I’ll never forget the drive down to Kentisbury Grange in late autumn – that crisp October bite in the air turning the Devon lanes into a golden tunnel of rustling leaves. We’d set off from Barnstaple early, the SatNav promising a swift 15-minute jaunt, but wouldn’t you know it, I took a wrong turn onto one of those impossibly narrow hedgerow-choked tracks. There we were, wedged between brambles heavy with blackberries, me frantically reversing while my other half chuckled about my “legendary sense of direction”. A minor faff, really – five minutes later, a local farmer waved us out with a cheery “You’re nearly there, maid!” and we were back on track, the car windows down to catch that earthy, damp scent of fallen leaves carpeting the verges.

Pulling up to Cottage Suite 5 at Kentisbury Grange felt like stumbling into a proper Devon hug. It’s one of those classic stone-built cottages tucked into a working farm just outside Barnstaple, the sort where the air hums with the low chatter of grazing sheep and the distant cluck of hens. Autumn had draped everything in her mellow palette – the garden bursting with late chrysanthemums in fiery oranges and deep reds, their petals nodding in the brisk breeze like they were gossiping about the weather. The sun was low and lazy, casting long shadows across the gravel drive, and there was that unmistakable chill that makes you grateful for a woolly jumper. I stepped out, boots crunching on leaves, and instantly felt the season’s magic: no summer crowds, just peaceful solitude wrapped in mist rolling in from the nearby North Devon coast.

The cottage itself? A cosy gem, perfect for our three-day escape. We unlocked the door to a warm welcome – the wood-burner already laid with kindling, begging for a match, and the scent of fresh scones left by the hosts (Devon hospitality at its finest). It’s all beamed ceilings and squishy sofas, with a kitchenette stocked for cream teas and a window seat framing views of the farm’s rolling fields, now a patchwork of tawny grasses swaying under slate-grey skies. First impressions hit hard: this was autumn Devon distilled – shorter days meaning we could hunker down with hot mugs of builder’s tea as the light faded by 5pm, watching rain patter softly on the panes. No frantic beach dashes here; instead, the season invited lingering, like wrapping up in a favourite blanket.

We wasted no time settling in. A quick wander around the grange grounds revealed apple trees groaning under the weight of windfalls, perfect for a impromptu crumble later. The air was alive with that post-harvest tang – mud, moss, and a hint of woodsmoke from a neighbour’s chimney. Light humour ensued when I slipped on a slick pile of leaves trying to nab a particularly plump apple, landing on my bum with a squelch. “Graceful as a three-legged cow,” my partner quipped, helping me up as we both dissolved into giggles. It was one of those daft moments that make you love these trips.

As evening drew in, the cottage glowed like a lantern against the darkening fields. We lit the fire, its crackle mingling with the wind whistling through the oaks, and tucked into pasties from a nearby farm shop – proper job, stuffed with local beef and swede. Sipping mulled cider (I’d smuggled a bottle), I had a quiet moment of reflection by the window. Autumn in Devon, especially here at Cottage Suite 5, strips everything back. No distractions, just the raw beauty of fading light and impending frost, reminding me how rushing through life misses these simple joys. In that hush, with stars pricking the clearing sky, I felt utterly content – first impressions don’t get much better than this.