My grandparents lived in a tiny house, without plumbing, decades before the tiny house craze emerged and composting toilets became a thing. If you subscribe to the notion that less is more, they had everything they needed: a living room, a kitchen, two bedrooms, and an outhouse. In this small, noisy space, they loved, bickered back and forth, laughed, cried, and raised four children - three boys and one girl. As time progressed, they became proud grandparents who marveled at how big me and my cousins grew from one summer to the next.
Years later, when my grandfather became ill and was permanently placed in the local Veterans hospital, my grandmother packed their belongings and moved closer to town. Thus, the tiny house became a quiet, uninhabited place, allocated to memories of a time when love made four small rooms a home.
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