The first time I stayed at Little Combe, a cabin on the outskirts of Crowcombe in Somerset, I did what we all do when arriving somewhere new: I walked a lap of the living space, taking in my surroundings and imagining the next few days there. At that moment, something caught my eye. Placed on a bench at the end of the buttery-yellow king-size bed was a book I had once bought my mum for her birthday. Nests, by Susan Ogilvy, features life-size paintings of British birds’ nests. I have thumbed through the pages many times, marvelling at nature’s architects and their ability to engineer a safe place to rest, sleep, and eventually raise their young. Some are meticulous in design; others are gloriously messy – much like our own homes, I suppose. Just this summer, I watched a pair of wrens build a nest beside my front door, carefully camouflaging it into the old stone wall with lichen and moss, then lining the inside with soft feathers.
Standing there at Little Combe, I realised it was the perfect book for the place: a softly furnished nest built from the bones of an old stable block. The four acres of land surrounding it belong to Sian, the owner of the cabin, who lives next door and is always on hand with local recommendations, or a basket of chopped firewood, should you need it.
