Our home
I love our house. My wife feels somewhat more ambivalent about it, especially in winter, but I love the house. It’s not large, or new, or particularly well-appointed. It’s a solid structure, though, well built for its or any other era and big enough for our four-person family, or at least nearly so.
It was built in 1895, a modified Homestead-style house with an economy to its use of space you don’t see in many homes. Three bedrooms, one bath (the biggest flaw), a living room, dining room, and roomy—if oddly arranged—kitchen. We’ve partially refinished the basement, and there is also a finished room in the attic which we use as an office and guest room.
It sits on a plot of just under a quarter of an acre near the center of a solidly middle class eastern Massachusetts town, a typically New England suburban setting. The back yard is spacious for the area, a seventy by seventy foot square surrounded by a six foot picket fence and shaded by a half-dozen Norwegian maple border trees. In the summers, the kids can play in the yard while my wife or I work in the house, despite the fact that we live on a fairly busy street. Its a great place for cookouts and tossing a baseball around, a mostly green expanse with a picnic table, a shed, a hammock and a garden.
We’ll likely move out of this house in a year or two for reasons extrinsic to the structure itself (other than the single bathroom issue), but I’m starting this exploration of sustainable living with the house because houses sit so much at the center of our lifestyles and impact greatly the subsequent choice we make in living out our lives. I’m sure that I’ll have ample opportunity to explore choices we’ve made that are less sustainable in many dimensions, but at least with the house I can start with a few choices I am pleased with.
This house is our first, and when we set out to buy it, we took a map of the Boston area and highlighted the commuter rail lines, because one of my criteria was that I wanted to be able to walk to the train station. We are five minutes from the nearest station, and while I do still sometimes drive into Cambridge for my job, most often I go the entire work week without getting into my car. When we bought the house in 2001, I remember thinking if there ever were to be an oil shock, at least we wouldn’t have high gas bills. I also remember thinking an oil shock wasn’t likely to happen for a few decades.
We’ve worked hard to make the house more efficient as well, insulating the attic, replacing the furnace and water heater, relining the chimney. We converted from oil heat to natural gas. We’ve made some cosmetic improvements as well, replacing ceilings downstairs, repairing cracked plaster walls. We’ve repainted the outside to its current yellow. In all, the house is great shape, though the roof will likely not last much longer.
At the time we bought the house, I was just starting my career and not making a lot of money. My wife, a middle school and college teacher, was further along career-wise and had a job at Northeastern University. The house was probably as much as we could afford at the time, but we also could have reasonably expected to be making more money in the ensuing years, and bought a bigger house. As it turns out, buying the house we did has kept our mortgage payments relatively low, meaning we devote less as a percentage of our income to covering housing costs than do many people I know.
This points to an important theme I hope to explore further in coming posts: The impacts of economic choices on personal freedom. A relatively low cost of housing has allowed us over the past eight years to have a relative level of freedom in making personal choices, and of all the lifestyle choices we have made, I cannot think of a single other one that has had as profound an effect on our happiness as a family.
At every turn in making choices for our family, we have had more options because of the economic effects of this housing choice. When we had children, we had more options available to us regarding how much we chose to work, what daycares we could afford for our children and how much they would be in daycare. We have had the opportunity to travel more than we otherwise might. And in 2006, when my son was diagnosed with a life-threatening illness, we were able to live on my income alone while my wife stopped working to care for him. (He is completely recovered and my wife is starting work again.)
This one insight is a foundation for me. I think it’s often assumed that more possessions means more happiness, and perhaps in an environment of unlimited money this may be true. But in living with limited resources, less stuff (in this case less house) can mean more freedom. Living better can defined as having more things, but having more things is ultimately unsustainable, so to live sustainably implies a lower quality of life. A key to living better with less is to begin to redefine our understanding of better living, defining quality of life not in terms of possessions, but in terms of freedoms. That is one important goal of this blog.