From Hill Country to Hallways
How farming taught me about flooring, learning, and creating spaces to share.
I grew up on a typical bush block turned pasture, where we raised a few head of drystock cattle. From a young age, I learned about the temperament of animals — how the energy you bring around them is quickly mirrored back, shaping the behaviour of the whole herd.
Later in life, I found myself back on a farm, raising drystock and a stud Black Angus herd in the hills of Karori, Wellington. It wasn’t traditional fattening country — mostly hill country used as runoff land for larger stations nearby. But it was this path that led me to spend time with people very different from myself.
I was a Māori woman in my late 20s and early 30s, often surrounded by older Pākehā men who had been farming for generations — usually from the Manawatū–Whanganui region. Stay with me — there’s a link to flooring.
My presence at the sale yards, or on the phone with stock agents, was something of a novelty. But rather than being dismissed, I was welcomed. These men were generous with their knowledge, showing me manaakitanga and a deep respect for ako — learning that goes both ways. One older farmer in particular took me under his wing. At the Feilding sale yards, he would say:
“See the back line on that steer — how flat and wide it is?”
“Look at the shape of that head — that bull will throw a strong line.”
“Those legs are too long — probably got some Friesian in it. Won’t handle the Karori hills.”
Fast forward ten years, and once again I find myself in a male-dominated industry — but this time, it’s flooring. And again, I’m learning from people who don’t look like me, but whose knowledge runs deep. The conversations now sound different, but familiar:
“Feel the wear layer on this vinyl compared to that one — this will last longer and won’t tear as easily.”
“The best spot for a carpet join is here, where foot traffic is lowest.”
It struck me recently how much this current season echoes those earlier years in farming — learning to be comfortable in spaces that might traditionally feel uncomfortable. And I’m okay with that.
Not knowing everything, being in a space of constant learning — that’s what keeps things interesting. There’s value in giving space to those with years of experience to share what they’ve spent a lifetime mastering. That generosity of knowledge is part of both farming and flooring.
Because flooring, in its own way, is about whanaungatanga — building relationships. From that first conversation, to choosing the right materials, to the laying process, and then the daily living on it — it all weaves together. Just like farming, it’s about understanding the ground beneath you and working with those who know it best.
So whether I’m helping a whānau choose a carpet, or guiding someone through vinyl options, what I carry with me is the same: listening, learning, and creating spaces where people feel looked after, from the ground up.