A good friend emailed me this morning about thinking of moving in the future to Austin, where most of her adult children have been migrating. She said she wanted to nest there, but I think her nest is family, not a place.
She made me think about what it means to feather one's own nest. According to freedictionary.com, the popular idiom means "to decorate and furnish one's home in style and comfort. (Alludes to birds lining their nests with feathers to make them warm and comfortable.)"
I've always been curious about how others feather their nests. In Denver, New Orleans, and D.C., I used to walk city streets at dusk before folks closed their curtains or shutters. I peeked through windows into lamp-lit interiors. Now my television offers the same pleasures on HGTV, my favorite television channel. Programs show folks feathering their nests simply with sparely selected contemporary furniture and neutral tones; others overstuff their rooms with English-cottage-style furnishings or Asian art and furniture. Everyone wants granite counters, stainless appliances, and soaking tubs -- all the trappings associated with contemporary success, even though the real estate bubble has burst.
I have feathered my own nest with a motley collection of modest furniture (mostly acquired from flea markets and friends and my father's hand), thrown pots (many my own), books, and folk art (collected over 30 years). I am happy in my nest, surrounded by things that soothe and move me.
Someone else has a nest in my yard. An abandoned bird feeder has been remodeled into a comfy bird house. Each new brooding season brings a refurbishment of a nest with mosses and sticks and random bits of other found materials. The nest itself spills out of the feeder station under a sloping roof that acts as a canopy from sun and rain and a quick escape hatch from ground-level threats.
Birds make welcome neighbors, as they feather my nest along with their own.
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