Since I have such a strong investment in tiny house living, my husband and I made the trip to Morrisville Tennessee for the Memorial Day Weekend tiny house jamboree at Incredible Tiny Houses. While the festival itself was mildly interesting – perhaps 15 different tiny houses to walk through – what popped my eyes and dropped my jaw was the location. It took place in a large dilapidated warehouse. Deep puddles had formed from the torrential rain on the leaky roof, requiring one to practically wade from house to house on the cracked concrete floor. All the food trucks had moved inside and the air hung low and heavy, rancid with bacon fat, smoke, and a good dose of carbon monoxide. There was little natural light; all the tiny houses were dim and depressing, their floors caked with mud and grime from people’s wet shoes.

Outside the rain stopped, leaving a stunning sky. The area had once been a thriving area of factories, warehouses, wholesale businesses. An apparently recent fire had devastated almost everything, leaving behind destruction and wrecked businesses. Wrecked lives. The lot itself was paved with a wide variety of tiles: Mexican saltia, black and white bathroom tiling, white subway tiles. I presume that what I could see through the accumulated mud and water was a former showroom.

The smell of burned and scorched wood still hung over the area. Visitors to the Jam had found places to squeeze their vehicles between piles of rebar and cracked concrete.

I wandered around and felt the contrast between the beauty of the day and the wreckage, now ignored and forgotten, something to overlook on the way somewhere else. I was able to use the pictures I took with almost no editing. The colors and textures come through without the necessity of enhancements.