I’ll never forget the drive down to Somerset last autumn – the leaves were turning that perfect mix of gold and rust, carpeting the lanes like nature’s own welcome mat. I’d been buzzing with anticipation all week, dreaming of cosy evenings by a crackling fire after long walks in the crisp air. But typical me, I took a wrong turn just past Tiverton, ending up on some narrow farm track with hedges towering over the car. Heart in my mouth, I reversed for what felt like miles, muttering to myself about how I’m supposed to be the one with the satnav skills. Luckily, a friendly local in a Land Rover waved me back on track with a grin and a thumbs-up – classic Somerset hospitality.

Pulling up to the cottage near Waterrow, my first impressions were spot on. It’s this spacious self-catering gem that sleeps up to four, with a luxury private hot tub tucked away for ultimate unwinding. Rural bliss just outside Taunton, it’s got that peaceful vibe perfect for families, couples, cyclists, walkers, or even bringing the dog along. The autumn light was filtering through the trees as we unloaded, and the air had that sharp, invigorating chill that makes everything feel alive.

We timed it perfectly for the season – early November, when Somerset’s countryside hits its stride with misty mornings and vibrant foliage. Our first morning, we wrapped up warm and headed out for a gentle hike along the Coleridge Way, just a short stroll from the door. The paths were crunchy underfoot with fallen leaves, and every so often we’d catch whiffs of woodsmoke from nearby farms. It was magical, the kind of walk that clears your head and makes you grateful for fleece layers. Lunch was simple but brilliant: pasties from the village shop in Wiveliscombe, eaten on a log with thermoses of tea steaming in the breeze.

Evenings were all about that seasonal hygge. We’d light the wood burner – doesn’t everyone crave that glow when the days draw in? – and cook up hearty stews with local veg from the farm stand down the road. The hot tub was a game-changer; slipping in under a canopy of turning oaks, bubbles fizzing around us as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in oranges and purples. One night, a light frost started sparkling on the grass, turning the whole scene into a private winter wonderland preview. Pure bliss, especially after a day pedalling quiet lanes on rented bikes, the hedges heavy with berries and the odd pheasant scarpering across the fields.

Of course, there was a cheeky moment of self-reflection one foggy afternoon, sat by the window with a mug of builder’s tea. I realised I’d been so caught up in city hustle that I’d forgotten how restorative this time of year is – shedding layers like the trees, slowing down to savour the quiet. No screens, just the rustle of wind and the odd owl hoot. We even squeezed in a visit to the nearby Tarr Steps, that ancient clapper bridge over the River Barle, where the autumn swell made the water roar like it was putting on a show just for us.

Heading home, I felt properly recharged. Somerset in autumn isn’t just a holiday; it’s a seasonal reset button. If you’re after that same magic, pack your wellies and go – you won’t regret it.