Standing at the front: thoughts from where the ceremony begins.
When people ask me what Dunwell Farm is like, my first instinct isn’t to describe the buildings.
It’s to describe the feeling. Because some venues impress you with grandeur. Some with luxury. Dunwell Farm quietly invites you to exhale.
The Devon countryside stretches out around you in gentle, rolling hills, and almost before the ceremony has begun, people start to slow down. Guests wander rather than rush. Conversations drift. Children disappear off into games of their own before reappearing, slightly muddier and infinitely happier.
When I celebrated a wedding there, there were around thirty children. At another venue that might have felt chaotic. At Dunwell Farm, it simply felt right.
There was room to run, to explore, to invent games, to laugh loudly without anyone worrying they were disturbing the neighbours. It reminded me of the freedom of childhood holidays and Enid Blyton stories, where fields become adventures and every gate leads somewhere worth discovering.
Perhaps that’s because Dunwell Farm isn’t trying to be something it isn’t. It’s a working livestock farm. The land has been cared for by generations of one family, and you can feel that history without anyone needing to point it out. The retired farmer still tends the beautiful garden surrounding the family home, while the next generation have taken on the farm itself, opening its gates to couples while continuing to care for the land that has shaped their own family life.
There’s something rather lovely about celebrating the start of one family’s story somewhere that has quietly witnessed another for decades.
Pete and Libby don’t simply hire out a venue. They welcome people into a place they genuinely love. You’ll often see them in wellies, moving equipment, driving tractors or quad bikes, helping suppliers find what they need or quietly making sure everything is ready. There’s nothing performative about their hospitality. It feels practical, generous and wholehearted.
The ceremony itself takes place with the Devon landscape as its backdrop, but afterwards the day naturally shifts towards the barn. And when I say “barn”, I mean a real one. Stone walls. Metal gates. Corrugated roof. It’s rustic in the truest sense of the word.
Once it’s dressed with flowers, bunting and warm lights, it somehow manages to feel both beautifully celebratory and completely unpretentious. You can almost picture the evening before it begins: speeches echoing from the beams, glasses being raised, children finally slowing down, and everyone dancing together long after the sun has disappeared behind the hills.
For couples who want the celebration to stretch beyond a single day, guests can stay on the farm in yurts or tents, giving the whole weekend a gentle festival feel. Less “one perfect day”, more “a weekend spent together”—which somehow feels very fitting for a place built around family and community.
As a celebrant, I stand at the front of a lot of beautiful venues. Each has its own personality. Dunwell Farm’s isn’t polished perfection. It’s warmth. It’s space. It’s muddy boots and rolling hills. It’s children running free while grandparents sit chatting in the sunshine. It’s a family opening their home and their land so that other families can begin a new chapter of their own.
And somehow, that feels like exactly what a wedding should be.
Standing at the front
Thoughts from where the ceremony begins.
Every venue has its own personality. This is simply what I noticed while standing at the front. This article reflects my own experience of celebrating a wedding at Dunwell Farm. If you’re considering the venue, I’d always recommend visiting in person to see whether it feels right for you. Find out more about Dunwell Farm here.