Here’s something I’m willing to wager you won’t run across on any of the other small home/sustainable architecture blogs…  Polly the Inflatible Ho’.

I’m not kidding when I tell you that I never know what I’m going to see when I look outside my front window.  Sunset, in particular, tends to be a time for interesting sights.  Admittedly, Polly is perhaps even a bit more unusual than most.

Two doors down from me is The Snack Shack, inhabited by Paul and Brenda, two of the main culprits in why “E-Walk” has the reputation as party-central in the marina.

Anyway, when I glanced up from my work this evening, Paul was peddling by with Polly the Inflatible Ho’ as his boat-mate. Paul and Polly have been busy paddling around derailing evening traffic in the marina for the last half hour or so.

Apparently this was her maiden voyage in preparation for July 4th weekend when the marina will be flooded with vistors.  (Although, as I’ve informed Paul, I’m not sure there’s anything about Polly that qualifies as “maiden”.)

Female inhabitants of “E-Walk” are currently conspiring to track down a platinum blond wig for her.  I’ve suggested a beer bottle for the mouth.  Although, I can’t really decide if that would make Polly more or less child friendly.

Over the next week Coming Unmoored will be featuring a series of articles focused on shipping container homes…

There are a lot of architects and builders that are beginning to wake up to the idea of using cargo containers for building. There are a lot of reasons that this idea’s time has come. I thought I would take a moment and outline why I like cargo container construction.  Sure, I don’t exactly feel “girly” discussing this topic, but the more I learn about cargo container construction, the more I like it!

First, due to the current economic slowdown, there are a lot of cargo containers piling up.  By a lot, we are talking about tens of thousands of them just sitting at docks all across the world.  A very large percentage of them are in Asian ports.  It may now be possible to get a better deal than ever on a cargo container.

In terms of prices, cargo containers can be found as cheaply as $1,000, or may cost as much as $6,000 or more.  Using a cargo container that has already been manufactured and is currently on a dock somewhere getting rusty, seems like a great eco-friendly idea.

The second reason to consider building with cargo containers is that they are very strong and durable.  After all, these containers are designed to be stacked on top of one another, while full of goods.  This fact speaks volumes about the strength of these containers.

This durability translates into other benefits as well.  Insects, vermin and mold have a tough time with steel.  There are few insects that find steel worth the time. Therefore, if you live in a termite populated area, your termite problem is basically solved.

Safety is another major point in favor of using cargo containers.  Due to the material from which they are constructed, cargo containers are going to be very safe.  Since the cargo container is built out of steel, it gives a homeowner an additional layer of physical safety from storms (and potentially intrusions as well).  Replacing wood and brick with metal also makes container homes resistant to fire.

Transportation is a big plus in favor of cargo container construction.  The largest piece of your housing puzzle can be delivered on a truck directly to your housing site.  This compares nicely to having to bring out every single piece of wood and brick that you will use for your project.

If building with cargo containers sounds like something you might be interested in doing, we recommend that you find an architect that has already tackled a project in your area.  Every year more and more architects are “taking the plunge,” and building with this strong yet flexible building option.

One thing that recently occurred to me is that now that I’m settled into my marina, I’m going to need to find a way to write about my own life while respecting the privacy of my neighbors.  I realize that I tend to put a lot of myself out there in the online world.  However, other residents of my little neighborhood may have very different preferences where that is concerned.  Especially considering that for many of them their floating homes are their vacation retreats and where they like to let their hair down.

So, if I’m sometimes a little vague with names and particular details, odds are it’s intentional and that I’m trying respect my neighbor’s right to not have their personal lives broadcast on the web.  (Moreover, if any of my neighbors ever reads something here that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know and I’ll either modify it or take it down.)

