinyhouse.tumblr.com/)
The tiny house has been updated and fixed over the summer and fall, and is ready to travel... Read More
Home. As the days shorten and the temperatures drop, home is where we all want to be. But for a trio of dreamers and gypsies, home is a space that doesn’t stand still. Home follows the snow. Storm by storm, chasing memories made one powder turn at a time, home is a 112-square foot Victorian cabin on wheels. Home is the Outdoor Research Tiny House.
The OR Tiny House Tour kicks off (Outdoor Research)
Joining The Tiny House Movement
Two winters ago my partner Zack Giffin, our buddy Neil Provo and I joined the Tiny House movement. We built a miniature cabin on a trailer in Colorado, hitched it to a funky old diesel truck, and set out to chase winter. Two full seasons have passed living in our rolling house. Read More
It was December 21, 2012. The world, or just the Mayan Calendar, was supposed to end. Ironically as skiers, our world was about to begin.
It was early winter and there was 10 feet of snow on the way. But it wasn’t just that winter had arrived. The elevation of our experience was reaching Everest proportions because of our little winter cabin on wheels. Our tiny house was going to get us stranded in the storm, with no other skiers allowed into our powder land.
A Mt. Baker snowstorm immobilizes Tiny, right where she wants to be (Molly Baker)
In October of 2011, Molly Baker and fellow Outdoor Research Ski Ambassador, Zack Giffin, started building their dream home on wheels. Inspired by an introduction to Tumbleweed Tiny Houses, the purpose was to tow their cozy cabin around to North America’s most coveted mountain passes and ski areas.
Now in their third year of living tiny, our group of winter gypsies shares the experience of living vagrantly from one ski destination to the next, making memories one powder turn at a time. We're fortunate that Molly has agreed to write about many aspects of living tiny and living her dreams for Tumbleweed. She's an inspiration to all of us.
Tumbleweed as a cozy refuge, in the cosmos (photo by Ian Provo)
Living in a tiny home innately frees your time, energy, and space. So, what is it that all of us will choose with this new-found freedom? Read More
Remember Molly and Zack's ski lodge on wheels? They're still going strong, winter weather and all: no storm will stop these snow-lovers. Bundle up before you read this inspiring story Molly sent us...brrr!
It was December 21, 2012. The world (or just the calendar)
was supposed to end. Ironically as skiers, our world was about to start. It was early winter and there was 10 feet of
snow on the way. But it wasn’t just that winter had arrived. The elevation of
our experience was reaching Everest proportions because of a little winter
cabin on wheels. A mere 112-square feet was going to have grand implications.
Our tiny house was going to get us stranded in the storm, with no other skiers
allowed into our powder land.
Stranded. The word beckons thoughts of despair, desperation,
and misery. It’s not something you want to be, see, or deal with. Until the
world is about to end, 10 feet of snow is predicted to fall at Mt. Baker, and
you’ve got your tiny house parked at the ski area with food and wood stocked
and the fire stoked. It is only then that “stranded” starts to sing vibrant,
melodious notes of luck, opportunity, and blessing. Then being stranded turns into
some sort of victory.
On the day the world was supposed to end, we started out by
digging a walking path from the front door of the tiny house through the four
feet of snow that had fallen overnight. It was not a tiny task, but one isn’t
given an option, when the front door is blocked by a snow bank. We shoveled and
heaved, moving mounds of the fresh snow that we would soon be skiing. The ski
area parking lot was empty, other than the plow, disappearing behind waves of
When we moved into our tiny house last year, there was the
promise of downsizing our possessions and up-scaling our experiences. We wanted
to be mobile, with the ability to sleep in ski area parking lots and find all
the deepest storms. In terms of richness, our wealth came from a bank of powder
turns, not dollar bills. As skiers, being stranded at Mt. Baker was the best we
could do in the realm of experience. It was our pot of gold. In fact, we were
living out many other skier and snowboarder’s dreams. Without our little
portable home, we would’ve never been in that spot at that time. The tiny house
had put us into position to get stranded. I guess what you’re seeking is also
In the end, we had three private days of skiing in the
forest near the Mt. Baker ski area. The Department of Transportation eventually
removed all of the one hundred plus trees that had fallen over the highway
during the apocalyptic storm. Floods of skiers came to the ski area to discover
just exactly what they had missed. We knew what they had missed. And we
reminisced as we planned to excavate the tiny house from what had become a tiny
mountain of snow in the parking lot.
Heading to warmer land
We got by with a little help from our friends. A satiating
six-pack of beer for a hard-working plow driver helped us remove some of the
snow that had piled up outside the house. By the time most skiers arrived, we’d
removed the tiny house from its’ tiny, temporary homestead and had headed to
drier, warmer elevations to celebrate the holiday with family. And to find out
that the world had not ended after all.
Here’s to another year of big experiences in our tiny