Peaton Hill

Rahane

G84 0QW

what3word

///revolting.deflect.botanists

What began as a simple contract milling job turned into one of the biggest challenges I’ve faced to date.

Scotland may be the heart of forestry in the UK, but it quickly became clear just how few sites actually produce timber—and how rare small-scale outfits really are.

This project was spearheaded by Matthew at Linn Botanical Gardens, who was determined to repurpose timber removed from local development projects. But when he approached other sawmills about processing the material, they saw the scale and complexity and told him not to bother.

That’s when I got the call.

At the time, I brought two machines with me: an LT30 Super Hydraulic Wood-Mizer and a Lucas Mill Dedicated Slabber. Even working in tandem, it wasn’t enough…

The real frustration came from dealing with the Lucas Mill agents. I needed their support to increase productivity—but every request hit a wall. Either the machines weren’t CE certified, or basic parts were eye-wateringly expensive. And since UK agents no longer stocked them, I was forced to import parts from Australia—plus duty, plus courier fees plus the agents cut on top.

That’s when the idea of a new path emerged. One where someone might actually support what I was trying to build.

Then Storm Éowyn: hit.

The peninsula took a beating, and one of the hardest-hit areas was Benmore Botanical Garden. Thanks to Matthew’s close connection with the garden, he pulled together a team to help it recover in time for spring. I offered my services.

The trees at Benmore were astonishing—deliberately planted as specimens, carefully grown over decades. But the damage was devastating. Acres of majestic canopy reduced to the sound of chippers and chainsaws.

Once again, the same old question echoed:
Where does all this timber go?
More importantly:
What would it take to ensure it stays in the community?

Partly by fortune, partly by timing, we were already in talks with Peterson. They were the only people that listened—really listened—and showed genuine interest in collaborating on what we were trying to do.

Six months later, our excitement is bubbling.

The community on the peninsula is rallying behind this bold new chapter: small-scale, localised timber conversion in Argyll and Bute. We’ve now started our journey with Peterson, deliberately choosing an ASM with a 90-foot cut length, paired with a dedicated slabber on the other end.

It sounds like overkill—until you see the trees.

We warmly welcome you to our site in Rahane, Scotland.
The beginning of something much bigger.
The beginning of reclaiming timber, one log at a time..

Lancych Mansion

Pontselli

Boncath,

Pembrokeshire,

SA37 OLQ 

What3word 

///ecologist.twist.glove 

Storm Darragh tore through multiple parts of the UK—but like so many stories in rural pockets, the aftermath in this corner of Wales went largely unnoticed.

This community hasn’t forgotten.

One resident—requested by the council to pay £50,000 to clear fallen trees and reopen access to the roads—bore the burden of a recovery that should have been publicly supported. This, despite widespread infrastructure damage across Wales from the same storm.

At the heart of this estate is Pamela, the current owner of what was once a thriving arboretum. Today, it stands as a shadow of its former self. Towering specimen trees that once framed the property are now reduced to bare ground and brash piles.

The most painful part? I didn’t get there in time…

The trees were magnificent. Gun-barrel straight maples—grown with intent, with care, with the future in mind—were reduced to firewood.

These stories are all too common in the UK.

There’s a saying:
“Society thrives when old men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in.”
To convert such trees to firewood is to neglect the vision of those men.
The community remembers the storm.
But what’s been forgotten is what timber can become.

The default cannot be destruction. The default must become regeneration.
It’s not just about salvaging wood—it’s about honouring years of patience, planning, and stewardship. It’s about justifying the effort of those before us, and seizing the opportunity to build, rebuild, and replant.

I’m looking forward to bringing a Peterson WPF to this community.
To showing what’s possible.
To demonstrating that localised timber conversion isn’t just about producing timber—it’s a quiet, powerful expression of a community’s resilience.

We warmly invite you to join us at this remarkable location in Wales—
a place where rebuilding begins with remembering.

Grantland Farm

Crediton 

Devon

EX17 4LG

what3words

///allies.community.thundered

This is my sanctuary. This is my farm.

It’s been a working farm since before 1066. And to this day, we still farm it with a modest team—no fanfare, no fuss.

Why does that matter? And what does it have to do with forestry?

This Doomsday farm has watched the landscape change. It’s witnessed the rise of industrial-scale agriculture—and quietly resisted it. Not because we’re purists, but because our topography simply doesn’t suit large-scale methods, even if they’re the only ones the current system economically rewards.

As farming enters a difficult chapter—and as the countryside becomes more gentrified—farmers are being nudged into fewer and fewer options. One of the most overlooked? Forestry.

Historically, we weren’t told forestry was a viable part of land management. But that’s changing.

I’ve been lucky enough to be influenced by some incredible people who’ve laid the groundwork for integrating forestry into agriculture. Our community here is small, but we’re loud. We’re intentional. And we’re firm in our belief that forestry belongs on farms.

At Grantland, forestry isn’t an add-on.
It’s intrinsic.
It’s part of our daily land management—woven into how we think, farm, and build. My timber yard may be modest, but it stands on generations of work. A community effort built around timber production, continuous cover forestry, and silviculture.

That’s where Peterson comes in.

Yes—the economics of running a Peterson sawmill far outshine many other machines I’ve worked with. But what sets it apart is its ethos. It was designed for farmers. For those of us working quietly, day in and day out, who just want to steward our land and make the most of what it produces.

It was made to give farmers control. To offer small-scale timber conversion that puts opportunity back in our hands.

That story resonates—not just with me, but with farmers up and down the country.
And now Peterson is backing me.
More importantly, they want to back you.

We warmly invite you to our family farm in Cadeleigh, Devon.
A working Doomsday farm—with its eyes on the future.

Reynolds and Holcot woods
Bedfordshire 

///spend.crouches.titles

My journey with Petersons has opened doors to conversations with some incredible people in British forestry.

One such connection has been with the group behind Marston Vale—a community woodland project quietly making waves. While I haven’t yet had the chance to visit the site or work directly with the team, I did meet a particularly driven individual: Luke Quenby. He’ll be sharing a short piece below about the history and purpose behind their woodland.

Luke reached out, and since then we’ve been discussing possibilities—alongside William Blight, one of the founders of Buckland Glulam. Together, we’ve been exploring how to bring more of the UK’s unmanaged woodlands back under thoughtful, productive management.

In the UK, the idea of forestry cooperatives is often met with scepticism—even mockery.
But why?
Projects like Marston Vale prove that collaboration does work—and that it’s possible to balance community, ecology, and timber production.

We too often forget:

·        Metrics aren’t the only measure of ecological success.

·        Surveys don’t capture years of hands-on work.

·        Public access isn’t the sole value of woodland.

What truly matters are the people on the ground.
The quiet, continuous effort.
The communities choosing homegrown timber over export markets.
The careful, resilient stewards who understand that forestry is as much about patience as it is about productivity.

Marston Vale is a model worth watching—and supporting.

Reynolds and Holcot wood is and ancient woodland in central Bedfordshire, surrounded by younger plantation woodland. The whole site is around 100 hectares, and until this summer, was under the ownership and management of the Woodland Trust. We took on management of it with several goals in mind, one of the most key ones being to prove that restoring ancient woodland and managing any woodland was economically viable.