HUTS

Over the past year, we’ve noticed a subtle shift in how people talk about building a primary home. It’s less about “finally arriving”…and more about what comes next. For a long time, the primary home was treated as the end goal. The place where everything comes together. Bigger budget, more space, more permanence. A kind of final decision. But that model assumes something that doesn’t really hold up anymore. It assumes you know exactly what you need upfront. In reality, most people don’t. What we’re seeing instead is a different sequence. One that often starts smaller. A Starter Home. An ADU. A first build that’s intentional, efficient, and affordable today. Not perfect, not final — but correct. You learn how you use space. What matters daily versus occasionally. Where you want to invest more, and where you don’t. The abstract idea of a “dream home” starts to break down into something much more specific. And that’s where the Primary Home starts to take shape. The home gets larger, but not indiscriminately. Additional square footage is tied to actual use. The relationship to the land becomes more intentional, shaped by time spent understanding the site rather than assumptions made early on. The program becomes more flexible, able to support work, family, guests, and change over time. And the decisions themselves become more durable, focused less on trends and more on how the home will perform years down the line. What’s important is that none of this requires starting over. The best and most functional Primary Homes aren’t designed in isolation. They grow out of something that already works. And that shift changes how people approach building altogether. The question stops being, “What is my forever home?” And becomes, “What’s the next correct move?” Because in most cases, the primary home isn’t the beginning. It’s the continuation.

Over the past few months we’ve noticed something interesting. Inbound inquiries from the Great Lakes region have climbed sharply, despite the fact that we are not spending more on ads there, doing any special lead generation, or pushing region-specific marketing (as enthusiastic as we are about the Inland Seas). So, the uptick doesn’t seem to be a campaign artifact. It’s more of a signal. It reflects, I think, deeper shifts in where and how people want to live, and what rural housing can look like for the next generation. Several macro trends seem to be converging in the Great Lakes economy and lifestyle. 1. Affordability Pressure in Urban Hubs Cities across the Midwest are seeing housing costs rise faster than incomes. Young families and remote workers are priced out of starter homes in places like Chicago, Detroit, and Cleveland, yet are still tied to nearby job markets. Living near the Great Lakes offers a compromise. It provides access to economic centers without the price tag. HUTS’ approach to appropriately priced, well-designed homes fits that need. 2. Remote Work Changing Geography Remote and hybrid work have shifted decision criteria. People do not have to be downtown every day, so lake access, quality of life, and proximity to nature matter more. The Great Lakes region combines water access, four-season outdoor life, and small-town communities within reach of larger metros. That is exactly the lifestyle many of our inquirers are chasing. 3. Climate and Livability Considerations With hotter summers and climate uncertainty impacting traditional Sunbelt migration patterns, the temperate, freshwater Great Lakes region presents a compelling alternative. Cooler summers, abundant fresh water, and established infrastructure make it an increasingly attractive long-term bet for families and retirees alike. 4. Rural Reinvention, Not Retreat There is a narrative shift in rural America, from decline to reinvention. Towns around the Great Lakes are investing in downtown revitalization, arts, culture, and outdoor amenities. That resonates with our audience who want community and connectivity without sacrificing space and value. HUTS’ focus on flexible, multipurpose design and community integration matches this new rural momentum. 5. Lifestyle and Outdoor Access Every season in the Great Lakes region offers something distinct. Beaches in summer. Trails in fall. Skiing in winter. Blossoms in spring. These are not fringe preferences. They are central to how people evaluate where they want to live long term. Our homes support that rhythm of life. Why HUTS Is a Fit? We do not chase trends with ad spend. We solve real problems with real homes. HUTS resonates where housing markets are stressed, where quality of life and affordability intersect, and where buyers are ready to rethink what a home can be. The Great Lakes region embodies that intersection right now, and the inbound interest reflects it. Get started at huts.com

