On building relationships, choosing for longevity, developing property — and running 42.2 kilometres.
On Sunday, I'm running a marathon.
It starts in Clyde, winds its way along the lake, and finishes in Cromwell — which feels rather fitting given that these are the two Central Otago towns currently occupying a fairly significant amount of our lives at RAM.
This isn't my first marathon. I ran two before having children, several years ago. But in many ways, this one feels quite different.
Our youngest is now two and I've found myself entering a new season of life. The intensity of those very early years hasn't disappeared entirely — life with young children and growing businesses is certainly not quiet — but there is a little more room again.
Room to run. Room to be outside.
Room, perhaps, for a little more of me.
So when I saw this particular race advertised, I felt strangely drawn to it.
The original plan was considerably more sensible: run the half marathon with a friend. Unfortunately, by the time I got around to entering, the half was sold out. Bugger.
Apparently fate had other ideas.
So, 42.2 kilometres and severe leg pain it is!
And somewhere amongst the long runs, ongoing developments, final material selections, meetings and general logistics of family life, I've been thinking about how much of what we're doing at the moment comes back to the same idea: playing the long game.
Choosing for the years ahead -
One of the more enjoyable parts of development is seeing the material palette finally come together. At Rocks on Holloway, we've just made our final exterior selections: characterful brick, vertical cedar and black corrugate.
They're beautiful together, certainly. But that's not enough of a reason for us to choose them.
We want these homes to feel grounded in Clyde — contemporary, but with a sense that perhaps they've always belonged here.
The brick has a particularly nostalgic quality for us. It reminds us of where we came from in the UK and Europe; old buildings, weathered surfaces and materials that become more interesting rather than less as the years pass. Its Tuscan reds and imperfect texture bring warmth and character — and, perhaps most importantly, brick has been proving its longevity for centuries.
Cedar brings another kind of warmth. Beautiful, reliable and durable, it gives us the refinement of a premium natural timber alongside the practical qualities we need from an exterior material.
And then there's black corrugate. Dependable, beautifully textured and familiar within the Central Otago landscape, it gives the palette a sophisticated modern edge.
Together, the materials bridge old and new, and when we're choosing materials for a property, we're not only thinking about how it will photograph on completion day.
We're choosing for the years that follow.
Relationships take time, too.
Some weeks in property development are spent on site. Others are spent around tables.
This week happens to include a lot of the latter — meeting new people, having conversations and beginning relationships without necessarily knowing where they might lead.
We don't approach those conversations expecting an immediate outcome. In fact, some of the most valuable relationships we've built through RAM have developed slowly, through repeated conversations, shared ideas and eventually, trust.
Perhaps that's because we're not particularly easy sells ourselves. We like to understand who we're working with. We ask questions. We listen. And we want to know that there's a genuine fit before committing to something.
So we try to offer other people the same courtesy.
We're also very aware that we're still learning. Property development brings you into contact with people who are exceptionally good at things you aren't — agents, consultants, designers, trades, suppliers, media specialists and landowners among them. There is enormous value in simply sitting down with good people and listening.
Not every coffee needs to become a deal.
Not every introduction needs an immediate purpose.
Sometimes it's simply the beginning of a relationship worth having.
And we're very happy to play the long game.
Not all progress looks like progress -
At Molyneux Avenue this week, we're building a fence.
It's perhaps not the most exciting development update we've ever shared. There are no frames being craned into position, no beautiful interiors taking shape and no dramatic before-and-after moment.
But it's progress nonetheless.
Our team has removed the existing boundary fencing and is replacing it with new painted fencing while the project continues through the consenting process.
Development involves a surprising amount of waiting. There are periods where enormous amounts of work are happening behind the scenes, while very little appears to be changing from the outside.
And sometimes, you simply have to keep your eyes on the bigger picture.
Where one home once stood at Molyneux Avenue, we're working towards creating five thoughtfully designed homes in central Cromwell — making better use of a remarkably well-located piece of land and creating more opportunities for people to live within walking distance of the town and lake.
Change inevitably brings different opinions, and development requires patience — from us and from the communities we're building within.
Our job is to remain focused on what we're ultimately trying to create.
So for now, we keep progressing what we can. A fence goes up. Consent moves another step through the process. Conversations with buyers continue. And slowly, the groundwork for what comes next is being laid.
Even the seasons seem to understand the assignment.
After months of bare winter soil, the sun is beginning to reach the site again.
Spring is coming. And we're ready for it.
The next good decision -
I'm under no illusion that I'll be contemplating any of this particularly profound thinking at kilometre 36 on Sunday.
I suspect my thoughts will be considerably less publishable.
But perhaps the thing I've learned from running — and from development — is that looking too far ahead can sometimes be paralysing.
Forty-two kilometres sounds enormous.
Eleven townhouses sound enormous.
Taking a piece of land from an idea, through design, consenting, construction and eventually into someone's home can feel enormous.
Building a reputation and a business that you hope will still mean something decades from now feels enormous.
So you stop looking at the whole thing.
You make the next good decision.
You have the conversation. You choose the material. You put up the fence. You solve the problem. You run the next kilometre.
And then you do it again.
Perhaps that's all playing the long game really is:
a series of good decisions made with the future in mind.
Ask me again somewhere between Clyde and Cromwell on Sunday.
I may have a different answer.
