Pat Stuart

Last year I downsized from the farm to a much smaller house and property in town, muttering to myself the entire time about size, reminding myself that I didn’t need so much space, that the whole point of moving was to reduce my responsibilities. My expectations posed one problem. The other was the housing inventory. Mostly, I had to cope with expectations. A lot of people, particularly our younger families, must deal with both.

You’d think that paring back on a list of “stuff” you simply must have in a house would be easy. I found that this just isn’t so. Our “needs” can become totally intractable. For example, my first two apartments came with pullman kitchens. Was I supposed to go back to standing in one place to reach from stove to sink to refrigerator? I simply couldn’t wrap my brain (or, maybe, my ego) around the idea. Another example of a sticking point: My first house accommodated a small grand piano. Was I to live with less quality of housing now than then ... when I was a GS-12? Impossible. And didn’t I have to have at least three bedrooms?

For the couple of weeks a year when family or friends showed up?

Downsize? What was I thinking? Even a house I’d bought in the 80s when I was practically broke had more amenities than the small places I was touring with my realtor.

It was all expectations. Funny how those work. My grandmother, for example, adored her little two bedroom bungalow. It had absolutely everything she wanted from a mangle in the basement for ironing sheets to a box room in the attic to enough yard for my grandfather’s roses. Of course, she’d started married life, had her one child, and lived for many years in a tent. By comparison ... .

In that, she had much in common with the women of early Powell, women who had brought their children to live in the tents of Camp Colter before their husbands built one of the many small houses that still spot central Powell. Some raised large families in those houses. Boys from those families came back from WWI and were more than happy to have a one or two-bedroom house with rudimentary plumbing. After all, they were upgrades. Post World War II saw slightly larger houses for returning soldiers of the next generation, but they were still small.

I lived in one such during my teens. It was considered middle-class housing then with its tiny kitchen, space for a table and chairs, a piano, a radio, a couch with matching chairs and a coffee table.

Now? Well, my struggles with house hunting reflect a much bigger picture and a core issue with our problem providing housing for our young families. They have expectations, thanks to their parents and grandparents who expanded their definitions of what a home requires. A private bedroom for each child. Check. A family-sized kitchen with a breakfast table. Check. A good-sized family room and a living room. Check. Place to park an RV plus other adult toys. Check. Two-car garage but three preferred. Check. And, the list goes on.

Those expectations are a reality. It’s easy to tell people to accept less. Yet, the days are gone when a dresser drawer can serve as a cradle and when a tiny two bedroom home is big enough for a family of six, when having one vehicle is enough, when ... ? That’s all gone along with so many other things, like inadequate health care, low longevity and back-breaking labor.

But here’s the thing. Expectations aren’t going to change. I learned that on a personal level. People are going to keep wanting more, which is fine, but the inventory of affordable houses that meet minimum expectations isn’t there. Builders have focused on high end houses —aiming for maximum profits. Of course.

Which is why we need more attention from our local governments to zoning ... a subject we love to hate. If we want to keep your young families here, builders need to be motivated to focus on that sweet spot between what these clients “need” and what they can afford. Zoning can help there.

Something to think about.