The New American Housing Stack: Land + Flexibility + Time For a long time, the American home was treated as a finished object. You bought land, built a house, moved in, and that was that. One decision, one structure, one moment in time. That model is breaking down—especially in rural places, where land is still attainable and families think in longer arcs. What we’re seeing instead is a shift toward the housing stack: land first, then layers added over time. Not a single build event, but a phased system. It starts with land because land is the long-term asset. A house depreciates and eventually becomes outdated. Land, when chosen well, becomes more useful over time. It holds optionality and allows a family to respond to change rather than predict it perfectly upfront. Once the land is secured, the question is no longer “What house do we build?” but “What do we build first?” For many, that first layer is small and strategic. An ADU. A compact starter home. A flexible structure that serves immediate needs while leaving room for future expansion. It might be a primary residence today, a guest house tomorrow, or an income-producing rental that helps finance the next phase. The structure matters, but the sequencing matters more. This approach reflects how people actually live now—designing for aging parents, returning adult children, hybrid work, and the need for homes to generate income. The old model assumed stability. The new model assumes change. Yet most systems—zoning, financing, and design culture—still assume a static house. Banks want a finished plan. Builders price as if everything must happen at once. The result is overbuilding early, stretching budgets and locking into outcomes that may not match life five or ten years later. Rural housing works best when it is allowed to evolve. A phased property might begin with core infrastructure sized for the long term: well, septic, power, and site planning that anticipates additional structures. The first building is intentionally right-sized—neither temporary nor final. Later phases might add a larger main house, another small dwelling, or shared spaces that support multi-generational use. Over time, the property becomes an ecosystem rather than a single object. This is not about building more for the sake of it. It’s about building in sequence, with intention. Smaller first steps reduce risk, create financial breathing room, and keep the property adaptable as life unfolds. We’re also seeing a psychological shift. More individuals are willing to act as small-scale developers of their own housing—informal stewards of a piece of land thinking in phases and designing for optionality. The future of rural housing will not be defined by bigger houses or faster builds. It will be defined by flexibility. By land held for the long term. By homes that can adapt across decades. Land. Then layers. Then time. That’s the new housing stack.

Our client Lulu didn’t set out to become a property developer. She bought a small, sloped parcel in the Rocky Mountains ski town where she’d rented for years and hoped to eventually put down roots. Land prices were absurd. Construction labor costs were even worse. It wasn’t the perfect lot. Access was tight. Snow management would be a constant. But it was what she could afford in a place she actually wanted to spend time. Lulu started out with a local architect and, as she talked to builders in town, the constraints became clear. Crews were booked seasons out. Winter compressed the build window. Materials had to arrive in the right sequence because there was nowhere to store them. From what she heard from friends who had built new, every misstep showed up as a change order. That’s when she brought in HUTS. The early conversations weren’t about style. They were about feasibility. What could realistically be built on this site, in this market, with this budget. Instead of pushing the house larger, we helped tighten the layout so it worked harder. Circulation was simplified. Square footage became a deliberate choice rather than a default. To make the most of the short season, we looked at panelizing the shell to get the house dried in quickly. That decision reshaped the schedule and reduced winter risk. Material and construction choices followed the same logic. Readily available materials and simple assemblies allowed us to pull trades from outside the immediate area, easing pressure on cost and availability. This wasn’t about cutting corners. It was about choosing carefully. Some finishes were elevated where they mattered most. Others were kept intentionally simple. Lulu never thought of herself as a developer, but that’s effectively what she became. Zoning, access, construction strategy, and financing all pushed on one another. With those pieces aligned early, the project stayed coherent instead of reactive. By the time construction began, there were fewer surprises. The house wasn’t oversized or indulgent. It was durable, well-considered, and sized for how it would actually be used. In an expensive market like Lulu’s, that kind of clarity isn’t optional.

“You’re a property developer now.” That’s the first thing I say to every HUTS client and prospective client, and it’s not just a line. The moment you decide to build, you’ve stepped into a role that comes with a different set of responsibilities than buying an existing home. As a property developer, you’re not just thinking about a house, you’re thinking about how a piece of land gets transformed into a finished, livable asset. That means understanding how costs stack, how money flows through the project, and how financing decisions shape what’s possible from day one. Throughout our engagements, HUTS spends a significant amount of time providing project financing education, because clarity here is often the difference between a smooth project and a stressful one. At a high level, there are four categories of costs every property developer needs to care about. First, land acquisition, which is most often handled with cash or short-term financing that gets taken out later. Second, land improvement: the unglamorous but essential work like driveway access, clearing, well, septic, and power. These costs are sometimes paid in cash and sometimes rolled into construction financing, depending on timing and lender rules. Third, soft costs, which include everything HUTS does before a shovel hits the ground: site evaluation, design, documentation, permitting, and entitlement. Fourth, hard costs, which cover the physical construction of the home itself. For revenue-generating properties, there’s an additional layer to consider as well: ongoing management costs and realistic rental projections that lenders and owners alike will scrutinize. In many single-family home projects, those hard costs are financed through a single-close construction-to-permanent loan. This type of loan covers construction and then converts to a long-term mortgage once the house is complete, simplifying the process and reducing risk. But that’s far from the only path. On commercial or income-producing projects, a wider range of tools opens up, including USDA programs and other commercial lending options. For ADUs, we often see clients use HELOCs or cash-out refinances, effectively collateralizing an existing home to fund the new build. First-time builders may qualify for FHA construction loans, and in some cases clients layer in more creative strategies depending on their assets, timelines, and goals Get in touch! https://lnkd.in/emvf7Jaj