That being said, I got to experience my first little neighborhood party last night.  Apparently these are fairly common once the weather turns warm and I’ve been told that my ramp tends to be “the party ramp”.  In fact, two of my neighbors were bemoaning the fact that they “live out in the boonies from where all the cool stuff is happening”.  (They live another two ramps down the way.)  I’m not used to thinking of ramps having personalities so this is a new concept for me to wrap my mind around.

Some of these parties, like the one last night, are planned and scheduled in advance.  More often, though, they seem to spontaneously evolve.  One neighbor stops to talk to another.  The conversation continues for a little while and lawn chairs get pulled out onto the ramp.  Those two seem to be having fun, so another neighbor drifts over to join them.  Sometime soon after that a bottle of wine or some beer is produced and then, Voila!, you have a little party going.

In a lot of ways the phenomena reminds me a lot of the impromptu late-night conversations that would strike up in the dorm hallways in college.  That was one of my favorite experiences back then, so it’s neat for me to discover a similar phenomena in the marina.

Last night’s ramp party centered around a raucous game of Pictionary.  They went all-out including a gameshow host decked in a suit jacket, tie, Bermuda shorts, and bad faux hair.  Jello shots had been flowing freely for awhile by the time I drifted down.  There were no teams and the rules by which we were playing were pretty elastic.  It was great fun.

What stole my heart, though, was Boogie, one of the marina’s well-known canine members.  Boogie is an English bulldog and she’s carrying a few extra pounds on her already stout bulldog frame.  Boogie doesn’t walk.  She waddles.  And she reminds me of a giant, bighearted caterpillar with all her fuzzy ripples of flesh.

Last night Boogie was extra-friendly.  I suspect the 3 to 4 jello shots she’d partaken in prior to my arrival contributed to that.  (Like my cat, Rumi, Boogie apparently likes the taste of alcohol.)  Boogie is a very friendly drunk.  She waddled her way over to my lawn chair, perhaps a little less gracefully than normal, plopped her round little body on top of my feet, and slobberly demanded love.  So I had a very friendly foot-warmer for a good portion of the game.

If I’d thought I could have got away with it, I would have been tempted to spirit her home with me.  She’s a complete sweetheart.  But she would have made quite an armful and I suspect her mother would have objected strongly to her absence.

My neighbors who’ve been curious about who was fixing up my little place bombarded me with a series of questions including: Where are you from?  Why is your boyfriend not also up here? What do you do for work?  Why in the world would you move from the desert to here? etc.

It reminded me quite a lot of my mother’s little group of friends who hang out by the pool in the summer.  You want to know anything about anyone, ask them.  They have the best intel on everyone in the community.  I suspect there will be several more evenings of information-gathering before they feel comfortable that they have enough material for their files, and that’s perfectly okay.  One of the things I’ve really been looking forward in living here is being able build connections with my neighbors.

Anyway, last night was a great introduction to the marina.  This summer should be a lot of fun.  (And, Dan, it sounds like I just missed you and your wife last night.)

I’m afraid to say my first day in my floating home was a little less magical than my arrival.

To begin with, my “Open 24 Hours a Day! 7 Days a Week!” storeroom facility decided to be closed for Easter without sending any sort of notice to their tenants.  So, when I blithely showed up, keyed in my security code at the gate, and went inside, I ended up being greeted by a very flustered property manager who came barreling out of her RV, followed quickly by her husband/S.O. armed with a shotgun.

None of this was really disastrous other than the fact that all the bedding I planned to use for the night was behind lock and key and they weren’t about to let me in long enough to retrieve it.  I think what irked me the most is how nasty the manager was.  I just about got accused of breaking and entering.  She kept insisting that there was no way my security code should have been able to open the gate and that they told everyone when they signed up for a facility that they were closed on major holidays.  (Of which, Easter apparently qualifies in her world.)

I made my apologies and left.  I’ve got a bad feeling, though, that there’s going to be an ongoing series of issues between me and this women as I ended up getting the Death Look the whole time I was there yesterday to retrieve a few things.

