I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. We’d piled into the car from Bristol early one misty October morning, me navigating with a dodgy signal on my phone and the kids bickering over crisps in the back. About halfway, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our windscreen. No harm done, bar a feathery thump and me laughing hysterically while my other half gripped the wheel like it was a lifeline. “Typical,” he muttered, but by then the hedgerows were bursting with blackberries, and the air through the window smelled like damp earth and promise. I was buzzing with anticipation – visions of cosy fires and crunchy walks, you know?

Pulling up to the barn conversion just outside Okehampton felt like stumbling into a hug. It’s one of those rustic-chic spots, all low ceilings and quirky charm, perfect for a family like ours. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn sun was dipping low, painting everything in that soft, slanting light, and as we unloaded, a chill nipped at our cheeks – proper bracing stuff that makes you glad you packed the thermals.

That first evening set the tone. We lit the wood burner (bliss after the drive), and with the windows steaming up from our hot mugs of tea, we planned lazy days shaped entirely by the season. No rushing off to far-flung beaches; this was about soaking up Devon's autumn magic right on the doorstep. Next morning, we wandered the nearby lanes, kicking through piles of sodden leaves that squelched underfoot like nature’s bubble wrap. The air was crisp, carrying that faint woodsmoke scent from local chimneys, and we spotted a fox trotting through the bracken – pure magic for the little ones.

A highlight was the gentle hike up to Yes Tor, just a couple of miles away on Dartmoor. The autumn colours were unreal: bracken turning fiery orange, ponies grazing in the mist, and granite tors shrouded in low cloud like something out of a Brontë novel. We picnicked in a sheltered spot, cheese ploughman’s from the Okehampton deli, but the wind whipped up suddenly, sending sandwiches flying. I chased one down the hillside, feeling like a fool – light-hearted reminder that you don’t mess with Dartmoor’s moods. Laughing it off, we headed back as dusk fell early, the sky streaked pink and purple.

Evenings were for slow cooking – think hearty stews bubbling away while we played board games by lamplight. The shorter days meant early nights, but oh, the stars! Clear autumn skies turned the garden into a planetarium; we’d step out wrapped in blankets, necks craned upwards, marvelling at the Milky Way.

Reflecting on it now, that holiday was a gentle nudge to slow down. In the rush of daily life, I forget how a shift in seasons can reset you – autumn’s mellow hues and frosty mornings stripped away the noise, leaving just family, warmth, and the simple joy of being. Devon in October? Pure, unfiltered gold. We’re already plotting a return.