As I sit beneath the broad canopy of trees at my woodland basecamp, it’s hard to believe how much has unfolded since that first encounter with this land. This place, my wood, has become so much more than a plot of trees. It’s become a teacher, a sanctuary, and a space where something in me continues to quietly shift.
This story begins, fittingly, around the time I embarked on two major life journeys: the start of my doctorate, and my first Vision Quest. Just days after my PhD interview, I was off into the wild for a four-day solo rite of passage, surrounded by nothing but nature. That experience changed me. It sparked a deeper connection with the natural world, something ancient, quiet, and grounding.
If you’d like to hear the story told in my own voice, from the woodland itself, the video brings a more personal and spontaneous feel to this journey.
Over the following year, I found myself saying yes to more nature-based experiences: a Wild Woman in the Woods retreat, bushcraft weekends, wild camping in South Wales. Slowly, the idea took root: Wouldn’t it be wonderful to own a woodland? A place to return to, to tend, to be in relationship with.
And so, just over four years ago, I bought a wood. At the time, it was a joint purchase, with someone I was in a relationship with. Neither of us knew much about woodland management, but we were drawn to the idea of wildness and possibility.
It didn’t stay a shared project for long. His interests moved on, and the wood was almost sold. But something in me couldn’t let go. I’d grown attached. Deeply so. While others kindly offered me access to their land, it wasn’t the same. I realised: This is mine to claim. So, I bought him out.
It wasn’t an easy decision. I had to think carefully about finances, drawing on my pension and savings, reframing it not as a frivolous cost but as an investment, in place, in purpose, in a way of life that felt right.
Since becoming the sole owner, everything changed. I’ve spent far more time here, learning things I never thought I’d do, like using a chainsaw, stacking timber, problem-solving structural repairs, and slowly developing a basecamp with a huge protective parachute that now shelters so many of my days.
I’ve had help, of course. People like Dave, who exchanged practical support for firewood, and Justin, who helped me set up structures and connected me with others. These conversations, often beside the fire or while wandering among trees, have shaped what the wood has become.
But more than anything, this place has taught me about presence. When I slow down, stop trying to ‘figure it out’, and just listen: to the birds, to the wind, to the quiet murmurings of my own thoughts, things become clearer. I find myself asking better questions. Taking the next step with more ease.
And now, as the major work settles, I’m opening the wood up, gently. I’ll be offering day and weekend retreats here soon. For those who feel drawn to pause, to reflect, to step outside the rush of daily life and ask: What’s next? What matters now?
This isn’t a polished retreat centre. It’s a lived-in, evolving space. You don’t need to come with a plan. You just need to come with yourself.
Because sometimes the clearest answers emerge not in the office, or on Zoom, or from another to-do list, but under the trees, in quiet conversation, or in silence beside the fire.
And maybe that’s the invitation: to give yourself time, space, and permission to discover what’s truly right for you. Not what others expect, but what your own inner rhythm is asking for now.
Thanks for reading, and if you’d like to see more, you can watch the full video.
Until next time,
Dr Denise
