I’ll never forget the drive down to Devon last autumn – the leaves were just turning that gorgeous coppery gold, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. I’d set off from Bristol early, fancying a leisurely jaunt through the winding lanes, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with my car. I slammed on the brakes, heart in my mouth, and ended up with a muddy skid mark on the verge and a feather stuck in the grille. Laughed it off in the end, though – classic countryside mishap, and it only made me more excited to arrive.

Pulling up to the shepherd’s hut that crisp October afternoon, I was buzzing with anticipation. Tucked away in a quiet spot near Cullompton, it looked like something out of a storybook – cosy, compact, with that perfect rustic charm that screams getaway. First impressions? Spot on. The autumn sun was dipping low, casting a warm glow over everything, and the air smelled of damp earth and woodsmoke. I could already picture lazy evenings wrapped in a blanket, watching the mist roll in.

The season really made this holiday. Autumn in Devon is magic – not too chilly yet, but with that fresh nip that turns every breath into a mini adventure. Mornings started with dew-kissed walks around Ponsford Ponds, just a stone’s throw away. The water was mirror-still, reflecting the fiery reds and oranges of the surrounding trees. I’d crunch through fallen leaves, spotting the odd squirrel hoarding nuts like it was prepping for the apocalypse. One day, I even saw a heron, all elegant and unbothered, which felt like a proper treat.

Afternoons were for gentle rambles along the nearby lanes, where blackberries still clung to the hedges – fat, juicy ones that stained my fingers purple. I picked a punnet’s worth and turned them into a crumble back at the hut, the oven’s warmth chasing away the fading light. Evenings brought that golden hour magic, with the sunsets painting the sky in bruised purples and pinks. I’d sit outside with a cuppa, listening to the rustle of leaves in the breeze, feeling the world slow right down.

There was this one moment of quiet reflection as I watched the steam rise from my mug – sat there thinking how I’d been rushing about at home, buried in emails and deadlines. Autumn here stripped it all back; the shortening days nudged you to savour the simple stuff, like the crackle of a fire pit or the way the fog softened the hills at dawn. Made me realise I needed more of this – proper unplugging, letting the season dictate the pace.

We ventured to the Killerton Estate a couple of miles off, where the autumn colours were at their peak – carpets of leaves perfect for kicking through, and the estate’s gardens alive with that mellow, fading glory. Picnicked under the oaks, cheese and apple slices from a local farm shop, pretending we were in some Enid Blyton tale. No crowds, just us and the mellow Devon vibe.

By the time we packed up, I was smitten. That shepherd’s hut in autumnal Devon? Pure bliss. The season wrapped it all in this nostalgic hug – crisp days, cosy nights, and a gentle reminder to breathe. Can’t wait to go back next year.