More than a year, as it turns out. Last week, we finally got gutters up on the house. We spent all week admiring them—and deciding the rain barrels they're supposed to be filling can happen later. Just yesterday, we put the last boards up on the wall behind the sofa. I hadn't cleaned and sanded enough old barn wood when we started the project; so, we just slid the sofa in front of the wall and forgot about the bottom boards for months. But even now, there are still the trim boards to prepare and put up.
Another tiny houser once told us that she wasn't going to move into her house until it was 100% complete, because she'd been warned that, "Once you move in, all progress stops." I would amend that assertion to say, "All progress slows."
But I can't say it was a mistake to move in a year ago. We've had a full year of living in this house, and, really who cares if it takes another year to put in the rest of the floor trim? The lack of a couple feet of floor trim, a few boards on the wall, a section of railing or a downspout doesn't make this space measurably less wonderful.
I've never had the opportunity before to live in a space designed precisely for the way I want to live. This house fits us. And taking time off from hammering and sanding and hauling and staining is the point. Yes, we feel good about everything we've constructed, but we feel better about the way we live now. We consume less resources and energy, we spend a good part of each day appreciating nature, we read more and we have time for long walks. Plus, as we plan out less of our time, we let serendipity work its magic. If a new project appears before us, we feel free to follow it.
That said, our Muses spoke to us this week to gently remind us that there can be satisfaction, too, in tying up a few loose ends.