I’ll never forget the drive down to Cedar in Winkleigh, Devon, that crisp October afternoon – the leaves turning all shades of amber and gold, carpeting the narrow lanes like nature’s own confetti. It was my first solo holiday in ages, a cheeky three-day jaunt to shake off the autumn blues, and I’d packed my thermals, wellies, and a thermos of tea, ready for whatever the season threw at me. But true to form, about ten miles out, I had a proper daft mishap: misjudged a pothole on one of those twisty B-roads, and splosh – my thermos tipped over, soaking the passenger seat in builder’s brew. “Brilliant,” I muttered, pulling over to blot it up with an old towel. Laughing at myself, I thought, typical me, turning a scenic drive into a soggy adventure before I’d even arrived.

By the time I rolled up to Cedar, the sun was dipping low, casting that golden late-autumn light over the Torridge countryside. This cosy detached cottage, tucked away in a peaceful spot just outside Winkleigh, felt like it was made for this time of year. The air had that proper nip to it – fresh, invigorating, with the faint scent of woodsmoke drifting from nearby chimneys. I parked up on the gravel drive, crunching leaves underfoot, and hauled my bags inside, already buzzing from the drive’s unexpected comedy.

Stepping through the door was pure magic. The open-plan living space welcomed me with a wood-burning stove already laid with kindling, begging to be lit against the encroaching dusk. October in Devon does that, doesn’t it? Days shortening fast, evenings made for hunkering down. I flicked the switch on the electric fire too – no faffing about with damp logs on day one – and within minutes, the room glowed warm and inviting. The kitchen was a dream: Aga humming softly, stocked with local treats like clotted cream shortbread and a jar of blackberry jam from some nearby farm shop. I brewed a fresh cuppa (lesson learned from the car fiasco) and gazed out the window at the garden, where dew was already settling on the hedges, sparkling like tiny jewels in the fading light.

First impressions? Blimey, Cedar nailed that autumnal vibe spot on. The beamed ceilings and plush sofas screamed “cosy retreat,” perfect for the season’s moody skies. I wandered the single bedroom upstairs – snug as a bug, with a super-kingsize bed piled high with goose-down duvets that promised oblivion after a brisk walk. The en-suite shower was piping hot, steam fogging the mirror as I rinsed off the road dust, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at how the whole place felt like a hug from Devon itself.

Popping out for a quick explore before dark, I strolled the garden path, kicking through fallen leaves. Within a five-minute wander, I hit those peaceful lanes lined with ancient oaks, their branches heavy with the season’s bounty – conkers littering the verges, ready for a pocketful of nostalgia. The fields beyond were dotted with sheep, their woolly backs misted in the chill, and in the distance, the gentle roll of the Torridge District hills fading into twilight. No crowds, no summer hordes – just me, the rustle of wind through the foliage, and that deep, satisfying quiet that only autumn delivers. Back inside, I lit the stove properly, flames dancing as the windows misted up from the warmth within clashing with the cold out. Sat there with my book and a cheeky GandT from the well-stocked fridge, I had a rare moment of gentle reflection: life’s been a whirlwind lately, but here, wrapped in this seasonal embrace, everything slowed right down. October at Cedar wasn’t just a stay; it was a reminder to savour the quiet bits, the ones that recharge the soul before winter bites.

If you’re chasing that perfect autumn escape in Devon, Cedar’s your spot – mishaps, misty mornings, and all.