With the threat/promise (take your pick) of a fast-approaching housewarming, I've been doing a spot of shed spring cleaning. Well, it's a good thirty paces from old residence to new, and a gal has to consider what to pack.
Stuff accumulates, and I'm determined to be ruthless - particularly in the world of appliances. Only the stars will make it past the threshold.
But in "The Dream Kitchen" - one of a series of charming, room-setting vignettes that my hyperactive imagination leafs through 24/7 - my 70s vintage Kenwood is never far from centre stage:









Isn't he a hunk? I remember the day I first spotted him in the window of a secondhand shop in Boonah. Fell for him like a ton of bricks, I did.
What's that? Of course he's a bloke - look at that chiselled, no-nonsense profile. And he's so heart-throbbingly hefty and strong. Why, he even smells of grease.
But, I'd have to say, it was that handsome, mustard and tan complexion that really stole my heart. Yep, you can keep your curvaceous, pretty-in-pink Kitchenaids. Ken's the one for me.
He's in amazing shape for his age: like most chaps his vintage, he was built to last. In fact, he'd probably take on a bowl of cement if you let him. And if that weren't enough, he comes with a full kit of impressive tools (just check out his monogrammed beater) and a slick vinyl dust jacket.

We planted our first banana plant within grabbing distance of the front verandah. At the time, I had a vision firmly in mind: me sauntering barefoot across the deck to pluck a golden, sun-ripened banana for breakfast.











As you can see, I'm still waiting for floorboards to saunter across (reclaimed ironbark would be nice), but the narnies are coming along very nicely. In fact, there's something of a banana glut here at Eumundi. Visitors have been cheerily carting off mammoth bunches of them, and the freezer's chock-a-block with tupperware containers.
(Tip: Bananas freeze extremely well, and, whizzed up with chunks of chilled pineapple and fresh mint, make a deliciously thick and creamy smoothie.)

Banana plants, however, can go rampant at an alarming rate, so I've had to do some serious thinning out. Must say though, for a bantam-weight gal like me, it makes for a rather satisfying afternoon - felling 6 metre "trees" in two minutes flat, with a handsaw.
Enough with the bananas; this post is really about these beautiful, elegant-in-an-industrial-kind-of-way bifold doors. Well, I'm allowed to brag about them. I didn't design them. Phil did (of course). Some details, for those interested:

•  Fabrication by Coz from Allstar Garage Doors and Gates, Noosaville (who also did our fabulous primary-coloured doors). 
• Welded aluminium construction, powder-coated in Precious Pearl. (Who thinks up these names?)
• Louvres and louvre galleries from Breezeway (also in Precious Pearl).
• Lower sections of doors to be fitted with glass louvres, but top sections with full glass panes. (There can be weight issues with glass in bifolds, and louvres are heavy. In any case, we decided the contrast would look better.)
• Meticulous fitting of louvre galleries, hinges, locks, handles, tracks and rollers by - who else? - Phil. Here's how he's going so far:

The north face of the house is essentially a wall of doors, opening up onto the deck, the view, the breezes, the birds, the bananas ...
There are three openings, each with two pairs of doors. That's sixteen. It's a lot of fiddly work - even for a very patient man.
He's cheered on by morning tea, arvie tea, and sunset beers with cheese and crackers.
One opening down, two to go. Go Phil!










Studio lock up - tick. House lock up by end of October. Christmas dinner in the house. Everything finished by Easter. You heard it here first.
I'd better go and make him some banana muffins ...

Here at Eumundi, things have gone beyond excitement. First, the studio got plastered; then, to celebrate, we got plastered; then, Hamlet got plastered.
Nah, I'm just kidding. Ham's only allowed one stubby a year - and that's on his birthday (which is in May, should you care to send him a card).


Okay, I'll stop messing about. It's just that, for the first time since embarking on this all-consuming (as we're now painfully aware), relationship testing, mildly insane escapade known as house construction, we finally have something resembling a Proper Building ... as opposed to a building site.

As plasterers go, I'm still patting myself on the back for finding Jesse. While possibly the fastest plasterer in the west (he and his brother sheeted up the studio in one day), Jesse is no cowboy. He gave a very reasonable quote. He was organised. He was reliable. He was thorough. He did a beautiful job. He actually - wait for it - swept up after himself ... not a Breaka bottle nor ciggie packet left in sight.

The results were truly transformative. After all these months - years - of looking at hard, blue steel framework, it was magical to see that skeletal form fleshed out in pale grey and alabaster white. Come inside - please do - and see for yourself:





In case you're wondering, Phil's beautifully undulating ceiling (above) will be lined with mini-orb, to match the soffits.


And now, almost every day, I wander into this miraculous space of air and light, and feel very, very happy to be here. I gaze through the louvres at those green velvet hills, and dream of an endless summer of parties, and friends and family sleeping like sardines on our studio floor.

