The world of real estate has no shortage of mash-ups — condops and dockominiums, starchitects and plyscrapers. One of the most recent additions to the lexicon is the shouse, which is not to be confused with the barndominium.
Or is it?
Look carefully the next time you’re driving on the back roads of America, and you’re bound to spot a shouse — a hulking rectangular structure, typically with a metal roof, a big garage door or two and a long concrete driveway. It could easily be mistaken for a machine shed.
In other words, from the outside, shouses look a lot like the better-known barndominiums, or barndos for short.
What, exactly, makes a shouse distinct from a barndo? To Oliver Bell, chief operating officer of the Barndominium Company, it’s the emphasis on the shop part, which is often larger than and separated from the living space, in contrast with the open floor plans of barndos. Shouses also are generally smaller than barndos in overall square footage.
In rural parts of America, especially that wide strip of states stacked between North Dakota and Texas, shouses are everywhere. There are shouses that hold ATVs, R.V.s, tractor-trailers and horses; shouses used as hobby shops; and, in one Nebraska community, a shouse originally built as a residence along with an airplane hangar all under one roof.
Shouses have been gaining in popularity in Nebraska in recent years. I first heard about them when I saw the blueprints for a shouse laid out on my cousin’s Nebraska kitchen table. He was building one near the small community of Odell on farmland he decided to keep mostly as prairie so he could enjoy the landscape and focus on woodworking in his retirement.
Cory Voecks, co-owner of Building Green Structures in Pilger, Neb., said he was fielding nearly one phone call a day from people interested in building their own shouse. “Your commute just got a LOT shorter with your new inside walk from your new home to your workshop,” his company’s website says.
Mr. Voecks emphasizes the sustainability of shouses, with their insulated, energy-efficient structural panels; add-on rainwater collection systems; and metal frames, instead of wood. They are easier to build than wood-frame homes and can be constructed quickly, sometimes in a matter of weeks, which reduces labor costs.
But the materials are generally more expensive. Mr. Voecks estimated that prices start at about $250 a square foot for living areas and about $55 a square foot for shop areas, but noted that additional features, including insulation, considerably raise the cost.
One glitch is that some banks aren’t sure how to appraise shouses, especially if the shop part is bigger than the living area and may require a larger down payment.
“We’re eight years in and still have issues with that,” Mr. Voecks said.
When it comes to financing, “the terms shouse and barndominium are pretty much interchangeable,” Emily Stamper, a rural loan officer in Kentucky, said in an email.
Warren Frerichs paid about $220,000 for his shouse, including the lot and his 40-foot-by-40-foot living space and 40-foot-by-50-foot shop, where he tinkers with his old Chevy Corvette, Ford Mustang and three motorcycles. A bonus for him: The shouse is all one level, so as he ages, he won’t have to navigate stairs.
“I’m retired and single and don’t really care about the cosmetics,” Mr. Frerichs said.
Most shouses are in the countryside, but others like Mr. Frerichs’s are in town. Some communities in Nebraska, South Dakota and elsewhere have passed zoning restrictions against shouses for aesthetic reasons, after neighbors with more traditional homes objected to living beside the blocky buildings.
It’s difficult to trace the genesis of shouses, but some builders said they began as backyard garden sheds, which became more elaborate in the 1990s as people in rural areas built pole-barn-style metal buildings for use as hunting shacks or getaway cabins.
Shouses can be just as fancy as barndominiums with swimming pools and fancy exteriors with cedar posts, rock finishes and glass garage doors.
Ken and Janeen Jindra’s shouse in Clarkson, Neb., population 630, has similar flourishes. The living space is 32 feet by 70 feet with 18-foot black tin ceilings and a unique design that incorporates a small underground storm shelter in the kitchen island.
“The countertop raises up and a door opens to battleship-like steps,” he said. Besides offering shelter during tornado warnings, it’s a place for the Jindras to keep their canned fruits and vegetables.
The shed area, 45 feet by 70 feet, is both functional and recreational. It’s equipped with a kitchenette and big enough for a party with 100 guests — he’s already hosted two, including a wedding reception for his son. At other times, the space stores Mr. Jindra’s camper for quick trips.
“I wanted something I could play with when I retire,” Mr. Jindra said. “And I wanted to do it big.”
The Jindras are still working on their dream shouse. Ms. Jindra is repurposing an antique bed frame into a garden bed on the lawn. And Mr. Jindra is working on moving his father’s old grain bin from the family farm into his front yard, where he will craft it into a gazebo.
The project is part of another new rural real estate mash-up. This one is called a grainzebo.
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