It annoyed me that I was forced to go buy a cheapo comforter to get me through the night until I could retrieve my bedding.  Odds are I’ll end up donating it to one of the local shelters.

The real excitement on Sunday, however, involved my tiny house’s plumbing.  I was able to reach Kenny about midday and he showed me how to turn out the main water main to my house.  Kenny hung around for about fifteen minutes helping me make sure all the appropriate valves were opened and that everything appeared to be in working order.  I wished him a Happy Easter and he went off to spend the day with his parents and sister.

An hour later all hell began to break loose. My hot water heater made a noise that could only be described as a death rattle and then stubbornly refused to produce anything that could even be generously described as lukewarm water.  The hot water spigot produced water the same temperature as the river.

Next, the shower turned on by itself and no matter how I adjusted the handle, I couldn’t get it to less than a light, ongoing trickle.

This was followed by the kitchen sink sprouting a leak from the main pipe.  Having no pots or pans yet in the house, I resorted to putting my rice cooker under the drip to capture the water.  I then made a hasty trip to Wal-Mart to grab a few containers to catch water in until I could reach a plumber Monday morning who would charge less-than-extortionate rates because it was a holiday.

The coup de gras, however, was that, just as I was coming back through the front door from Wal-Mart, I heard a weird, cracking explosion from the bathroom, which made no sense whatsover.  I opened the bathroom door cautiously to discover that the lid of my toilet tank had shot off with enough force to hit the far wall and break into pieces. I kid you not.

Now, I’ve seen my handful of weird toilet malfunctions before.  I had also been warned by the contractor who had rebuilt my float that re-balancing the level of the house could result in some minor drips in the plumbing.  But there was no way an exploding toilet could be described as “minor” in anyone’s book as far as I was concerned.

The subsequent conversation with Kenny went roughly like this:

Me: “Uh, Kenny, there seems to be a problem with my toilet.”

Kenny: “What?  Is it not flushing?”

Me: “No.  It exploded.”

Kenny: “Exploded?  What do you mean by ‘exploded’?  Did you get backflow from the honeypot or something?”

Me, trying to keep my tone somewhere below the pitch of a mouse who’s just been sodomized: “No.  I mean, the lid just shot off, slammed into the far wall, and broke in half.  That kind of exploded.”

This pronouncement was greeted by a moment’s silence worthy of the news I’d just delivered.

Kenny: “I’ll be there first thing tomorrow morning with my plumber.”

Kenny was slightly more pragmatic on the subject of what I should use for a toilet until then, though.  He suggested I could probably still use it and just flush with a bucket until the cavalry arrived…  But I might want to be a little careful just to be safe.  Alternately, there was always the gym locker room down the street.  I’d mentioned I was planning to get a membership, hadn’t I?

I ended up making the minimal possible number of hasty trips to the bathroom during the night, keeping a watchful eye on the tank the entire time I was in the room.

Monday morning, Carey of Rhino Plumbing and his brother appeared as my salvation.  Apparently what happened is the squeegee-ma-bob–hey, I’m not a plumber and they just pointed at the thing–had shot up several inches with enough force to rip itself free of the tubing in the tank and send the lid flying.

Why exactly this happened, no one knows.  Not even the plumbers.  It could have been air or some sort of debris in the line.  But that’s pure speculation.  Upon further determined probing by me, both Kenny and Carey surrendered a few Man Points by admitting they’d never seen anything like it.  It was the damnedest thang.

The initial plan had been to simply replace the innards of the toilet and see if that fixed the issue.  However, then it was discovered that there was a crack running the length of the bowl on the far side.  Whether the crack happened as part of the explosion or sometime during the winter they don’t know.

Final verdict: my hot water heater could be saved with a new heating element.  Shower was magically shut off.  Leak under the kitchen was resolved.  The toilet, however, has been declared D.O.A.  Looks like I may be getting the spiffy new, dual-flush toilet I had been planning a little earlier than planned.  (And praying I don’t see similar canon-like activity from that.)

