At 81, I learned that comfort comes from reach, not room. A smaller door can open to calmer days and fewer chores. I live in a mobile home, and I treat it like an edited life. The space stays compact, yet it holds my routines and quiet joys. Every object earns its place, so my mind rests. I did not shrink my life; I simply made it easier to carry.
Leaving my longtime home and finding the right fit
- Jane Post, 81, lives in a tiny place called The Teapot.
- She lives on her younger daughter’s land, near family.
- The small home holds essentials, plus animals she adores.
- This as-told-to essay comes from Jennifer Jane and her mom, Jane Post, and was edited.
After 31 years in a house I loved, upkeep wore me down. I lived alone and liked it. Once I reached my mid-70s, the work felt risky and endless. I needed less to manage each day. A simpler setup in a mobile home seemed kinder, so I started looking.
I tried other stops and learned fast. A friend hosted me for a few months. Then I moved from Florida to New York in 2020 to live with my older daughter. I stayed a couple of years, yet it never fit. I returned to Florida, still unsure.
Why my mobile home became “The Teapot”
I returned to Florida without a plan, and my younger daughter stepped in. She offered me a small place on her property while I figured things out. I moved in, and I did not move out. The size stayed easy to manage, and my belongings had room.
I have always loved teapots, so the name arrived naturally. I once read about a retired Colonel who bought a very tiny cottage in England. It had belonged to a little old lady who ran a tearoom for walkers who wandered by. The place sounded small, yet welcoming.
Inside, it held one tiny table and two chairs. The Colonel said living there felt like living in a teapot. When I stepped into my mobile home, that line came back again. I knew I had found my home sweet home, so “The Teapot” stayed for good.
Animals and my steady early-morning routine
I share my little place with a cast of characters. Penny is a tubby brown mystery mutt mix. Choccy is a chihuahua who struggles to walk with old age. Little Thing is a tiny chihuahua mix with three legs. They bring me joy in this mobile home.
Pinkie is the cat, and the chickens have names too. Agatha Raisin is a bantam chicken. Sarose, “her evilness,” is a seabrite chicken. Jaeger is the barn cat. Then there is me, the human who does their bidding. In a small space, every personality shows up fast.
My day begins around 5 a.m. I care for the animals first. One by one, I take the special-needs ones outside. I feed and water them, then I make tea. I take Penny for a walk, put the chickens outside in their pen, make more tea, and feed wild birds.
How this mobile home helps balance and creativity
I like nearly everything about my Teapot, especially the layout. Older people often face balance issues, and I do too. In a small space, help sits close. If I lose my balance, a wall, table, or counter is nearby to bounce off. That closeness makes me safer.
One downside exists, and I notice it daily. There are not enough electrical outlets. The compact setup reduces clutter and long walks between tasks. The CDC says more than one in four adults 65+ report a fall yearly. Simple pathways matter in this mobile home as I age.
Six feet away, birds visit feeders as I sip tea beside my stack of books. Shell boxes sit atop the two chickens’ indoor overnight pen, so I love looking through them and plan art. If they hid, I’d miss them. Smallness keeps me focused, and I make many beautiful things.
Family visits and comfort during illness
My two great-grandsons live nearby, and they love visiting my little world. They are 4 and 8, and they pop in and out to see my creatures. They feel the magic here, and I do too, even inside this mobile home. Their visits keep my days bright.
I was very ill recently, and all I could manage was care. I fed the animals, got them in and out, and then I went back to bed. And, I felt too sick to read or watch a movie. Lying there, the Teapot comforted me like a warm hug.
With one glance, I could see what I hold dear. The objects carry happy memories, so they steady me. When you get old, the list of what you will never do can feel never-ending. Memories become a lifeline, and each one I fit here brings comfort.
Why my small life still feels rich today
Living small is not for everyone, and I accept that. For me, the Teapot feels like heaven on Earth. I am in my 80s now, and my younger daughter stays nearby. I get company when I want it, and help when I need it. Even so, I live independently in my mobile home. I keep family, privacy, peace, and my animals close. I stay free from the demands of home ownership. Most of what I love sits at my fingertips.