After months of watching my mum tirelessly visit my dad in the hospital, I knew she needed a break—a chance to escape the routine and reconnect with herself. That’s when I suggested a glamping retreat and was lucky enough to find the perfect place – The Hay Barn, at Southcombe Barn.
Glamping offers the perfect balance between the comfort of home and the beauty of nature, allowing you to immerse yourself in the outdoors without sacrificing luxury. It’s not just camping; it’s an experience designed to recharge and inspire. Nestled on the edge of Dartmoor, the Hay Barn promised all of that and more. A couple of days surrounded by wildflower meadows, outdoor baths, and starlit nights seemed like the perfect remedy for Mum’s weariness. And it turned out to be exactly what we both needed.
The Hay Barn
The drive through Dartmoor felt like a journey into another world. As we wound our way past wild ponies and sheep grazing freely, the rugged beauty of the moor unfolded before us. The sun cast a golden hue on the landscape, setting the perfect tone for the peaceful escape I had promised my Mum.
Mum had been visiting Dad in the hospital for months, and while her strength was admirable, it was clear she needed a break. After some convincing, we’d settled on a retreat to the Hay Barn, a hidden gem I’d found through Canopy & Stars. They’re known for selecting only the most unique and inspiring locations, and this place was no exception.
Nestled in Widecombe-in-the-Moor, Southcombe Barn promised to be more than just a place to stay—it was an experience. I’d read about the wildflower meadows, the wood-fired sauna, and even the outdoor bathtub where you could gaze up at the stars, but nothing could have prepared me for the overwhelming sense of calm that greeted us as we parked up and met Tom, one of the owners and creator of this retreat, with his partner Vashti.
The barn itself was a beautiful blend of rustic and luxurious. Exposed stone walls, reclaimed timber beams, and soft, natural tones made every room feel like a peaceful extension of the moor outside. Mum was particularly taken by the antique French bathtub, imagining long, relaxing soaks to ease her mind.
the untamed beauty of nature
After settling in, we wandered through the wildflower meadows and came upon the apothecary garden, and it was truly a beautiful and serene experience. Nestled in the heart of the countryside, the garden felt like a hidden sanctuary, filled with a rich array of medicinal herbs, aromatic plants, and vibrant flowers.
We sat and read for a while, and the atmosphere was calm and soothing, as if time slowed down within the garden’s green embrace. Each section seemed carefully curated, with traditional herbs like lavender, rosemary, and chamomile thriving alongside more unusual plants. The fragrances in the air were intoxicating, blending together in a way that made each breath feel restorative.
What I found particularly captivating was how thoughtfully the garden was laid out, blending aesthetics with functionality. It wasn’t just beautiful to look at—every plant had a purpose, harking back to the age-old wisdom of using nature for healing and well-being. Strolling along the winding paths, I felt a deep connection to the history and tradition of herbal medicine.
The apothecary garden at Southcombe Barn is truly a testament to the beauty and power of nature. It was a peaceful, enriching experience, and one that left us both inspired and refreshed. Mum had been tense for so long, but out here, surrounded by the untamed beauty of nature, I could see the weight beginning to lift from her.
Winding Paths
That night, Mum and I decided to try out the wood-burning sauna. The air had a crisp edge, so we weren’t sure about wild bathing in the outdoor tubs just yet, but the idea of warming up in the sauna sounded perfect.
We followed the winding path from the Hay Barn, past the outdoor baths that tempted us with their rustic charm. These wood-fired tubs, tucked into the wildflower meadow, were meant for long, leisurely soaks under the stars. But, with the chill in the air, they seemed a bit too ambitious. The path dipped slightly as we made our way towards the sauna, set at the back of a field. From here, we could see the natural freshwater pond, its surface shimmering in the pale autumn light. The pond was a haven for dragonflies and small birds that flitted around, and though the water was likely too cold for a full swim, Mum and I had already decided to at least paddle in it after the sauna.
Sauna Serenity
The sauna itself was simple but inviting, built from smooth wood that smelled faintly of pine, based on the Finnish concept of löyly, the gentle, soothing heat from wood-fired saunas, and I could see why people were drawn to it. The door creaked open, and inside, the warmth hit us like a gentle embrace. We settled onto the wooden benches, letting the heat seep into our bones.
Mum exhaled deeply, and for a while, we just sat there, eyes closed, as the fire crackled softly in the stove. There was something about the heat—how it chased away the lingering tension in our bodies, how it demanded nothing from us but to simply be. I watched Mum’s shoulders slowly drop, the tightness in her face melting away with each breath.
After what felt like hours, we stepped outside, the cool air wrapping around us in a sharp contrast to the sauna’s warmth. The pond beckoned from just a few steps away, and though the water was cold, we couldn’t resist dipping our toes in. It was icy, but refreshing—like the moor itself was waking us up, reminding us to feel alive. We lingered there for a bit, laughing at the shock of the cold, before wrapping ourselves in towels and heading back up the path.
Disconnecting Under the Stars
That evening, I decided to cook dinner on the outdoor barbecue, a simple yet satisfying plan that felt right for our retreat. The sun was beginning its slow descent, casting a warm, golden light over the meadow, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of woodsmoke. There was no rush, no distractions—just the crackling of the fire and the soft hum of nature around us.
One of the best things about the Hay Barn was the complete absence of internet. No notifications, no emails, no calls. For the first time in what felt like forever, we were truly disconnected. Mum and I had become so accustomed to the constant buzz of daily life that the stillness here felt like a gift. It gave us permission to switch off, to be present in the moment, and to savour something as simple as cooking over an open flame.
After dinner, we lingered outside for a while, gazing up at the vast expanse of stars that seemed to stretch forever above us. The night was cool, but peaceful, and the stillness felt rare, like a luxury we hadn’t realized we needed. There were no phones to check, no internet to pull us away—just the night sky, the wild around us, and the comforting silence.
From Starlit Skies to Fireside Warmth
When the chill set in, we retreated inside to the warmth of the log burner. The crackling flames filled the barn with a cozy glow, wrapping us in a soft, comforting heat. Mum settled into the chair by the fire, her face illuminated by the flickering light, while I curled up on the sofa, the warmth from the wood burner spreading through the room.
As we sat there, basking in the glow and the peacefulness of it all, I realized how rare these moments of pure calm were. No distractions, no noise—just the warmth of the fire and the feeling of being completely at peace. Mum turned to me, her eyes reflecting the flickering flames, and whispered, “This is just what I needed.”
peaceful, breathtaking & relaxing
Over the next couple of days, we explored the nearby moor, took leisurely walks in the garden, and indulged in the luxury of doing nothing. There was no pressure here—just the space to breathe, reflect, and reconnect with nature. The simplicity of life at Southcombe Barn, combined with the careful, mindful touches added by Vashti and Tom, made it a true sanctuary.
The beauty of this place wasn’t just in the physical surroundings, though those were breathtaking. It was in the care and thoughtfulness of everything, from the reclaimed wood interiors to the wildflower gardens, designed to nurture not just the body, but the soul.
As we packed up to leave, I looked at Mum. Her shoulders were relaxed, her face softer. She smiled at me, and for the first time in months, it felt like a real smile—the kind that starts in your heart and works its way to your lips. The Hay Barn had worked its magic. It wasn’t just a getaway—it was a place of healing, of finding peace, and of remembering what truly matters.