So that was my Sunday and Monday this week.

Now, can anyone recommend a good sacrificial offering to the local water gods to ensure there’s no more of this mischief?

The SolarHome is an eco-friendly, 75 square meter houseboat design created by UK-based Mark Kingsley Architects.  The working model of the SolarHome is currently located in the Lusatian Lakelands in Germany.

The houseboat uses solar energy and has two different modes of operation–Docked mode and Self-sufficient.  In Docked mode, it draws fresh water and power from its moorage.  In Self-Sufficient mode, it’s a self-contained unit and can supposedly operate for 6-12 months at a time.

(Unfortunately, I have no information on it’s water catchment and management system, nor how it handles sewage.  Presumably it must have some sort of containment system for the later.)

The designers are quick to say it offers all the modern amenities one might want and that they are willing to design customized homes.

Credit for the discovery of this groovy little house goes to James, who is rapidly becoming my unofficial researcher for potential articles.  (I have to confess, though, that of all his finds, the river shanty and its colorful inhabitants featured  earlier this week is still my favorite.)

These should be the last of the new photos until I get up there in a few weeks.

I’m happy to report that I just heard from Kenny that they’ve managed to get the new roof on my house. (I plan to go light a stick of incense in homage to whatever minor deity is in charge of Portland weather just as soon as I finish this entry.)

You know the project triangle that consists of good, fast, and cheap? The one where you can pick any combination of two elements but you have to forgo the other? Well, Kenny is proving to be good and cheap. (“Cheap”, anyway, as far as anything involving a contractor goes.) Fast, however, is another story. Which has caused me more than a couple of sleepless nights knowing that my roof was ripped off my house during the rainy season in Oregon. (For a detailed explanation of how that came to happen, please see this earlier post.)

Kenny’s emailed updates arrive in a style I’ve come to think of as Kenny-ese. Here’s an excerpt from the latest one: “I have alittle more siding to do on the tops, vary small peices and trying not to waist to much material, the little cuts waist lost and that material is expensive and trying to use as many peices as I can.”

To be clear, I’m in no way knocking the emails. Kenny, with his AOL account, is probably the most technologically-advanced River Rat I’ve dealt with so far on the house. When I’ve mentioned to other people working on the house that the easiest way to get hold of me is usually by email, the reactions were so shocked you would think I’d just suggested they fry up the newest puppy in the marina for breakfast.

Anyway, I think Kenny is holding out on me for any new pictures until the final bits of siding are done. He may even wait until the deck railing and flooring are in. I’m not sure. I’m willing to wager, though, that the next spiffy set of pictures show up the same time as his next bill for labor does.

In other news, it looks like this blog got a mention today on MSN MoneyBlog in a article titled In Praise of Teeny Tiny Houses.

Viva la Teeny Tiny Revolution!

Much Lamaze breathing (and two generous tumblers of Charlie’s Scotch) later, I finally felt capable of trying to formulate an emergency plan.

Kenny assures me that the remaining exposed wall of my house has been sealed against the elements and Gene has been enlisted to reattach the roof panels until Kenny is well enough to work on the roof again.

In the meantime, while Kenny is doing R&R, Gene is being assigned to do the remaining framing work inside so I can get the house to the point where I can draft other people to work on it. The main work Gene will be doing is shifting the center wall of the house back 2-3 feet so it falls almost directly under the ridgeline. This will significantly open up both the kitchen and bathroom. The only thing I lose is ratty cupboards in both rooms, which I wasn’t keen on in the first place.

Once that is done, I can get the electrician in to finish installing the two new heaters, a few additional outlets, and the recessed ceiling lights in the new back room.

After that, it’s time to tackle updates to the bathroom. Oh, and pray that Kenny is right about my place, in fact, being water-proof.

