A typical day might start with fresh coffee on your private terrace, watching the mist lift off the River Bandiat while a golden oriole calls somewhere in the trees above you.
After breakfast, perhaps a walk — straight from your door onto the Sentier du Bandiat, or a wander through the meadows with the ID books you can borrow. You might find a fire salamander under a log, a purple emperor in the canopy, or simply sit by the river and watch the trout hold position in the current.
In the afternoon, cross the wooden bridge onto the island. Find a hammock between the apple trees. Sit on the bench by the river and wait — quietly — to see what appears.
As the light fades, lizards chase each other along the sunny stone walls of the mill house. The donkeys come to the fence for a chat. The bats emerge over the river. Somewhere in the trees, a turtle dove purrs.
Eight hectares of rewilded land in the Parc Naturel Régional Périgord-Limousin, managed every day not for tidiness but for life. For abundance. For the thing that is disappearing so fast from the rest of Europe that specialists travel here from the UK, Belgium and the Netherlands just to remember what it used to feel like.
Our guests have called us the small-scale rewilding version of Knepp — but in south west France, where the sun is better and the wine is cheaper.
When we lived in the Norfolk Broads, we would spend entire days searching for a single swallowtail butterfly. Here, by lunchtime, you’ll be wafting them away from your sandwiches. That is what bioabundance feels like — and it will reset your idea of what the natural world is supposed to look like.
For the casual nature lover: sixty-eight species of butterfly, red squirrels, fire salamanders, golden orioles, hummingbird hawk-moths and eight species of bat. The River Bandiat — one of only eight rivers in France to host the freshwater pearl mussel — runs along the edge of the property. For more on the region’s wildlife see the excellent Wildlife in France website.
For the specialist: the invertebrate richness here consistently astonishes professional ecologists. We advertise in Atropos, British Wildlife, Butterfly Conservation and Vlinderstichting because our guests include moth trappers, beetle specialists, spider recorders and butterfly photographers who come not for a holiday exactly, but for access. CIEEM members receive a discount — just get in touch.
For families: moth trapping by torchlight, pond dipping, den building in the woods, chatting to the donkeys. This is where children remember that the outside world is more interesting than a screen.
For the mismatched couple: he can spend three days photographing purple emperors and emerge blinking and triumphant. She can lie in the sun, explore the Périgord markets and actually have dinner with her husband for a change. Nobody has to compromise.
For photographers: large coppers, fritillaries, fire salamanders at dusk, ancient lichen-draped oaks. And from September to November – the fungi season – one of the most spectacular and overlooked reasons to visit the Périgord.
For birdwatchers: short-toed eagles, black kites, goshawks, five species of woodpecker, shrikes and bullfinches. For birders chasing rarities — we’re probably not your destination. For birdwatchers in the older, slower sense of the word — this is somewhere rather special. We’ve written about our bullfinches here.
We arrived in 2018. The site is measurably richer now than it was then — and we work every day to make it more so.
We dig new ponds every year. Our latest is connected to the groundwater and already colonised by pool frogs, agile frogs and great diving beetles. We manage our meadows and fens with four horses, four donkeys and a mule — different grazing behaviours that replicate, as closely as we can, the large herbivores lost from this landscape centuries ago. Wild deer and boar complete the grazing team. Where we need the ecological equivalent of elephants and bison, we use chainsaws and quad bikes.
Even in the gardens we take a rewilding approach — meadow patches with mown paths, no mole-killing, dark skies. On a clear night, the stars are spectacular.
Papillo close-focus binoculars for invertebrate viewing
Bat detector
UV torches for spotting butterfly eggs after dark
Moth trap — we’ll run it for you, or bring your own
ID books — butterflies, moths, beetles, flowers, lizards, snakes, fungi
Nik offers free guided walks for all guests — two hours, whenever you’re ready. Just ask. Our full species list is available to download below.
The PNR has a dark skies policy, which we take seriously. Nighttime lighting is kept to a minimum. On a clear night, the stars are spectacular.
In 2018 we left England and moved to the Limousin with a slightly mad plan — to rewild 8 hectares of French countryside and see what came back.
Heidi spent her career in professional nature conservation — as an Ecologist in Local Government and then working with farmers and landowners to improve biodiversity on their land. She knows what nature looks like when it’s given a chance. Coming to Le Moulin rekindled something she’d been missing.
Nik came from a very different direction. Years in sales — not exactly his calling. But the amateur botanist who used to identify plants on his lunch break turned out to be considerably better at it than most professionals. He’s now a nature reserve manager, and considerably happier. His talent for talking to absolutely anyone — from invertebrate specialists to complete beginners — makes his guided walks genuinely memorable.
Between us we have roughly seventeen different skill sets — and we use all of them. No pink jobs or blue jobs. Nik does the laundry and bedrooms. Heidi handles the kitchens, bookings and marketing. Between us we do the grass cutting, the chainsawing, the pond digging and the guided walks. Neither of us gets bored.
Our first language is English but we speak French and Nik has some German. We both play traditional Irish music and Heidi plays French bagpipes, although she will stop if you ask her nicely.
We didn’t set out to run a hospitality business. We set out to build something — a place where the natural world could recover, and where people could come and remember what it used to feel like.
We think we’re getting there. This spring, for the first time, a nightingale sang on our land.
We very much hope he stays.
