The Bower Bird Home — How I Decorate and Why I’ll Never Be a Minimalist

How to Decorate Like a Collector and Why I’ll Never Be a Minimalist

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My home is layered, collected and completely intentional. It is my version of maximalist home decor done the English country cottage way — in the middle of the American South — and I would not change a thing.

Have you ever watched a bower bird?

The bower bird is a small Australian bird with an extraordinary instinct. The male builds an elaborate structure — a bower — and then spends his days collecting objects to decorate it. Bright blue bottle caps. Feathers. Stones. Shells. Anything that catches his eye. He arranges them with great care and intention, adding and adjusting until the bower is exactly right.

The first time I read about bower birds I thought — that is me. That is exactly me.

I have been collecting my bower for as long as I can remember.

What It Means to Decorate Like a Bower Bird

There is a difference between collecting and accumulating and it is an important one.

Accumulating is what happens when you buy things without intention. When your home fills up with objects that have no meaning, no story, no reason to be there other than they were on sale or they matched the sofa. Accumulating makes a house feel cluttered and heavy and like it belongs to no one in particular.

Collecting is something else entirely. Collecting is intentional. Every object has a reason to be there. A story. A memory. A connection to the person who lives in the house. Collecting makes a home feel layered and alive and deeply personal.

My home is collected. Every single thing in it has earned its place.

The Room That Tells You Everything

If you walked into my home and wanted to understand who I am in thirty seconds, I would point you to one room. The living room.

A cozy room with a deep paisley sofa — perfect for afternoon naps or days when you are under the weather. Plaid chairs flank the fireplace, perfect for curling up with a book or chatting with a friend. The fireplace mantle is covered in candles and a small collection of leather books and boxes, with feathers and nests picked up on my walks interspersed among them. On either side bookshelves groan under the weight of their treasures — books on my favorite subjects: art history, France, Louis XIV, Versailles, botanical art, gardening, travel, Holocaust literature and so much more. Interspersed among them are favorite pictures, pieces of art, trinkets and special pieces from my travels. Plaid throws are rolled in a basket and draped over the chairs. Layers upon layers of collected finds from flea markets, antique shops, family and nature.

It is my version of an English country cottage in the middle of the American South — maximalist home decor rooted in collected finds and a life well lived. Friends and family walk in and immediately feel cozy and at home — which is exactly the point.

Where the Collection Comes From

My treasures come from everywhere — that is part of the charm. Flea markets, thrift stores, tag sales and my travels. I have been going to flea markets since I was young and I still get that particular feeling every time — a little like treasure hunting, a little like archaeology. One never knows what one will find. A Florentine box with a beautiful patina. An equestrian print in a beautiful frame. A set of transferware in exactly the right shade. A stack of old books with wonderful spines that I can never resist.

I never go out looking for anything specific — that is a surefire way not to find what you are looking for. I go out looking for the thing that stops me in my tracks, it could be a piece of art, furniture, plate, teapot — who knows? But I will know it when I see it.

Antique shops and online auctions are the more curated version of the same treasure hunt. I have favorite dealers and shops that I have been known to pack up the car and take a road trip to. The pieces I find in these places sometimes become the anchor of a room — the one thing that everything else is arranged around.

Travel brings its own kind of collecting. Sometimes it is something sentimental — perhaps an ornament to mark the occasion. Other times it is a piece of art, a hand-painted porcelain plate or a beautiful box. It could also be a few chestnuts found while walking the streets of Paris, a bottle of sand from a beach in Spain, or a small stone from a path in the Cotswolds or Scotland. All of them are special and hold memories of the time and the people I was with.

And then there is nature — what I think of as nature’s bazaar. Every time you step out the door there is a treasure to be had. Feathers and nests, pinecones and acorns, leaves of the perfect shade, seed pods, bark. Some of these pieces live in a bowl on the front porch, others have made their way inside. They are things that cost nothing and mean everything.

How I Layer a Maximalist Home

Layering is the difference between a room that feels designed and a room that feels lived in. I prefer the latter.

I start with the bones — the furniture, the color and the light. Dark walls are not for everyone and frankly in my house they do not work in every room. The living room, which is filled to the brim with books and collected finds, has walls the color of Dove White — the room is large but still cozy. The Indigo Room is something else entirely. Smaller, less furniture, only a few special finds. It is the room I gravitate to — my cocoon, a refuge from the world and a place to read, watch the deer, admire my peonies, sit in silence or talk with friends.

Then come the textiles. Plaid pillows, cashmere throws, a rug with some age and history to it and of course a dog bed and a pile of toys. Textiles are the layer that makes maximalist home decor feel warm rather than overwhelming — they bring color and pattern to a room and make it feel personal. In summer they get lighter, in winter heavier. But there is always something within reach to cover your lap or snuggle into.

Then the books. Books are not decoration to me — they are friends, memories and adventures. Almost like a family photo album they tell your story. A stack of books on a shelf or a coffee table tells you more about the person who lives there than anything else ever could. I stack them, shelve them, pile them on tables, chairs, bedside tables and wherever else there is room. I mix sizes and colors and lean things against them.

Then the objects. This is where the bower bird really comes out. Leather boxes. Candles in various states of being burned down. Porcelain and silver bowls filled with pinecones and fishing floats. Antique still life paintings, small abstracts on board, quirky statues, my prized collection of beasties and my well-known penchant for all things pear. Collections gathered slowly over the years — things that have stories and meaning and bring forth a smile or a memory each time they catch my eye.

And finally the light. I like a room to glow — to greet you on a cold winter morning, to call you home like a beacon after a long day and to welcome friends and family through the door. No overhead lighting — only lamps with warm bulbs and candles flickering on every surface. Light is the last layer and the one that pulls everything together.

Why I Will Never Be a Minimalist

By now you have probably realized that I am not a minimalist.

Minimalism is everywhere. The clean lines, the empty surfaces, the neutral palette and the carefully edited home. I understand the appeal — in fact some of my best friends are minimalists. There is a peacefulness and calm to a minimal space and I can appreciate them. From afar.

But it is not me. It never has been. I am not entirely sure how I got this way. Perhaps it is because we moved every two years as a child and sometimes lived in base housing with furniture and things that were not our own. Perhaps it is because I went treasure hunting with my grandmother and my mother from a very young age. Or perhaps it is because I was enticed by the world found in books from the time I could read and always wanted to bring pieces of that world home. I cannot say for certain — it is probably a combination of all of the above.

Whatever the case, it is me. I am a collector and my decorating style is maximalist home decor at its most intentional — not stuffed to the gills, but full. Full of books and objects and art and things that have meaning. Full of the evidence of a life well traveled and well lived. Walking into my home should feel like walking into the person who lives there — layered, curious, a little quirky, a little whimsical and deeply rooted in the things she loves.

Minimalism asks you to edit down to only what is essential. I find that almost everything is essential. The nest a bird built in my garden three summers ago that fell from the tree in a storm. The leather boxes from Florence. The still life I found at an estate sale that reminds me of the paintings I gravitate to in museums when I travel. These things are essential to me because they are the story of my life arranged on the shelves and surfaces of my home.

A minimalist might disagree. And that is perfectly fine. This house is mine.

If your home does not yet feel completely like you, be patient. It will come. The bower bird does not build his bower in a day. He adds to it slowly, piece by piece, until one morning he looks at what he has made and thinks — yes. That is exactly right.

You will know when you get there. It feels like coming home.

Does your home feel like you? I would love to hear how you decorate and what your space says about who you are — drop it in the comments below.

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