Which brings me straight back to old Ian’s rule: if you have to oil it every six months to keep the weather out, you’ve picked the wrong species for this coast. Thirty years of southerlies off Ralphs Bay and that unsealed celery top sill on the east wing still smells faintly of honey when the midday sun hits it. No cupping, no rot, just silvered down to the exact shade of wet dolerite. A quiet lesson in specifying the right local timber, getting the drip edge right, and letting the salt air do the finishing.