I’ll never forget the drive to Foxglove Lodge last autumn – that golden stretch of late October when Devon’s hedgerows are bursting with blackberries and the air smells like damp earth and woodsmoke. I’d set off from Launceston early, fancying a leisurely hour’s pootle through the winding lanes of Torridge, but wouldn’t you know it, about ten miles in, I managed to splatter the windscreen with a rogue squirt from my thermos of tea. Cue five minutes of faffing with wet wipes while lorries thundered past, leaving me chuckling at my own daftness. Still, it was a proper British mishap, wasn’t it? The sort that makes you appreciate the simple joy of arriving somewhere cosy.

By the time I crested the hill towards Roadford Lake, the seasonal magic was in full swing. Autumn in Devon is like nature’s grand finale – leaves in every shade of amber and rust carpeting the ground, and a crisp chill that nips at your cheeks just enough to make a hot cuppa irresistible. Foxglove Lodge sits right on the edge of the lake lodges, tucked into those rolling hills that feel a world away from the bustle. Pulling up, I was greeted by the sight of the lake shimmering under a weak sun, its surface dotted with turning foliage reflections. The lodge itself is a picture – a smart wooden chalet with a veranda that practically begs you to wrap up in a scarf and take in the view.

Stepping inside for the first impressions, I was hit by that instant homely glow. The open-plan living space is all warm wood panelling and plush sofas, with a wood-burning stove already laid and waiting – perfect for these shortening days when dusk creeps in by four. I could smell the faint tang of pine from the surrounding woods, carried on a breeze that whispered through the slightly open windows. Dumping my bags, I made straight for the French doors leading to the decking, where the lake stretched out like a mirror, fringed by oaks heavy with acorns. A pair of mallards paddled by, unperturbed, and I swear the air tasted cleaner than anywhere else I’ve been. Autumn’s mellow light filtered through, turning everything soft and forgiving.

That first afternoon, I couldn’t resist a gentle wander along the lake path – just a short stroll from the lodge, keeping it all local. The ground was carpeted in fallen leaves, crunching underfoot like nature’s own crisps, and every few steps revealed fungi poking through the moss, those little woodland treasures that pop up when the weather turns. A light mist rolled in off the water, the sort that makes you feel like you’re in a Brontë novel, though without the brooding moors – this was Devon’s gentler side. Back at the lodge, I fired up the stove (cheers to the complimentary kindling stack), and as flames crackled, I sipped tea on the veranda, watching the sun dip low. The seasonal shift was everywhere: berries on the bushes glowing like jewels, and that golden hour light painting the hills in hues that no filter could capture.

Sat there, mug in hand, I had a quiet moment of reflection. Amid the whirlwind of daily life, it struck me how these pockets of seasonal stillness recharge the soul. Autumn at Foxglove isn’t about grand adventures; it’s the subtle shifts – the way the chill drives you indoors to simple comforts, or how the fading light makes every sunset feel earned. By evening, with the lake fading to ink under a starry sky, I felt utterly content. Three days stretched ahead, but that arrival? Pure, leafy bliss. If you’re chasing autumnal hygge in Devon, this is your spot – just mind the thermos on the way.