Living in 40 square feet.

In the deep dark woods of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I came upon a hermit. I was probably 13 or 14 years old, out on my trap line and there  he was. He lived where no one ever goes, a least 5 miles into the woods from the nearest logging trail. Hermits do exist and I admire them. A hermit is someone who lives totally self sufficient, with very little impact on the environment, usually in the tiniest of shelters and almost always in a spot that is hard to find, and free.
We are not talking about the homeless in the doorways and under bridges or the panhandlers that roam the city streets with squeegees trying to get you to let them do your windshield for your spare change. These cases are heart wrenching and their stories are riddled with sadness. The vets, the once successful, the mentally ill all shooed out onto the streets to fend off the cold and the predators. "But there for the grace of God go I". They need our help. They all have a story and they all just want us to see them. To acknowledge them. Rent the Soloist. Jamie Fox is great and the movie is moving.
Anyway, back to hermits. Hermits are not little people with pointy ears. The hermit I met was probably in his 60's, in good condition and lived in a self-built tiny log cabin that was about 5' by 8'. Fourty square feet. The same size as the back of my van where I exist today.
Dad and I were amazed at the compactness, cleanliness and organization in his minuscule dwelling. His refrigerator was a square hole dug into the dirt floor under the bunk. He had a tiny wood stove designed from spare iron he found which was fueled by tiny sticks, not logs. Tiny sticks can be found anywhere and catch fire quickly. Survivalist will tell you that tiny stick fires are the way to go. I agree. I've used them hundreds of times to warm my cold hands, cold feet, dry out clothes and heat soup.
This hermit was friendly, articulate and always put on some hot cocoa and coffee for when we stopped in. Dad and I always brought a bag of food with us and the occasional bottle of spirits. He liked us. We liked him. Dad got transferred and we never saw him again.
I am now that man. Well not quite. I too live in 40 square feet, but it is not in the deep woods nor do I have a dirt fridge. I iron my clothes, wash well everyday (yes mom, even behind my ears) and I see a lot of people. I live a full exciting life in society and on my adventures. I am here by choice.

 View from my bunk. Clothes all on heavy duty hangers saves space and keeps them nice. They can be accessed from inside or from the open back doors. Nice for when doing laundry. Hat, toiletries and spare line all to be found aft of my galley.

 Galley view from bunk. In bag is camp stove and coffee pot. The bag and bungee keeps them from banging around when driving. Paper towels above are handy, mirror in just the right spot for doing my hair and shaving, fire extinguisher at the ready, just in case.

 Plastic drawers hold food stores, bowl, plastic utensils, salt/pepper, etc. I keep my oatmeal in a tin can because the cardboard one it comes in always wants to fall apart and leak oatmeal on my floor. Once oatmeal gets out, it seems to be able to crawl on its own into the tiniest furthest areas.

 My bunk. Fleece on the cushion for extra warmth, wool blanket on back rest at the ready. I flip in down on top on me if i need it. Hanging above is small hammock where i keep my Oil of Olay wipes for general hygiene when I can't find a shower.

 My flannel lined sleeping bag. I have a nylon one but you can't beat the warm fuzzy feeling this bag provides.

Here she is. My home. Chevy Express, 155" wheel base, 3500 1 ton chassis, 240,000 miles and still running. Priceless.