A short way from the top of Mount Hood sits a small group of tiny houses, cute little portable cabins that might just be the smallest places to stay on Oregon's tallest mountain.
This fall, my partner and I and our very little baby spent two nights at the Mt. Hood Tiny House Village, there to introduce our daughter to the mountain via some miniature glamping.
Fully ensconced in the dark and rainy season, we were sure to be spending most of our time inside the little structure that came with a kitchenette, cozy beds and a shockingly robust heating system - far from the rustic cabins that Oregon campers might be used to. This was not "roughing it" by any means, but that didn't mean our trip came without challenges.
Like the innermost piece of a Russian nesting doll, the Mt. Hood Tiny House Village is found within the Mt. Hood Village RV Resort, a private property that's located in the unincorporated community of Mount Hood Village, one part of The Villages of Mount Hood, which is a collection of small villages just off the slopes of the mountain.
The original group of five tiny houses, built by Colorado-based Tumbleweed Tiny House Company, were set up there in 2016 and were quickly booked up. Eventually, two more tiny houses joined the fold.
Each tiny house is essentially the same, though it may behoove you to be picky. In terms of size, they range from the 175-square-foot Savannah, which sleeps three, to the 358-square-foot Ingrid, which sleeps five. (The 332-square-foot Anderson technically sleeps seven, though one of those is on a pull-out couch.)
Making our decision purely on aesthetics, we booked two nights in Savannah, a house painted yellow, decorated with green curtains and cute decor. Inside, we found a twin mattress tucked into a lower alcove and a queen bed up in a loft. There was a little kitchen with an induction stove, a mini fridge and a sink. A narrow bathroom contained a flush toilet and a shower. The main space was hilariously called the "great room," despite being neither great nor much of a room.
Quarters were certainly tight. But for our small family of relatively small people, including one very small person, it was ultimately doable with some finagling.
The smaller bed in the alcove, for instance, quickly turned into a storage area that doubled as a makeshift nursery and sometimes served as a couch. A small, padded bench in the "great room" was coupled with a single metal stool to make a dining area. A rafter that stretched across the width of the tiny house became a place to hang clothes.
Keeping the space clutter free required constant care and attention, as one large item on the floor - the baby's bouncy chair, say, or a single stray backpack - turned into a major obstacle.
After settling in, we pulled out the cookware to pan fry slices of delicata squash in olive oil with warming spices, which we ate with gooey burrata, chopped pistachios and pomegranate seeds. Once night fell, we built a crackling fire in the communal fire ring outside, gazing between the flickering flames and twinkling stars overhead. The smell of campfire followed us back inside, where the three of us tucked in for the night.
I'd say that we all slept soundly through the night, which mostly we did, except that one of us was an 11-week-old baby. Carrying her from the "nursery" to the lofted bed in the middle of the night, up the narrow set of stairs that was essentially a ladder, felt dicey but, again, ultimately doable. In the morning, when the sun peeked through the curtains, we were all cozy together in bed.
There are a lot of ways to spend a day on Mount Hood, most of them highly dependent on the season. In the winter, the ski areas and sno-parks fill up; in the summer, people flock to the lakes and trails. In the shoulder seasons, especially on the rainy days of fall, your options are more limited.
On another trip, I may have been more drawn to the lower elevation hikes in the Salmon-Huckleberry Wilderness, where the ridges and riverside trails offer an escape into the mystical, moss-covered forests that can be a balm on a gray, rainy day. However, traveling with an infant who at the time had a love/hate relationship with baby carriers, and whose cold weather wardrobe was a work in progress, meant taking a different approach.
Just down the road from the tiny house village, we pulled into the Wildwood Recreation Site, a 550-acre recreation area with a small network of paved, accessible trails along the Salmon River. Our stroller glided easily down the pathways, which were conveniently being cleared of leaves as we went (the leaf blower, my great enemy, was suddenly a friend).
Trails at Wildwood extended off into the wilderness, but the paved section offered access to plenty of natural beauty, as well as forested picnic areas and the beloved underwater viewing chamber.
Rain turned to snow as we drove farther up the mountain toward Timberline Lodge. When we arrived, a few inches had already accumulated. The ski area at Timberline is high enough to have skiable terrain for much of the year, which makes it one of Oregon's premier winter sport destinations. But because our family is more of a lodge family, a hot-drink-by-the-fireplace family, we quickly made our way inside.
As a day lodge, Timberline does well enough. There is ample space to spread out in the hexagonal lobby areas, which are built around a massive fireplace with several faces. The lower lobby is small, but conveniently located near the front desk and restrooms, as well as a small museum area. The main lobby has tall windows and high ceilings and includes the Cascade Dining Room and Ram's Head Bar.
We grabbed a sandwich and mochas from the upstairs bar, then found a couch by the fire in the main lobby, where we sipped our hot drinks by the crackling flames, watching the snow fall outside. We had dreams of taking a dip in the lodge's heated pool and hot tub, but that amenity, to our dismay, was for overnight guests only.
With the long night already falling, we packed up to go. There's only so much you can do on a fall day at the mountain.
Finding a good place to eat on Mount Hood isn't usually much of a challenge. Finding a spot mid-week in the offseason? That's a little tougher.
Our long list of dining options was hilariously cut short as we drove down U.S. 26 in search for a bite to eat. Skyway Bar & Grill, a cozy spot with a fireplace, good drinks and excellent barbecue, was closed for the day. Ditto for Naan N Curry, a well-reviewed Indian restaurant with a colorful interior. Koya Kitchen, a Japanese spot known for its funky decor, had shut down its inside seating for renovations that day.
A fourth restaurant, well-known on the mountain, had declined to be featured in The Oregonian, so we decided to steer clear.
In the end, we wound up at Chicali Cantina, a strip mall Mexican joint in Welches that was, perhaps unsurprisingly given all the closed restaurants, absolutely packed. The service was great, the vibe was fun and the basic Tex-Mex menu was just fine. Our baby watched with big eyes as we downed bowls of bean dip and guacamole.
The next morning, on our way out of town, we sought out a good stop for breakfast. After a quick search revealed that nearby Mt. Hood Baking Company was closed for the day ("come ON" we said), we gave up and decided to find something reliable.
Just off the mountain in Sandy, we stopped in at AntFarm Cafe, a breakfast and lunch spot run by a youth services nonprofit by the same name. AntFarm has long been one of my go-to stops on the way to or from Mount Hood, with good coffee, a full food menu and friendly servers.
As we filled up on biscuits and eggs, the rain fell steadily outside. The baby began to fuss, so I took her on a tour of the cafe, showing her all the plants and the pictures on the walls. I thought about the whole big world and this one little trip - the biggest trip of her life, so far - and about how much more she had to see and do and learn.
It was then I realized that if we find ourselves staying in a Mount Hood tiny house again, it will definitely be a little more cramped.