Reflections from Module Two at Paddington Farm Trust
For the first part of Module Two, we were asked to arrange a field trip for the cohort. We chose to use this as a deliberate shift in pace, moving away from structured sessions and into something more lived and experiential.
The aim was simple: to step into our world, to feel how we think and operate, and to understand, first-hand, the deeper purpose behind what we’re building.
So we took the group to Paddington Farm Trust in Glastonbury.
Slowing Down
From the moment people arrived, things felt different.
Life at the farm moves at its own pace. People work part-time, days follow natural rhythms, and there’s a quiet understanding that things take the time they take. Nature doesn’t rush and neither does the work that sits alongside it.
Even the absence of Wi-Fi played a role.
While access is technically there, it wasn’t immediately shared. This was intentional. Not to frustrate, but to gently pull people out of the constant stream of messages, notifications, and noise. To create a small moment of disconnection so something else could come in.
Presence. Conversation. Awareness.
A different way of operating.
A Living System
What makes Paddington Farm powerful isn’t just the land — it’s the relationships that sit within it.
Everything operates as a network of partnerships.
The food we shared reflected that. Pastries and bread came from Burns the Bread, a long-standing, family-run bakery in Glastonbury. Salad was grown and picked that morning by Rob from Glastonbury Fruit & Veg, who works the land through a cooperative relationship with the farm, accessing space to grow while feeding value back into the community.
Nothing felt disconnected. Nothing felt accidental.
We visited Draper of Glastonbury, a traditional, family-run sheepskin manufacturer still producing locally, holding onto craft that has largely disappeared elsewhere.
Later, we spent time with Michelle from Owl Enlightenment, whose owl sanctuary is based at the farm. Her work is her own, but it lives within the ecosystem of the farm adding depth, meaning, and opportunity for those who visit.
The owls themselves brought something unexpected.
They are flown untethered. They choose when to come to you and when not to.
You can’t force it. You can only wait.
Community, Not Infrastructure
The farm isn’t just a place. It’s a living community.
Volunteers live on-site. Partners run independent businesses from the land. Young people and groups come to spend time there often from backgrounds where access to nature, space, and traditional skills has been limited or absent.
It functions as a shared environment for learning, connection, and contribution.
Not perfectly. Not efficiently in the traditional sense.
But meaningfully.
And that distinction matters.
Why This Matters for LOXKIN
This wasn’t just a change of scenery.
It was a way of grounding the cohort in what sits behind LOXKIN.
At one level, we make a natural wood finish something that supports longevity, repair, and circular use of materials.
But beyond that, the intention is broader.
To build a model where commercial activity supports places like this.
Where revenue helps create and sustain local hubs.
Where partnerships enable access, education, and opportunity.
Where circular systems are not just designed but lived.
Spaces where materials are respected.
Skills are shared.
Communities are strengthened.
A Different Pace of Change
There’s a tendency to think of change as something fast. Scalable. Immediate.
But what we were reminded of at the farm is that some of the most important systems don’t work like that.
They grow slowly.
They rely on trust.
They are built through relationships.
Like mycelium beneath the forest floor largely unseen, but quietly holding everything together.
That’s the kind of system we’re interested in building.
And it starts locally.
