Tiny Spaces, Big Hearts

Tiny Texas Houses is running an essay contest to promote their newest prototype.  If you are not familiar with this company, or their adorably sustainable designs you should check out their website: fascinating website

You are guaranteed to fall in love with their ingenious and petite dwellings!


The theme of this contest struck a chord with me; the fascinating idea of reworking the refuse of our past into a beautiful future.  With a little urging from my awesome coworkers, I decided why not toss my hat in and try to win a tiny house!

Below is my submission, for your perusal (and hopefully enjoyment).   

Did I mention that I was limited to 300 words (not including title)?  If you know me, you might doubt that this is possible, reserve your snark and read on!

The Hum In My Heart and The Song In My Voice

I grew up bouncing between two worlds: vibrant Austin; and tranquil Muldoon- steeped with tradition and surrounded by rugged Texas beauty.

My Austin hands played piano, drew pictures, consumed fiction, sculpting an entrepreneurial life in the arts.  The Muldoon blood, however, led my feet down wooded paths, kept my eye on the giant sky and my heart dead-reckoned on the gentle hum of country life.

My family owns land in that small Fayette County hamlet, but that is not why I call it home.  No, home is seeing four generations of your family in one small cemetery, learning trust and gentleness in the workshop of agriculture, and knowing everyday that nothing you do is temporary.

My brain thrived off the energy of ever-changing Austin, but my heart was nourished by the sustainability of home.

When I was a child, my grandfather loaded me into the truck, bounced me through a thicket of cedar and into an open field.  At first unimpressed, I grew ecstatic as he explained that this very field, its huge rocks, blanket of freshly planted oats, and fortress of cedar was mine.  He was giving it to me.  Suddenly, I was a part of this fabric stretching backwards into family history, and no other field would ever look as beautiful.

Remarkably, I later learned that my great-grandfather bought that land, and built a cabin (now vanished) for his children to have a place to start their lives.

I cannot think of any sentiment that resonates more strongly with me at this point, as an artist and human, than wanting a place to start and anchor my life. A place that is rooted in tradition, connected to (or salvaged from) the past, and all the more beautiful as I lend my own voice to its story.