Emma Emberson, who hosts travellers interested in sustainable farming to volunteer on her sheep farm in rural Wales, shepherds a flock of ewes to a fresh field down the road.Photography by Elizabeth Sargeant
I never expected that a trip to rural, western Wales to work on a sheep farm would pull my partner and I out of a slump we didn’t know we were in.
It was our six-year anniversary and we were about to spend 10 days helping out. A farmer was teaching me how to pat down lambs and determine which were the fattest for the market when she turned to me and said, “Sorry love, I know you’re vegetarian.” I had mud up to my ankles, but this was the trip I chose.
Months before, a friend of mine told me about her time spent on a lemon farm in Italy and my mouth watered. She had recommended World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms (WWOOF), an organization that allows travellers interested in sustainable farming to volunteer at an organic homestead in exchange for room and board.
My partner and I commute in heavy traffic and had always fantasized about living away from hustle and bustle. By the end of 2024, we decided there might be no better way to ring in another year together than to test it out.
We settled on Britain, a place we’ve both loved visiting before and whose sheep farms and sprawling hills stuck out in our memories.
We created our account on the WWOOF website and reached out to various hosts. Within three days, we were chatting with the owners of a small sheep farm in the beautiful village of Llangolman, Wales. One WhatsApp call and two booked plane tickets later, we were ready to go.
Elizabeth Sargeant’s partner Tristan Wilkinson explores Wales on a day off from working on the sheep farm.
After touching down in London, we drove 4½ hours to the farm in Preseli Hills. The roads were steep, winding and narrow – a far cry from our daily highway drives. After a couple of wrong turns and some major stalling in our manual-transmission rental car, we reached our hosts’ home. We were welcomed with a spread of homemade chutneys, steaming cups of milky tea and kisses from the farm dog Lily. We immediately fell in love with the lifestyle.
Our hosts, Emma Emberson and Matt Marl, are empty-nesters who have 60 acres of plush greenery for their ewes, lambs and rams. Their online profile only showed a sliver of the breathtaking rolling hills surrounding their property. We were dumbfounded by the beauty and ready to roll up our sleeves.
Over the next few days, my partner and I worked side-by-side pruning trees and chopping wood. We planted garlic bulbs in the vegetable patch and counted sheep (literally). In the polytunnel greenhouse, we spent time repotting flower seedlings, set to bloom in June for their daughter’s wedding. Emberson reminded us that even after we left, a piece of us would still be on the farm.
Sheep roam on Emberson and Matt Marl’s farm in village of Llangolman, Wales.
At night, we retired to our bunkie, which, many decades ago, was the main farmhouse. It was a century-old single room solely heated by a wood furnace. We slept on a mattress in the loft, and before bed we’d lounge on the sofa below, dipping our Welsh cakes in hot cups of tea. Although we would often wake up shivering when our fire blew out in the night, it was cozy and private. We left our phones there all day and kept them on silent. Toronto felt so far away.
We quickly learned that the magic of the countryside extended outside the farm. A driving lesson from Marl made the local villages more easily accessible and we went south on our day off to explore the Pembrokeshire Coast. We began in Tenby, walking through the haunted Carew Castle. Its history spans more than 2,000 years and in British fashion, the surrounding grounds are filled with roaming sheep. Later we caught golden hour at Freshwater Beach (where scenes from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows were shot) before finishing the day with a pint at a local pub.
On another day off, we took a long walk along a footpath behind the farm, looping through neighbours’ fields and crossing creeks before finding the ruins of an old chapel. It never ceased to astound us how ancient relics seemed to always be a stone’s throw away.
At a local hamlet called the Cwm-yr-Eglwys, Emberson and I went for a dip in the Atlantic Ocean. It was freezing and I screamed as I went in, cheered on by my brave host and her friend who do this sort of thing all the time. Later, in the parking lot, warmed by hot tea and sweaters, we watched a murmur of birds fill the purple sky as the sun set. I was shivering and grateful I could enjoy this peaceful moment.
Sargeant and Emberson visited a local hamlet Cwm-yr-Eglwys and went for a chilly dip in the Atlantic Ocean.
For an anniversary trip, there was no shortage of unromantic bits. A late night wee in a bush while stargazing resulted in stinging nettle on my bum. My partner and I smacked our heads on the ceiling we slept under at least once a night and were awoken to the sound of a small animal making a nest above us (however, after being reminded that there are no raccoons in Wales, we slept a bit more soundly). But the discomfort felt like it was pushing us toward something better. Sometimes, our farm visit was uncomfortable, messy and chilly, but disconnecting from the city, even for a little while, was exactly what we needed.
In Llangolman, life was slow and quiet, and within it, we felt connected.
If you go
Purchase a WWOOF membership. Although you can browse the farms unregistered, it’s important to buy a membership so you can reach out to hosts directly. Check online to see whether you need a work visa, as different countries have different regulations. We paid £35 (about $64) in total for a dual U.K. membership. WWOOF membership is cheaper for two travelling together, and it splits up the labour. It also gives volunteers more chances to play four-player card games with their hosts. For details, visit wwoof.net
Pack practically for outdoor work. Work gloves were a lifesaver and it was nice to not have to rely on our hosts for extra layers.
Rent a car. Your hosts are not your chauffeurs, and we found transportation in rural Wales is limited.
Remember, there’s no such thing as strangers in a farming village. One night, we opened the front door to a pub and walked into a family’s living room. A teenager turned from the television and pointed to the door on our left, which led us to the bar part of their home. His mum, our bartender, spent the whole night writing an itinerary of must-see places on our days off – which we followed to a T.