As bad news has followed bad news, and delay followed delay, Charlie has grown increasingly, quietly gleeful. From the very beginning, he wasn’t happy with the news that I had bought a home in Oregon when he lives in New Mexico. He’s grown increasingly un-enamored with the idea since I arrived in NM.

I suppose in some ways that’s good news for me. Considering I was only supposed to be staying at his place for a month or possibly two while the work on my house was completed, I could easily understand if I had overstayed my welcome. As it is, I’ve been feeling pretty guilty at how over-schedule things are running. Fortunately, Charlie not only doesn’t mind but finds my predicament humorous.

At this point, I’m starting to tease him that he has hired a small crew of covert operatives to sabotage the project, including, possibly, my contractor in the conspiracy.

(I swear, being able to see the humor in the situation is the only thing keeping me going at this point.)

Color me foolish but, in this whole adventure of downscaling, it never occurred to me to enroll my contractor in an accidental death and/or dismemberment policy. Which is another way of saying that a few days ago I received an email from Kenny… from a hospital bed somewhere in Oregon where he was scheduled to have surgery the next morning.

Apparently, Kenny had spent the weekend enjoying a ski-trip. Enjoying, anyway, until a major wipe-out in which he ended up breaking his leg. And Kenny, ever the over-achiever, didn’t just acquire any sort of run-of-the-mill break. Oh no. We’re talking a massive spiral fracture of the femur requiring surgery to bolt him back together.

I would like to make it clear that my first reaction upon hearing the news was, in fact: “What?! What happened? Are you okay??” I’m less proud to admit that this was closely followed on the heels with: “Where the hell is there skiing in October and who gave you permission to do anything life-threatening before you’re done with my house?!”

Somehow, I managed not to relay this second set of sentiments to Kenny. (Mainly, I think, by biting my lip bloody.) This was especially difficult at the point he broke the news to me that his doctor has told him it will be at least two months before he can return to work. Things like working on rooftop could be much more time and physical therapy later.

On the best of days I wouldn’t be thrilled by the news that scheduled work on my house was going to be delayed by two months or more. But Kenny’s news arrived when a quarter of the siding on my house still needs to be installed, the old metal roof has been stripped off, and the rainy season in Oregon is just about to begin.

(And now a brief break while the narrator of this story lapses into a half-hour of primal screaming…)

Well, with my latest trip to check on the progress of the house, I think I’ve finally grasped the full enormity of the task I’ve bitten off for myself. I just kept thinking it was going to be “just a few more weeks” until I could move in. But, the reality is, I suspect I won’t be looking at a habitable house until probably spring-time. Thankfully, Charlie seems less that heartbroken that I may have to keep crashing at his place through winter.

Now that I’m through my denial, I’ve stopped thinking of the improvements to the house as a “remodel” and started to call it what it is–pretty much a full-scale restoration of the existing structure.

Once we got done discussing all the work that still needs to be done, my contractor, Kenny, fixed me with the eerie, falcon-stare that seems common amongst water-folk and said, “You know, you probably should have just had me build you a house from scratch. It would have been cheaper and very likely quicker.”

I know he’s right. But, for starters, I had no idea just how much I was taking on with this project. And, more importantly, I fell in love with my little house. And I like the idea of saving a small piece of floating homes history rather than letting it get scrapped like so many others.

What’s been really neat about working on the house is that once the locals realize that I’ve really invested in the project and willing to do what needs to be done to do it right if I intend to save the place, they start getting excited about it, too. The marina manager, Brian, was excited for me to see all the changes since my last visit. My contractor has been leaving the front door open for his workers and I suspect that several of the marina residents are taking regular peeks at the progress.

Anyway, the float and deck are done. As is the basic framing of my new home office where the boatwell used to be, and the new, rooftop deck on the house.

The next phase of work will be a new roof, windows, doors, and siding. At that point, all the external work on the house should be done and it will (hopefully) be weather-tight for winter.

Here’s the latest round of pictures…