Since I took a couple of months off to project manage (read nag, whine, boss, slave drive ...) the house has been coming along a treat. All the studio doors and windows, complete with actual glass (oh, the heady excitement) are in, and finally the building - well, half of it anyway - has reached that long-yearned-for-but-almost-thought-we-wouldn't-get-there stage called lock-up.


In fact, the photo above is already well out of date, but I so liked the tunnel-like perspective of pumpkins, red door, blue door, Phil fitting handles, Ray's hardwood forest, and the blue-green peak of Mt Cooroy, that I thought it deserved top of blog billing.

I know I've posted about the doors before. When was it ... April? Back then I was waffling on about sources of inspiration: Eames, Scandinavian Modern, Play School, Split Enz ... okay, I'm getting a bit silly. But I guess, when you boil it down, it all goes back to those crazy Netherlanders, and the movement known as De Stijl.

In brief De Stijl is:

• Dutch for "The Style"
• A Dutch (obviously) art movement circa 1917
• A movement big on: primary colours juxtaposed with black and white; straight lines and rectangles; "pure" abstraction; and a fair bit of smug and avant garde posturing ... whilst riding a bicycle.

De Stijl pop stars include artist Piet Mondrian (1872 -1944), and architect Gerrit Rietveld (1872 -1947) - designer of a ridiculously uncomfortable but great to look at chair, and the wonderful, way ahead of its time, cute-as-a-button Rietveld Schroder House - a piece of primary-coloured, minimalist, architectural poetry.

But back to the Hincks Ward house:



Originally the doors were to be fitted with clear glass louvres top and bottom, but so greedily did our grey metal walls soak up that vermillion red, cobalt blue, and free range egg yolk yellow, that we decided they could well handle more. And so it was off to the Bat phone to order powder-coated louvres:


They arrived in these neat little wooden crates ...


... which I'm about to up-cycle into herb boxes.

Fitting them has been one of the quickest, easiest and most amusing jobs so far.

And those colours make me happy every time I see them.

Yep, on the emotional roller-coaster that is house building, we're currently right up there at the very top - smiling, laughing, waving like idiots ...



Door Specs
Design: Phil Ward 
Fabrication: Allstar Garage Doors and Gates, Noosaville (thanks Coz!)
Louvre frames: Breezeway
Painstaking fitting of louvres, frames and hardware: Yep, Phil again.
Colours: Dulux powder-coat in Signal Red, French Blue, and Yellow Gold

I love, love, love veggies; I feel sad for people who don't. I love eating them, of course, but I'm equally happy just looking at them. Hot pink radish hearts; voluptuous, glossy purple aubergines; sugar sweet, bite-sized cherry tomatoes; luscious, creamy-green avocados ... a decent farmer' market can send me reeling with sensory overload.


Such is my adoration for all things green and leafy that even pictures of veggies bliss me out. That'll be me standing in the produce merchants, dreamily contemplating the wall of seed packets. Better than a gallery if you ask me. And don't even start me on seed catalogues (especially one like greenharvest, with its page after sensuous page of organic, exotic, rare and heirloom gorgeousness).

Now as it happens, I'm also pretty partial to mid 20th century ceramics, and so there were barely suppressed squeals of delight on the day when, wandering through the Daylesford Markets, I eyeballed not one, but one dozen pieces of almost mint condition Salad Ware.
One glance at those deliciously quirky graphics and it was love at first sight. I'm particularly fond of those silly sprouts. Even the logo's cute:


Designed by a young Terence Conran for the Midwinter company in 1955, Salad Ware has become extremely collectable in recent years. Even when I stumbled across it - back in, oh, 2002 - I had a feeling I'd robbed the stallholder blind. But on checking some recent internet prices, well, let's just say my accountants are talking to Sotherby's about insurance.
Pity really, as it makes me afraid to eat off them. And life's far too short not to use the good china.

But back to edible veggies. Sorry, this post is just a thinly disguised excuse to show off my ridiculously verdant veggie patch:


Springtime in Eumundi - purdy and tasty. From top left: baby cos lettuce :: peas :: mixed asian greens :: mizuna :: Linda Woodrow's wonderful Permaculture Home Garden - my current bible :: beans :: weird black/green capsicum :: spring onions :: more Salad Ware :: more spring onions :: cherry tomatoes (world's most delicious weed).

Yeah, I've become a born-again veggie gardener. Kind of makes me wonder what I've been doing with my life; it sure seems to be one of the better ways to spend your time. So much to learn, so much to cook, so much to eat ...

On that note, I'm thinking this could be - excessive alliteration warning - the Summer of Seventy-Seven Salads. (Okay, so I only got up to five with Winter of 100 Soups, but there's always next winter.) Stay tuned ...