I’ll never forget the drive down to Combe Martin last autumn – the leaves were turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the lanes like nature’s own welcome mat. We’d set off from Bristol full of beans, dreaming of cosy firesides and cream teas, but about halfway through the winding Exmoor roads, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our car. I swerved, heart in my mouth, and ended up with a muddy verge adventure. No harm done, just a bit of a laugh and a story to tell, but it had us arriving with that extra buzz of “we made it!”

Pulling up to the barn conversion, I was grinning ear to ear. Tucked into the hillside with those classic Devon views over the bay, it looked like it had been waiting just for us – all welcoming windows glowing in the late afternoon sun, promising snug evenings as the days drew in. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn light hit it just right, turning everything soft and golden.

We’d picked this time of year deliberately – October’s shoulder season magic in north Devon. No summer crowds clogging the paths, just crisp air that makes every breath feel alive, and that mellow fruitfulness vibe everywhere. Mornings started with mist rolling off the sea, perfect for a gentle stroll down to Combe Martin beach. The tide pools were alive with little crabs scuttling about, and the waves had that deeper, rumbling roar you only get when the sea’s got a proper autumn chill on it. We’d crunch through fallen leaves on the coastal path towards Hunter’s Inn – all ferns turning rusty and bracken glowing amber – spotting the odd seal popping up like it was showing off.

Afternoons were for proper lazing. The barn’s garden caught the low sun beautifully, so we’d crack open a cider (local stuff, naturally) and watch the shadows lengthen over the valley. One day, we wandered to Pack o’ Cards pub in the village – just a short hop – where the fire was roaring and they do a cracking Devonshire pasty. The seasonal shift made it: pumpkins stacked outside, blackberries still clinging to hedges for impromptu picking on the way back. Evenings drew us inside early, fairy lights twinkling as the chill set in, curling up with a stew and a good book while rain pattered on the roof. Bliss.

There was this one quiet moment, staring out at the bay as dusk fell, when I had a proper think. Work’s been manic lately, and I’d forgotten how good it feels to just switch off, let the seasons do the talking. Autumn here stripped it all back – no distractions, just you, the wind, and that endless horizon. Made me realise I need more of this slow living.

By the end of the week, we were hooked. Devon in autumn isn’t showy like summer; it’s that gentle hug of a holiday, wrapping you in earthy colours and peaceful rhythms. If you’re after a reset, pack your wellies and go – you won’t regret it.