Hung out to dry

There is something about real estate. I love traipsing through houses, pretending you live in that perfectly staged living room, spotless kitchen and freshly made bed. So when I heard about zHome, a "revolutionary, 10-unit townhome development that uses smart design and cutting edge technologies to radically reduce its environmental impacts," I had to see it for myself. Besides, they advertised an EV charging station out front.

And impressive engineering it is: the earthwork is a true work of art, moving water around, under and through, using grey water for flushing toilets and irrigation, and double-filtering drinking water. Electricity is generated from photovoltaic panels on the roof, and radiant floors are heated using geothermal heat. Surfaces are honest, responsibly sourced, and the spaces are light and devoid of that "new house" smell.

And it seems to encourage more responsible behavior: having only a one-car garage (and presumably only one car) and squeezing into 1600 square feet seems spartan in these suburbs, where 3,000 and 4,000 square feet and three-car garages are the norm. But as our house ages and demands more of our time and energy, and we look to simplify our lives, the idea of living in a smaller space and with less stuff is incredibly appealing.

We drove up in our red LEAF, plugged in, and started poking around. First up was the largest unit: walk in the door, there's a bedroom. Right next to the front door, with a sliding glass door. A bit public, but maybe useful for a home office.

A bit farther in, and there's a one-car garage. But not only is the charger on the street, but this is a three-bedroom unit, on the far fringe of the suburbs. If this is designed for a family, it will be rough going, as bus service is very sketchy way out here, and there is nothing within walking distance, since the planned community around it has yet to be built. The closest shopping is 20 minutes away, and the city a good half hour by freeway. Maybe both parents work at home, or maybe they're independently wealthy, since the price tag is not within the reach of the average Joe: $625,000.

I peek in the spacious storage closet under the stairway, and inside it is a high tech geothermal heat pump for the radiant floor heat. Lovely, comfy, efficient and truly green credentialed. But some boiler-loving contractor has placed it at the front of the closet, blocking the way to using the rest. Result: a good 15 square feet of inaccessible closet space in the garage.

Up the responsibly-sourced wood stairs to the living area, covered in the same responsibly-sourced floors. The kitchen is stunning, but after the initial impression, we realize there isn't a single cupboard large enough for a stack of plates; only drawers below. The corner features a "lost space" cupboard instead of a useful corner solution, reducing storage space yet again. Back in the larder, shelving and a closet, with--you guessed it--water filters covering the back of the closet. Imagine moving all your stored items every 6 months to change the filter and you start to see.

Top floor, another large closet, this time with a stacked washer and dryer. I love that someone understands putting the washer where the dirty laundry is, but the school of hard knocks reminds me that laundry likes to congregate before washing, sorting itself into pile of like colors and such. Here, since there is no space for even a box of eco-friendly detergent, I can see the piles littering the hallway on laundry day (every day is laundry day when you have kids). And while I love the energy star dryer, I note no place anywhere to put up drying racks; perhaps the balcony, overlooking the neighbor's?

In the end, we are disappointed that so much was done right, only to have these efforts marred by apparent trivialities that work against the stated intent: downsize to one car, but locating the homes in a place that has no transportation infrastructure; use efficient technology and reduce the square footage, but then situate the mechanicals in a way that space cannot be used; and omitting spaces for the kinds of occupant behavior that affects our environmental impact at least as much as technology.

We note with chagrin that the brand-new building next door has heated storage units for rent. Perhaps they saw an opportunity.

Airing our laundry

Our little rented house in Ireland has all the modern conveniences save one: a dryer. Make no mistake, the winters (and autumns and springs) are wet, whence the green hills that justify the famous moniker. It has been a challenge to work with time, planning ahead, making sure clothes are washed in time to line dry before trips and scheduling in sheets and towels to not leave us without underwear and socks.

We have cheated a couple of times, borrowing a friend’s dryer for a down jacket and availing of my mother-in-laws capacious laundry room over Christmas, luxuriating in the easy life. But by and large, we are simply living with laundry constantly hanging in the living room, and crunchy towels. We even rearranged the sofa so we could get the rack closer to the radiator, which cuts drying time to only a day.

Our first power bill made me gasp: €780, and it wasn’t even winter yet. We understood why everyone else hung out laundry, even on cool, moist days. A dryer would simply be an unaffordable luxury, one that could easily double a power bill. And so, we see peach-colored sheets and long nightdresses along the N81 just past Silverhill on all but the soggiest days, and compare the virtues of various folding racks with our neighbors.

Our three-week visit to the US has coincided with an amazing stretch of fine weather, which I hope to not jinx by mentioning. As our folding line gets a workout, our Swedish dryer sits unused as of yet, and we depart for the old country again in a few days. A fellow mom at the school has just convinced her husband to put up a clothesline in their side yard, and has been asking advice about hanging laundry: How many clothespins do I need? (More than a single pack of 50 for a family of four!) What is the protocol for hanging underwear? (On the inside of the rack, where nosy neighbors won’t see your shy tween’s smalls or your unmentionables) When do you need to bring it in? (Only if it is pouring, since wind will evaporate light moisture quickly.) Another mom overhears us chatting, and says, “Oh, I miss how line-dried sheets smell. Maybe we should put up a line too!”

How funny that something as simple as hanging up laundry, a task that our grandmothers saw as a chore (this woman’s thoroughly modern suburban mom had a dryer), has become something we must learn. And how odd that these college-educated women—and men—have bought into laundry additives, and scented dryer sheets and asthmatic children to make their laundry smell good, when the sun is there for free. How ironic that we are having to relearn something as simple as how putting the clothespin on only one side of the sock makes it dry more quickly. But how delicious to rediscover the quiet meditative quality of hanging laundry on a cool morning, listening to exuberant birdsong while we plan our day in our minds. And how lovely it is to snuggle into sheets that smell like sunshine and takes us to pleasant dreamscapes. Like crafts of old, the wisdom of the generation was nearly lost. Nearly.