I’ll never forget the drive up to Dumfries and Galloway last autumn – the leaves were turning that glorious coppery gold, carpeting the roads like nature’s own welcome mat. Me and the family piled into the car from the central belt, full of excitement for a proper getaway, but about halfway there, disaster struck: a rogue pheasant decided to play chicken with our windscreen. No harm done beyond a feathery thud and my wife’s startled yelp, but it had us laughing through the windscreen wipers as we pressed on, the misty hills unfolding ahead like a scene from a postcard.

By the time we rolled up to this first-floor holiday apartment in a converted 18th-century stable block on a country estate seven miles north of Dumfries, the anticipation was buzzing. I’d been picturing cosy firesides amid the autumn chill, and pulling into that sweeping drive surrounded by open countryside didn’t disappoint – first impressions? Pure magic. The estate’s fishing lochs shimmered under a low sun, and the air had that crisp, earthy tang of fallen leaves and woodsmoke. We dashed up to the first floor, boots shedding mud in the ground-floor boot room, and stepped into the open-plan living space: a fitted kitchen that begged for soup-making and a comfy seating area with views straight out to the rolling fields. Three en-suite bedrooms – two with showers, one with a bath – meant no morning queues, which was a godsend with kids in tow.

Autumn shaped every minute of our stay, turning it into something properly special. Mornings started with frosty walks around the estate, crunching through drifts of leaves while the lochs steamed gently in the weak sun. We’d spot red kittiwakes wheeling overhead and deer grazing in the fields, their coats thickening for winter. One afternoon, we wandered the estate paths, the golden light filtering through the trees, and I had this quiet moment of self-reflection: here I was, city-stressed dad turned woodland wanderer, realising how much I’d missed this simple stuff. No screens, just the rustle of wind and the kids’ giggles as they kicked conkers.

Evenings were all about that seasonal hygge. We rustled up stews in the kitchen using local spuds and Galloway beef from a farm shop down the road, then hunkered down by the window watching twilight paint the hills purple. The chill nipped at the panes, but inside it was toasty – perfect for board games and hot chocolate. One hilarious low point: I tried ‘foraging’ blackberries from the hedges (autumn’s free bounty, right?), only to end up with more scratches than berries and a family in stitches. Still, those few we salvaged made the best crumble.

Days out stayed close – a potter to a nearby tearoom for scones with clotted cream, thick as the mist rolling in from the Solway, and a gentle hike to a viewpoint where the autumn colours stretched forever. The season’s mellow pace meant no rushing; it was all about breathing in that damp, vibrant air and letting worries drift away like the leaves. Dumfries and Galloway in autumn? It’s like the place saves its best for then. We left refreshed, promising to return before the frost bites too hard.