The first step was a property in Redvale, north of Auckland, that came with a glasshouse for growing tomatoes. I had never thought much about tomatoes—certainly not glasshouse tomatoes—until I suddenly found myself responsible for them. My only “experience” came from Henry, who had once helped us plant a few in the garden back at Gordon Avenue. The property had two working glasshouses and a third still under construction. The plan was simple: get the first two running and keep them going ourselves, no staff, no outside help. At the time, they were empty, the previous owner having just finished his season, so we had to clean, fumigate, and start from scratch.
Typically, a grower could manage two crops a year, with the winter crop being the most rewarding. Choosing the right variety mattered, as did reliable water and heating for the colder months.
Looking back, when I first saw the property, I had been focused on the house and its location, not the practical realities of commercial growing. In hindsight, I should have asked far more questions.

A Lesson in Plumbing—The Hard Way
And then came my first “education” in country living.
We relied entirely on rainwater collected from the roof and stored in a huge round tank by the house. One day, I noticed a small leak at the base of the tank. Being the newly proud owner of a shiny red toolbox, I decided I could fix it. I gave the tap one small turn with a spanner—and boom! It blew straight out. Within twenty minutes, the entire tank had emptied itself down the paddock.
“Dad! What have you done?” one of the kids shouted from the back door.
“Someone get a plumber!” I yelled, though by then the flood was unstoppable.
For days, we had to ration what little water was left until a tanker delivery arrived. Needless to say, I wasn’t anyone’s favourite person that week.
Life at Redvale
Despite my disasters, life carried on. Paul and Kathryn were at university, Julia was working at a bank, Phillip was finishing at Rossmini, and Carolyn was about to start Carmel College.
We did get the glasshouses planted and managed six or seven crops during our time there. The final crop was the best yet—rated top-quality produce at the Auckland fruit and vegetable market. That small success made all the earlier mishaps worthwhile.
We also extended the house, adding a new farmhouse kitchen with benches and cupboards crafted from beautiful Fijian kauri. It became the heart of the home, a place where meals were prepared and shared, and stories exchanged late into the evening.
The Turkeys, the Pets, and the Chaos
Life in the country came with plenty of surprises. One afternoon, a flock of wild turkeys somehow found their way into the house. By sheer bad luck, they ended up trapped in Julia’s bedroom.
“Dad! Quick—there are turkeys in my room!” Julia screamed.
By the time we got them out, the room was a wreck—scratched furniture, droppings everywhere, feathers stuck in the curtains. Julia was fuming, but years later it became one of those family stories that always brought laughter.
Before moving to the country, I had told the children, “If we ever move out of suburbia, you can have whatever pets you like.”
They never forgot it.

“Dad, you promised,” Carolyn reminded me within days of moving. “You said any pets.”
And so it began. Soon enough we had Jake, our loyal dog; four cats, each proudly named by the kids; and two goats to round out the menagerie.
Country life, however, could be harsh. All but one of the cats were eventually lost—some to the road, others to wild dogs. It was heart-breaking, especially for the children, but it was also a lesson in the realities of rural living.
Still, Jake and the goats became part of our daily life at Redvale, adding both companionship and a bit of mischief to the mix.
Moving On, But Not Forgetting
After the water tank disaster, it was gently suggested that I might look for a part-time job before I caused any further calamities. I took work as a knitting machine operator at a clothing company in Auckland.
We stayed at Redvale for three years, working the land and adjusting to country life. It was hard work, but it gave us stories we still tell today. If I ever wrote a book about just one place, it could well be about Redvale.
Eventually, though, it was time to move on. The property lingered on the market until two serious buyers turned up. Our real estate agent played them off in a Dutch auction, and we were lucky to walk away with a good price—helped, I believe, by that beautiful kauri kitchen.
From there, we moved into a new home & new business a new chapter: The Kitchen.