Conventional real estate logic says convenience drives demand. In landscape hotels and rural microhospitality projects, we often see the opposite. Some of the strongest-performing projects are intentionally harder to reach. Long drives. Dirt roads. Ferry crossings. Instead of suppressing demand, that friction reinforces why people are there in the first place. Guests are not looking for ease. They are looking for distance from their day-to-day lives. The effort becomes part of the experience, and in many cases supports higher nightly rates rather than lower ones. Another consistent pattern is how guests experience the building in relation to the land. They may not spend much time thinking about square footage or spec sheets, but they are highly attuned to whether a building feels like it belongs where it sits. What sticks with them is the walk to their cabin, how the structure meets the ground, where openings are placed, how views are framed from inside, and how light moves through the space over the course of a day. This is where the smallest design decisions matter most. Orientation, proportion, material choices, window placement, and threshold conditions all carry outsized weight. When a building feels truly contextual, like it could only exist on that site, the built architecture recedes and the holistic experience becomes the star. Scale matters too, and smaller often wins. Two or three compact units regularly outperform a single larger one on the same parcel, even when total square footage is similar. Smaller units command higher rates per square foot, book more consistently across weekdays and seasons, and spread operational risk across multiple guests. Building less house can lead to more durable and resilient income over time. The common thread is simple. Successful landscape hotels are not selling lodging. They are selling a relationship to place. At HUTS, this same logic shows up whether we are designing a second home, an ADU, or a microhospitality project. We let the land lead.

Our inbound inquiries at HUTS tend to follow the seasons. In the summer, we hear from people fresh off a beach or lake stay, looking to recreate that experience for themselves. In the fall, the focus shifts to small towns, walkable main streets, and places that feel cozy as the days get shorter. This time of year, the emails start coming in from Vermont, New Hampshire, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, and other ski destinations. People are thinking about snow, winter weekends, and what it really means to own a house in a cold, high-snow environment. When we’re designing ski houses or homes in places with heavy snow loads, a few priorities come up again and again. Materials that can take abuse, especially at the entry The entry does a lot of work in a ski house. Snow, ice, salt, grit, wet boots, and skis all get dragged inside. We focus on durable flooring, wall finishes that can be wiped down, and details that are meant to get beat up without looking worse for it. This is not the place for precious materials or delicate transitions. Roof eaves and overhangs Snow management starts at the roof. Thoughtful eave depths and overhangs help keep snow away from entries, protect siding, and reduce ice buildup where people are actually walking. These decisions also improve durability and comfort over the long term. Remote temperature control Most ski houses are not occupied full time. Being able to monitor and control temperature remotely is critical. It lets owners warm the house up before they arrive, protect plumbing during cold snaps, and avoid surprises when no one is there. Gear storage that’s sized for real use Skis, boots, helmets, layers, and wet gear need a real home. We design mudrooms and gear rooms that are properly sized, easy to clean, and set up for drying and organization. When this works well, the rest of the house stays calmer and cleaner. Winter amenities In cold climates, amenities are not an afterthought. Saunas, hot tubs, outdoor showers that actually work in winter, and places to transition from cold to warm are often central to how the house is used. We think carefully about siting, privacy, snow clearing, and year-round functionality so these spaces are enjoyable, not aspirational. If you’re starting to think about a ski house, now is a good time to get in touch. We love hearing how people imagine using their place, how often they’ll be there, who they’ll share it with, and what winter looks like in their ideal scenario.

