Every customer is precious. Every product is a joy to use.

Opportunity Knocks. Am I Home?

Greetings from rural Australia. I’m Carol Jones and this is my accidental business, Simple Solutions For Difficult Problems.

Some people start a business because they plan it.

Not me.

I start a business because an opportunity accidentally falls into my lap.

Not an opportunity that I actually want, mind you.

Nor an opportunity that I really know what to do with at the time.

But an opportunity that I take head on, which leads to me forming wonderful friendships with men and women all over the world – and the rural life I always daydreamed about.

Life is a journey.

For all of us, the road ahead is full of twists and turns and unexpected detours.

How we make that journey is a matter of personal choice.

I often feel like the farm cat with nine lives, free-falling off the roof of the wool shed, missing the hay bales and landing on all fours without so much as a whisker out of place.

My business rose up from the ashes of former Prime Minister Paul Keating’s 1992 ‘recession we had to have’. The acerbic Mr Keating is renown for the bite in his words.

My partner, Victor Pleshev, an architect, and I lose everything in July 1992.

Victor’s architectural practice and his 16 gorgeous, loyal staff.

My market research consultancy.

Our home.

Our personal possessions.

Our future, along with everything we worked for, disintegrates with the implosion of the building industry. It crushes everything in its path, like a crazed, unstoppable bulldozer.

There is only one choice.

To start over again.

We leave the city life for the rural life and a brand new beginning.

And never look back, in case we turn into a pillar of salt.

In spite of the circumstances, I do what everyone says I can’t do.

I establish an international business from my remote rural property, long before the internet, email or even call waiting comes to my rural village. And in the middle of the worst recession since the 1930’s.

I focus my business around my desire to develop very warm, personal relationships with my customers. Even though I am told this is a recipe for failure.

And I fulfil my ambition to have my products made with love and care in rural Australia by men and women who have a disability. When it is suggested to me this isn’t commercially viable.

I’ve been through more than 9 lives since I moved to the Australian bush in 1992 and started this business in 1994.

And the icing on the cake is the knowledge that the success of my accidental business is built around the design of simple solutions for difficult problems.

I intuitively ignore the advice of experts who point out that cutting edge technology is the only benchmark that matters.

Because deep down, I think making a difference to a person’s life is perhaps the most important issue to address. Not whether something is high tech or low tech.

Believe me. There’s definitely no rocket science involved in what I do.

But by transforming products that people loathe, into products that are a joy to use, I’ve made more than a difference to the lives of 200,000 men and women all over the globe. I’ve also made 200,000 friends.

It’s not just me involved.

A major, major part of the design process is done by my partner, Victor Pleshev, an architect, who’s gifted at designing more than buildings.

We’re a great team.

He designs the simple solutions and I develop the markets for his transformations.

And we both love what we do.

How rare is that these days? To discover a business where the owners simply love what they do?

Does this affect the quality of what we design and make for you?

You bet it does.

You can read more about these Simple Solutions starting with my signature product, The Fitz Like A Glove™ Ironing Board Cover.

And every product has its own story to tell.

I often pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming about the deliciously satisfying life I now live on my rural property in the little village of Ilford in the Central Tablelands of NSW, Australia.

And especially about the warm, personal relationships I’ve developed with my global clientele and within my local, rural community.

One of my first observations when making the transition from a pampered city life to a rustic rural life is this. Life in the bush is a constant stream of challenges, both large and small.

It’s far more complicated than negotiating rush hour traffic or deciding where to shop or figuring out how to amuse yourself while waiting in a queue.

It’s about how to get my neighbour’s cow out of my garden without wrecking my brand spanking new plantings.

Having to make a decision as to whether or not to drive under an about to fall down power line on a rural road, in a wild storm, so I can get home in a reasonable amount of time. Or wait for help to come and be delayed by perhaps a day.

On my way to Sydney to join Victor and attend his father’s funeral, do I cross over this low lying bridge that’s about to be consumed by Bathurst’s worst ever flood, that takes me 90 minutes in blinding rain and gale force winds to reach, or turn back and miss the funeral?

It’s very late on a Sunday night and the guttering to the house has just crashed down. Because the previous owner was a miser and didn’t put enough screws into the brackets.

We’ve been in drought for 18 months. But it looks like it’s going to rain within a few hours. And we can’t waste the promise of this precious house water not running into the already depleted water tanks.

In the darkness of just past midnight, with flashlights dangling in our hands, Victor and I get up on ladders and tie the guttering in place with the farmer’s best friends. Tie wire and red string.

My beloved pet is gravely ill. The vet is 80 minutes away. It would be so nice if he was closer.

My new neighbour, who recently purchased the week-ender on the hill, is just in from the city. It’s a windy day. He starts burning his prunings and garden rubbish. And starts a grass fire that rapidly heads straight for me.

Having faced more crises than these since our arrival in October 1992, I feel like I’ve earned the moniker Guerrilla From The Bush.

Because surviving these challenges requires on the spot manoeuvres.

Which is what trouble shooting guerrillas do all over the world.

Size up and conquer, using your wits and intelligence. With a touch of clever subterfuge thrown in, when appropriate.

The rhythm of life is always intriguing and I’ve encapsulated many tales about my rural life, circle of friends, acquaintances, and circumstances that I see, hear and read about, in Guerrilla From The Bush.

There’s always something new to write about, so the welcome mat is out 24/7.

It’s a pleasure to have you visit me and I hope you enjoy yourself while you’re here.

You can also read the story about my accidental business at How I Became The Ironing Board Cover Lady.

And how my products have raised in excess of $1 Million for worthy organisations since 1994. The Money Tree tells the complete story.

Take care,

Carol