Why we chose soul and tradition over minimalism and ignored ‘advice’

When we first started talking about building and decorating the cabin, I was given a lot of very well-meaning advice.

You know the sort.

I’ve compiled a list below…

Don’t over-personalise.

Keep it light and airy.

Decorate simply.

Make sure everything matches.

Choose a style and stick with it.

People love clean lines.

Guests will prefer minimalism.

People don’t want old stuff, they want modern.

People won’t like second-hand finds.

Be careful about repurposing furniture.

Why would guests want old “junk” in their holiday home?

People don’t want a mismatch of items.

All sensible. All reasonable. All… completely not us.

Because from the very beginning, this cabin was never meant to be a blank canvas or a show home on the farm. It was meant to feel like a place you arrive in. Somewhere that already has a story before you add your own to it. Somewhere simple, but somewhere with a lot to offer. Somewhere you don’t want to leave

I beg to differ with the idea that guests want perfection. What they seem to want — what they tell us they want — is soul and attention to detail.

A cabin with stories, not schemes

The moment you step inside, you’ll notice that things don’t “match” in the traditional sense. There’s no single trend dictating the palette, no showroom uniformity. Instead, there are layers. Textures. Objects that have lived a life before they arrived here.

Take the Clocktail Cabinet, for example. Once a rather stately grandfather clock, now reborn as a cocktail cabinet. It raises eyebrows, starts conversations, and has become one of the most photographed pieces in the cabin. It’s playful, a little unexpected, and utterly impractical in the best possible way. It exists purely to delight.

Then there are the rocking chairs on the porch — marketplace finds that have gently weathered wood and a history I’ll never fully know. They creak slightly when you sit down, rock perfectly with a mug of tea, and feel exactly right when the rain rolls in sideways and you’re sheltered, watching the Welsh weather do its thing.

Old things, new comfort

There’s a misconception that second-hand means uncomfortable, dusty, or unloved. In reality, it often means better made. Our sofa is the sort you sink into and forget the world for a bit. It’s dressed with wool blankets that smell faintly of countryside and warmth, and throws you instinctively pull over your knees as soon as you sit down.

The wool blankets aren’t there because they’re “on trend”. They’re there because this is Wales, because evenings cool quickly, and because nothing beats real wool when you want to feel cocooned. They’re practical, comforting, and deeply tied to the landscape outside the door. Three of then were also my Grandma’s.

Walls that tell a story

The artwork on the walls hasn’t been curated from a single supplier. It’s been gathered. Charity shop pictures that caught my eye, prints found while wandering, frames that didn’t match but somehow belonged together anyway. Each one chosen because it made me pause, smile, or imagine it living here. We have a hand-drawn picture from a previous guest. We love that people are adding to our vision.

The shelves are dotted with little knick-knacks — bits and bobs picked up over time, small objects that don’t shout for attention but reward those who notice them. Books sit ready to be picked up, not colour-coded or staged, but chosen because they’re good companions for a quiet afternoon or an early night.

Why we chose this way

In my very humble opinion, people are free to choose. If you want minimal, modern, and clean lines, there are many beautiful places that offer exactly that. And they do it brilliantly.

We don’t.

What we offer instead is a space that feels lived-in, loved, and slightly eccentric. A place where nothing feels precious, but everything feels considered. Somewhere you can put your feet up without worrying about creases, light the fire, pull a blanket close, and feel at ease.

And judging by the notes left behind, the return bookings, and the messages that say “we didn’t want to leave”, it seems that trusting your gut — and filling a space with things you genuinely love — counts for quite a lot.

This cabin isn’t for everyone. It was never meant to be.

But for those who get it, it feels like coming home.

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