In the early days of HUTS, I thought the hard part was design. Getting the home right for the land and the use case. Then came the logistics. How does this actually get built here? Not in theory. Here, on this road, in this weather, with this labor market. Our Standards have always been designed to be built by almost any framing crew. Increasingly, that has included construction off-site, through panelization and prefabricated building envelopes. We’re not a factory-first company. Most of our projects are still stick-built with strong local builders. But our Standards are designed to support both paths: the same home can be framed traditionally or panelized, depending on what the site demands. When we choose panelization, it’s usually for one reason: reducing risk in the most unpredictable phase of the project. Here’s when we’re most likely to do it: Cold or wet climates where speed-to-dry matters In winter conditions, the goal is simple: get the structure dried-in fast. Panelized shells compress the weather-sensitive part of the schedule, reduce saturated materials, and limit the number of days the project is exposed to the elements. Markets where framing labor is scarce or unusually expensive In some regions, good framing crews are booked out or priced like a luxury. Panelization shifts more of the labor off-site and reduces how much specialized framing time you need on the ground, which can keep a project from stalling. Hard-to-reach islands (or island-like logistics) On islands, incremental deliveries are a slow bleed: every missing item becomes a ferry trip and a lost day. Prefabricated shells help consolidate shipments and reduce the number of trips required to get the building standing. Volumetric projects with repetition Panelization really shines when we’re building many similar units in one place, like micro-hospitality clusters or multi-unit programs. Repetition rewards controlled fabrication: faster schedules, more consistency, and fewer surprises. Sites with delivery access Prefab has a simple requirement: you need to be able to get it there. If a large drop trailer can reach the site and unload 24-foot sections easily, panelization becomes straightforward. If access is a narrow track through the woods, the efficiency disappears fast, and stick-building may be the better route. Panelization isn’t a belief system for us. It’s a situational decision. We use it when it reduces exposure, compresses risk, and makes the build phase more predictable, without creating new logistical risks. Check out some more projects below with pre-fabricated shells.

Super Heroes Must Eat Oats. There's a bunch of mnemonic devices to remember the Great Lakes. Seargent Major Hates Eating Onions! SuperMan Helps EveryOne. Super Heroes Must Eat Oats. H-O-M-E-S. I'm biased towards that one. We’ve been spending more and more time in the Great Lakes region, and it’s feeling like a good habit. We now have projects on Lake Erie, Lake Michigan, and a new one just kicking off on the wild shores of Lake Superior on the Upper Peninsula. Each site is different, but they share a common thread: scale, access to water, and a sense that these places are meant to be lived with over time. What continues to draw us in is how closely the region aligns with how we actually work. There’s a strong culture of straightforward building, practical decision-making, and respect for craft. Land is still attainable in many areas, zoning is often more workable than on the coasts, and there’s room to design homes that are appropriately-scaled for their use case. It allows us to focus on the fundamentals—site planning, infrastructure, durability, and long-term use—without constantly fighting the gravity of an overheated market. Most importantly, the Great Lakes support the kind of long-view thinking we encourage with our clients. These are places where a home might start as a weekend place, become a primary residence, host extended family, or eventually serve the next generation. The lakes themselves act as anchors, pulling people back year after year and giving projects a sense of continuity. For clients thinking beyond a single moment or transaction, the Great Lakes offer room to build something steady, useful, and lasting. More HUTS projects to come on the great, Great Lakes. Do you spend any time on the Great Lakes? Where do you visit? Where needs better housing and hospitality options? Let me know in the comments 👇 #homedevelopment #homedesign #propertydevelopment #newconstruction

What if everyone was a property developer? For decades, we’ve been taught that housing is something you buy, not something you shape. You scan listings, make compromises, and hope the house fits your life longer than the mortgage does. But what if that weren’t true? What if more people understood just enough about land, zoning, design, financing, and construction to act as informed developers—once in their lifetime? Not professionals. Participants. Here’s what would change: • We’d add housing supply without waiting for megaprojects. Confidence—not land or capital—is the real bottleneck. Small, incremental projects would move forward everywhere: ADUs, starter homes, phased additions, multi-generational setups. • Housing types would diversify. Homes designed to expand, hybrid homes with rental income, clusters for family or friends—typologies that exist, but rarely get built because they don’t fit big-developer math. • Homes would be designed for living, not flipping. Owner-developers think long-term: daylight, adaptability, operating costs, and how a house feels in ten years—not just how it photographs next month. • Neighborhoods would gain character, not lose it. More small decisions keep taste local, materials contextual, and homes responsive to place—less catalog, more ecosystem. • Housing would be treated as a long-term asset. Development thinking plans in phases and leaves room for change. Fewer tear-downs. Better decisions upfront. • The industry would become more transparent. When more people understand how housing gets made, costs, tradeoffs, and regulations are debated intelligently—not blindly accepted. This isn’t about everyone managing construction schedules. It’s about understanding the rules of the game well enough to participate meaningfully in one of the most consequential decisions of your life. That’s the bet we’re making. Read more: https://lnkd.in/e_MmBqjF