Building without predicting
On a podcast, I briefly mentioned that I’m building my dream house without predicting - by living in a bare cabin in the woods, then adding only what I find I actually need.
Apparently it was intriguing, because since then, it’s been my most frequently asked question: “How’s your house going?” I didn’t think this would interest total strangers, but enough people have asked, so here’s the story.
I hope you can apply it metaphorically to your own projects or life choices.
It starts with a maxim:
All buildings are predictions.
All predictions are wrong.
How do you build without predicting? Defer decisions. Start using what’s there. Discover actual needs.
When you catch yourself thinking “We’ll need this,” stop and say, “Let’s find out what we really need.”
A fabled example: They built a new park and argued about where to put the walkways. Around the edges? Through the middle? The winning answer: Open the park with no walkways. After a year, look where people have been walking. Find paths where the grass is worn away. Pave there. Don’t predict.
I’ve preached that idea for decades. Then a few years ago, I bought a piece of land for dirt cheap here in New Zealand - just 30 minutes away - and applied that idea to building a home for me and my son.
How do you build a home without predicting? By living in an unfurnished, unfinished place, adding only what you’ve proven you need or want.
It’s a fun philosophical experiment, testing what you really need. Especially when costs are high, it raises the bar on that word: “need”.
(Note: I will say “I” and “my”, but my teenage son was very involved in most of these decisions, and loves this place even more than I do.)
My land is an off-grid forest valley with a creek running through the middle. No buildings, no electricity or services. Just land. So I really started from scratch.
For two years, before building anything, we spent time there in all seasons, finding our favorite spots. We built a path through our forest. Twice, we came face-to-face with a wild boar.
I slept outside, so I know I need a roof, walls, and great insulation - about 4 by 8 meters. I bought a used, pre-made, well-insulated 4 by 8 cabin. Because they were on a clearance sale, I bought three more, so now we have four adjacent cabins for four purposes:
- for sleeping
- for me (where I spend most waking hours)
- for him (where my son does whatever he wants)
- for storage or future living.
I love the isolation of purposes. When I go into my cabin, it’s time to work. When we go into the sleeping cabin, it’s time for bed.
I slept on the floor, so I know I need a mattress and blankets. I bought a mattress and blankets and started living there.
I tried living without electricity, then planned on going solar-only, but I decided to get fast fiber internet. Since I was digging a trench for the fiber optic cables to run from the road to my house, it made sense to get electric service.
These ideas are from the book “How Buildings Learn” by Stewart Brand. For 20 years, it’s been a huge influence on my code, my life choices, and now on building my home. If you find this fascinating or crazy, go read that book.
It makes a powerful point about water:
“Water consumes wood, erodes masonry, corrodes metals, peels paint, and expands when it freezes. It warps, swells, discolors, rusts, loosens, mildews, and stinks. Houses deteriorate from the bathroom out.”
Heeding his warning, I made a rule of no water inside. Anything with water stays outside the cabins.
Outdoor showers, I’ve always loved, so now it’s all I’ve got. A simple hose shower that runs the water through a heater. Uncovered, so at night I shower while looking at the stars.
Outdoor kitchen, holding an umbrella while cooking in the rain, proved I needed a roof. Thin walls and a floating roof so the wind can circulate but keeps away the rain. Wonderful except in winter, but a few minutes of cold hands are worth it for no fumes or smoke in the home.
Outdoor bathroom, can I handle that? I tried peeing outside for a month and it was fine. I built the same structure as the kitchen. It’s actually really nice in there in a rainstorm. Got a composting toilet instead of flushing, which saves a lot of water.
Remember, my land is “off-grid” so I have no water supply, and no wastewater service. My only water source is collecting the rain from my roof. Gutters and tanks, and good water filtration. Later I added a reverse osmosis water filter for drinking.
Another nice thing about having the cabins, kitchen, and bathroom all separated, is that it keeps you going outside almost every hour. It snaps you out of your thoughts and into the real physical world of trees, birds, wind and weather. Every night at dusk, the owls start their beautiful “hoo-hoo ... hoo-hoo”.
This is a cold dark valley so I wanted a sauna for sanity, pleasure, and health. Glenn Auerbach from Sauna Times designed a great little two-person sauna for us. Now it’s my nightly ritual: Hot sauna, 82°C for 21 minutes, then shower, then bed. Coming straight from the sauna makes the outdoor shower more appealing on cold nights.
I hate hanging laundry, so I got a washer and dryer. But I’m happy to do dishes, so no dishwasher.
Do I need hot water in the sink? I went without it for a year, and found I never needed hot water - only cold or boiling. So instead of an expensive water heater, I keep a kettle by the sink for dishes and tea.
And no built-in appliances - only portable, for easy changes. I design for maintenance, not appearances, so all conduit and pipes are exposed. Nothing hidden. That said, I planted privacy bushes around the perimeter, since, y’know, I like to shower naked.
The story continues, but that’s enough. For each choice, like where to put lights, the process is:
- Try to do without it. Stop here if possible.
- Try a cheap portable fix, like a flashlight or lantern. Stop here if possible.
- Test a simple flexible solution, easy to maintain and change.
We’ve been living here full-time for a year and it’s really ideal. It feels like custom tailored clothing. Instead of generic “one size fits all”, it’s a house that perfectly fits our unique preferences and values.
A neighbor came by for the first time and really hated it, getting all upset and yelling, saying I was crazy for not having his preferred comforts.
I love that this home feels wrong for others, and just right for us. (Kind of like my software and other life choices.)
It’s a fun ongoing experiment and reminder to challenge all predictions.