First, a little apology: you may notice a subtle thread in my recent blogs – The Deep Rest of a Quiet Campsite, Why We Are Not Glamping And Proud Of It. Maybe it’s because I’m married to a life coach who specialises in resilience and wellbeing, or perhaps it’s simply my passion for seeing people grow. Either way, this theme is one I hold very close to my heart.

September is, without doubt, my favourite time of year—the changing seasons invite reflection, as summer gives way to autumn and autumn prepares us for winter.

I’ve just been standing in the meadow, and it’s where the thought for this blog began. The hay has been cut and baled, and the last handful of swallows are swooping and screeching just inches above the cut grass, gathering insects before they leave for their long trip to warmer climes. Soon we will look forward to October, when the flocks of fieldfares arrive from Scandinavia for the milder West Dorset winter and a feast of berries in the hedgerows. I find this time of year rather emotional. The constant cycle of departure and arrival in nature reminds me of loved ones lost, while also holding hope and love for whatever is next. It reminds me that life is so much bigger than us.

Oddly, this cycle of nature also brings to mind why I like train stations so much, especially those from my travels in India. Let me explain. I find something deeply emotive and romantic about train stations and airports—places where arrivals and departures are woven into our stories. Every journey begins with hope; every goodbye, although sad, makes room for what comes next. It’s about letting go of what we love and staying open to its return, in whatever form it comes.

Letting Go, Welcoming What’s Next in a Quiet Campsite in West Dorset

Those stations and airports I love—they mirror what happens at our quiet campsite, Old Bidlake. Guests arrive from a long drive, excited for their holiday but still holding some of the schedules and busyness of work life. By departure, much of that no longer exists. They leave lighter, quieter, with unexpected joy and ready for what’s next.

Camping at small campsites invites that gentle release. Without instant dopamine fixes, without screens pulling us outward, the quiet becomes the teacher. You become more attuned to your breathing, your thoughts, and the ever-cyclical rhythm of nature and life. This is the unexpected joy of running a quiet campsite.

Resilience Grows in Stillness & Open Hearts

I wrote about resilience before. Resilience isn’t about perpetual strength or stepping up to the plate and beating our chests—it’s about softening into the moment, healing, and stepping forward with presence. Nature nurtures that. Every sunrise you greet here, every star-filled night shared by the fire, every blade of grass invites a deeper sense of self, connection, and trust in what comes next. A swallow departs, a fieldfare arrives.

At Old Bidlake Farm in West Dorset, it’s more than just camping:

• It’s a reset.
• A chance to listen.
• A quiet reclaiming of resilience we all need.
• A welcoming of the next moment, with open hearts.

Thank you for journeying with us—from arrivals to departures, and everything in between.

Booking at Old Bidlake will start mid-January. We look forward to seeing you again in the field.

I’m off to the station to pick up Emily from the train station and I can’t wait, Emily is returning from a week-long course in London on the team’s enneagram—it’s absolutely fascinating stuff. Find out more about it here https://www.emilywellbeing.co.uk/what-is-the-enneagram/

Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing,
There is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass,
The world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase “each other”
Doesn’t make any sense.
—Rumi