That’s entertainment

There’s an open-door policy at this Northland home that was designed with throngs of visitors in mind

It isn’t until former neighbours arrive at Chic and Wayne Fifield’s Whangaumu, Northland home that you get the true measure of what this place means to the owners and their friends. Within minutes, the visitors have wandered into the kitchen to put on the jug, pulled up a chair at the well-worn dining table and their dog has settled into the outdoor sofa.

A sign at the front door says “Sandy Feet Welcome” and the Fifields mean it. This unpretentious home has a long history of hospitality.

When Chic’s parents were forced to sell an Opito Bay bach they’d owned since 1954, she was broken-hearted. “I had such fond memories of it; we grew up with the Rowsell family who practically owned the bay.” Her dad advised her to buy her own section to holiday on. “He said they’d never get any cheaper.” It was 1989. He was right.

The Whangārei hairdresser was drawn to this land – a 1.2ha site with plenty of bush that sloped down to the bay just 45 minutes from town. >

“The blocks were being auctioned off but I was too scared to bid so a friend did it for me.” They bought it for $70,000. The view, a sweep of sea in a sandy curve around to Goat Island, was worth a great deal more.

That was the beginning of a golden era: friends and family came with caravans and tents, they swam in the bay, socialised in the sun and gathered in the evenings in a communal house with a barbecue, leaner tables and a wonky thatched roof. That wharenui and a tōtara tree that provided shade on a spectacular part of the section are still integral to the experience. But after 13 years, with semi-retirement looming, Chic thought it was time to build. Wayne agreed: “I was sick of hitting my head on the caravan roof,” he says.

Chic sat for hours beneath the tōtara with architectural student Susan Goldsack, the daughter of a friend, and explained how she liked to live. “I wanted rustic and casual, not a show home. I wanted lots of timber so the house didn’t clash with the environment, and I wanted to be able to lie in bed and look at the view.” >

Their budget wasn’t huge – and neither was the home: an open-plan space with one bedroom downstairs and another on a mezzanine level. With a communal vision in mind, Chic thought of everything: a galley kitchen (with no oven); a walk-in scullery with everything on display for easy access; a toilet block with a separate loo, shower and laundry accessed from the outside so campers could use it; and bookshelves built into the stairwell for a library of well-thumbed novels. Cedar cladding, pine-panelled walls and bulletproof tiled floors with a rich coppery patina absorb the comings and goings of holidaymakers and hounds. The only stipulation Wayne had was for aluminium joinery instead of timber.

The builders, local father-and-son team Ross and Wayne Jameson, didn’t put a foot wrong. “We never changed a thing, started in August and were in by Christmas. And the house didn’t go over budget,” says Chic.

When the couple sold up in Whangārei to move here permanently, they brought very little of their furniture. “Oak sideboards with barley-twist detail didn’t suit the look – and besides, we had no walls to put them against.”

Instead, there are sun-bleached squishy leather sofas, a cleanlined mango wood cabinet, jungle-print cushions, lazy tropical fans and low-key objects in timber and copper. A portrait of Chic’s dad, a Spitfire pilot in the war, is positioned in pride of place. “The hues are all very natural and relaxing,” says Chic. “I hate it if anyone comes in with a red chilly bin and just dumps it down,” she jokes.

Such tonal transgressions are quickly forgiven because the home on the hill is still party central, come one come all. Wayne is chief cook, delivering grilled fish, legs of lamb and even pavlovas from the hooded barbecue in the outdoor kitchen area. On the occasion of his surprise 70th birthday party, he was rather miffed when he was banned from manning the grill. >

Chic is head gardener and in the beginning spent every hour she could crafting the land into terraces for her take on subtropical splendour. She credits the Northland weather rather than an obvious talent for design for her success.

Big, bold tractor-seat plants and gigantic red bromeliads (some given to her by gardener Vivien Papich, NZ House & Garden March 2013) are a textural contrast to soft cascading curves of weeping acacia. There are seats for contemplation and a track winding down to the water.

The couple both still work, commuting into Whangārei. On any given weekday, Richie the labrador-cross nudges Chic awake just after sunrise for a walk along the beach before she heads into the salon. In the evening when they return, it’s to the familiar scene they have treasured for three decades – sundowners with a matchless backdrop enjoyed on the deck that wraps around the tōtara that has been part of the story since the start.

THIS PAGE (from top) When the Fifields first bought the property it was just a clay bank but over the years they have created terraces, a path that runs down to the beach and a lawn area that skirts the house. The view of sea and hills is what sold the couple on the property in the first place – plus its proximity to their hometown of Whang¯arei.OPPOSITE (clockwise from top) White linen contrasts with dark-toned floors in the guest bedroom and en suite, which is built above the garage. Star jasmine and native climbers are being encouraged to clamber over the pergola that leads to a set of Balinese doors and separate guest house. Chic insisted on a bathroom that could be accessed from the outside “for our many friends who stay in caravans on the land.”

THIS PAGE The garden has been slowly progressing over 15 years since the house was built and the couple have done all the work themselves.