Under Open Skies: A Weekend at Berrends Farm

Some weekends need an itinerary.

Others need a patch of grass, a van with the roof up, a tent that eventually resembles the picture on the bag, a few cold drinks and three people you genuinely don’t mind spending forty-eight hours with.

Our weekend at Berrends Farm was firmly in the second category.

Myself, Fiona, Bryn and Dids packed up and headed out for a couple of days of proper camping: no grand mission, no clock-watching and no particular requirement to achieve anything. Just the four of us, the countryside and the sort of weekend where sitting in a camping chair for an unreasonable amount of time counts as a perfectly respectable activity.

And, naturally, the drone came too.

There’s a satisfying moment on any camping trip when the unpacking finally stops.

The campervan roof is up. The tent is standing. Chairs are deployed. The mat is down. Bikes have been abandoned in roughly the right area. Drinks have appeared on the table.

Base camp is officially open.

From above, our little corner of Berrends Farm looked surprisingly organised. The campervan on one side, tent on the other and the four of us gathered in the middle like we had planned the whole thing with military precision.

We hadn’t.

But this is why drones are useful.

From ground level it was camping equipment, bike helmets and people asking where somebody had put something. From the air it became our own tiny weekend settlement tucked into the edge of the countryside.

That first drone flight set the tone perfectly: nothing dramatic, nothing complicated — just a cracking place to spend some time together.

There was a pleasing mixture of camping styles in our little camp.

The van was doing what campervans do best: providing beds, storage, shelter and the dangerous temptation to bring considerably more stuff than anyone could possibly need for two nights.

Next door, the tent gave us a proper communal base. Chairs out front, bikes nearby and enough shade to make doing absolutely nothing feel like a carefully considered plan.

With the pop-top raised and the tent pitched beneath the trees, the whole setup felt instantly settled.

No hotel check-in. No room numbers. No searching for somewhere to park.

Just pull up, build your temporary home and get on with enjoying it.

There’s something brilliantly uncomplicated about that.

Two Wheels Waiting

The bikes came along too, because apparently relaxing beside a campervan isn't quite enough temptation for us.

Seeing them scattered around camp somehow made the whole setup look even more NIX: graphite van, flashes of orange, dry summer ground and trails waiting beyond the campsite.

Whether riding them or simply admiring them while holding a drink, they definitely improved the scenery.

Of course, no stay on a farm is complete without meeting a few residents.

Fiona wasted very little time making friends with the goats, who seemed perfectly happy to accept the attention.

There’s something about goats that suggests they are permanently evaluating you.

Not aggressively.

Just… judging.

This particular meeting appeared to go well, although we can't confirm whether Fiona passed the full goat approval process.

It was one of those small moments that makes a camping weekend memorable. You can plan journeys, pack equipment and check the weather repeatedly, but the bits you remember are often completely unplanned: wandering around the site, meeting animals and laughing at something ridiculous that wouldn't seem remotely funny anywhere else.

Later, getting the drone higher completely changed the scale of the weekend.

Our little camp disappeared into a much bigger landscape of farm buildings, fields, trees and sun-baked countryside.

From ground level you notice the details.

From the air you understand where you are.

The farm sits surrounded by that unmistakable patchwork of English countryside, and in the summer light the fields had turned shades of gold against deep green hedgerows and trees.

It was exactly the sort of scene that makes you keep the drone hovering for another minute simply because you don't particularly want to bring it back down.

This is one of the reasons we love mixing camping with aerial photography. You can spend all day experiencing a place at walking pace and then, with one flight, see the same landscape from an entirely different perspective.

The best part of the weekend was probably what didn't happen.

There was no frantic schedule.

Nobody needed to be anywhere.

Camp became the destination rather than simply somewhere to sleep between activities.

We sat around. We chatted. We ate. We watched the campsite settle into the evening. The drone went up when the light looked good. The bikes waited patiently for attention. And time seemed to move at the considerably more sensible speed that weekends ought to use.

With Fiona, Bryn and Dids for company, that was more than enough.

Sometimes adventures are measured in miles, summits or trails.

Sometimes they’re measured in cups on the camping table, chairs in a circle and how reluctant everyone is to start packing on the final morning.

This was definitely the latter.

Eventually, of course, every temporary little campsite has to disappear.

Tent down.

Chairs folded.

Bikes loaded.

Pop-top lowered.

The strange game of trying to remember where everything fitted in the van begins again.

But Berrends Farm gave us exactly what we wanted from the weekend: open space, good company, animals wandering nearby, summer countryside and enough room to switch off from everything else for a while.

Nothing extravagant.

Just myself, Fiona, Bryn and Dids enjoying a lovely weekend under open skies.

Nothing over-planned.

And sometimes that's the whole adventure.