I’ll never forget the drive down to Wexford that crisp autumn morning – the leaves turning those gorgeous shades of amber and gold along the N11, making the whole journey feel like a scenic postcard. We’d piled into the car from Dublin, me navigating with my trusty phone (which, predictably, decided to lose signal just as we hit a tricky roundabout near Enniscorthy). Cue a minor detour through some winding country lanes, hearts racing a tad, but honestly, it only added to the adventure. By the time we spotted the sea glinting in the distance, my anticipation was bubbling over – visions of cosy evenings by the fire after bracing beach walks.

Pulling up to this cracking three-bedroom house on the edge of Rosslare Strand felt like stumbling into a hug from an old mate. It’s the sort of place that screams family getaway, snug and welcoming with off-road parking that saved us faffing about in the village, and a south-facing garden that, even in October, caught the weak sun just right for a cuppa on the patio. First impressions? Spot on. We dumped the bags and straight into the well-equipped kitchen-diner, rustling up bacon sarnies at the table for six while the electric woodburning stove flickered to life, chasing away the chill.

Autumn in Wexford is pure magic, isn’t it? No summer crowds clogging up the pavements, just that fresh, briny breeze whipping off the sandy beach a stone’s throw away. We’d wander down there most mornings, wellies on against the damp sand, kicking through piles of seaweed and watching seals bob in the waves – or so we reckoned they were seals; binoculars were a bit misty from the spray. The season turned every stroll into a treasure hunt: conkers underfoot, blackberries ripe for picking along the paths to the local shops. One afternoon, we hit the jackpot with a bag of fresh mussels from a stall near the harbour – cheap as chips this time of year – and simmered them up in the kitchen with garlic and cream. Sat out in the garden as the sun dipped low, it was alfresco dining at its cosiest, wrapped in blankets against the evening nip.

Evenings were for proper unwinding in the sitting room, flopping on the plush sofas with Netflix on the telly, stove humming away. The kids (well, my two teens who still count as kids) built epic dens with cushions, while I sipped hot chocolate, reflecting on how this time of year strips things back. No frantic sun-chasing, just quality time that sneaks up on you. I caught myself thinking, mid-laugh over a daft board game, how often we rush through life’s sunny spells and miss these golden, quieter ones. A gentle nudge to slow down, courtesy of Wexford’s mellow autumn vibes.

We popped to the strand’s cafes for scones slathered in jam – pumpkin spice flavours popping up everywhere, nodding to the harvest season – and even squeezed in a cycle along the promenade, leaves crunching under tyres. By week’s end, as we packed up under grey skies promising rain, I was already plotting a return. Wexford in autumn? It’s not just a holiday; it’s a reset button wrapped in sea air and seasonal charm.