Our story — Meet Nikolaos
I grew up in Ballarat. My mum ran a small takeaway shop, and my dad worked shifts at the local foundry. Watching how they stretched every dollar to make things work stuck with me. Later, as a single dad myself, I found myself needing to do the same. By 2018, I’d moved to Toowoomba and was working as a site labourer, but when the work dried up, I had to figure out how to make rent without relying on unstable contracts.
I started looking at what I already knew. Growing up, Dad would mend or repurpose whatever he could, and Mum always swore by keeping things simple. I wasn’t making any big plans — I was just trying to figure out what could actually sell. When I first got my hands on some kangaroo leather offcuts from a tannery in Queensland, it got me thinking about how I could make use of materials already around us.
In 2019, I bought my first sewing machine second-hand for $250 through Gumtree and set it up in my lounge room. I worked nights after my kids were in bed, teaching myself how to stitch. Those first wallets I made weren’t perfect, but they sold at the Toowoomba Farmers’ Market. That gave me just enough cash to buy more leather and improve my designs. Each week, I made a little more, and eventually, I was able to move production to a proper workshop in Fremantle.
Today, Heath Goods runs out of that same workshop in Fremantle. We’re still small, and I like it that way. I’ve kept everything practical — the designs, the materials, even our packaging. My goal’s never been about growth for the sake of it; it’s about making things that work and keeping things steady. — Nikolaos
— Thanks for supporting something real. — Nikolaos, Nikolaos Souris
Journal
Tracing Our Merino Wool Throw Blanket
Our wool throws start with sheep grazing in the Great Southern region of WA — it’s not a glamorous process.
Our Merino wool throws begin their journey on a farm near Kojonup, about 250km southeast of Fremantle. I visited the farm last winter during shearing season, boots sinking into the mud, and spent a full day chasing sheep and chatting with the owners. It’s a family farm, and they’ve been raising Merino sheep for four generations. Their shearing shed is a practical space — none of those gleaming Instagram setups — but it works. The wool we use is Grade 18.5 micron, which falls into the ‘fine wool’ category. There’s this moment when you run it through your hands, greasy from lanolin, and you just know it’s going to make something beautiful.
After shearing, the wool is scoured and combed in an old mill in Geelong. I like that Australia still has these local processing places. The mill still runs on machinery from the 1940s, clattering away like an antiquated orchestra. From there, the wool gets dyed in small batches. We prefer natural tones because they fit into homes easily, but occasionally we’ll try a soft blue or muted green. Each stage adds to the cost — there’s no getting around that — but skipping steps would just ruin the quality.
What I find fascinating is how the wool evolves. Straight off the sheep, it’s grubby and smells like lanolin (and, honestly, sheep poo). But after scouring and dyeing, it starts to feel soft and clean. When the mill spins it into yarn, you see the potential for texture. Then, when it’s woven into the throw, it’s got this satisfying heft. Each throw weighs about 1.2 kilos and measures 150cm by 180cm — just big enough to curl up under during a Fremantle winter.
Transport is another layer of this process. We truck the finished throws up from Geelong to Fremantle. That’s about 3,500km of highway, depending on the route. I always think about the literal journey the wool has taken before it lands in someone’s living room. There’s a whole chain of people who’ve handled it: farmers, shearers, millworkers, dyers, truck drivers. It’s humbling, really.
So when I see one of our blankets draped over a couch in a photo someone’s sent me, it feels like the end of a very long story. If you’re sitting under one right now, know that it started with a sheep standing in the rain somewhere in Kojonup. That’s the kind of connection I like.
How I Pack Our Bamboo Cutlery Sets
Each bamboo cutlery set is rolled, checked, and tied here in Fremantle — one by one, usually in the evening.
Most evenings, after dinner, I spend an hour or two packing bamboo cutlery sets. It’s not glamorous work, but I find it strangely meditative. The sets come in reusable cotton pouches, and the bamboo pieces themselves — fork, knife, spoon, chopsticks, and a straw with a little cleaning brush — arrive in bulk from a supplier in Brisbane. I’ve tried to streamline the process, but it’s still very hands-on.
First, I lay out the pouches on the dining table (which doubles as my workbench). Then I check each bamboo piece for splinters or rough edges. I’ve got a small electric sander in case anything needs a quick fix. It’s important to me that the pieces feel smooth and solid because no one wants a splinter in their hand while they’re trying to eat.
Once the pieces pass muster, I roll them into their pouch. It’s a snug fit, so everything stays in place. Before tying the string, I check the stitching on the pouch — I had a bad batch once where the seams came undone, and it was a whole ordeal replacing them. Now I triple-check every single unit before it ships. I probably spend more than I should on quality control, but I hate the thought of someone opening their order and being disappointed.
On a good night, I can get through 30 sets before my back starts to complain. It’s not fast, but I’d rather do it properly than rush. The scent of the bamboo makes the process a bit more pleasant; it’s got this clean, woody smell. By the end of the evening, the dining table is covered in finished bundles, ready to ship out the next morning. It’s satisfying to see them all lined up.
I know I could outsource this part of the process, and maybe one day I will, but for now, it’s nice to feel connected to the product. Plus, if something’s wrong, I’m the first to catch it. There’s a kind of simple pride in knowing that each set passed through my hands before reaching yours.
Kangaroo Leather: Trials and Errors
Finding a reliable supplier for kangaroo leather wallets took months — and involved one particularly bad batch.
Kangaroo leather is a tough but lightweight material, which makes it perfect for wallets. It’s also uniquely Australian, which appeals to me. But let me tell you, sourcing it is an adventure. I work with a tannery in Queensland that processes kangaroo hides responsibly (from licensed culls). They’ve been in the business for decades and know what they’re doing, but even so, there are hiccups.
Last year, I got a batch of leather that just wasn’t up to scratch. It felt dry and brittle, like it had been over-tanned. I didn’t notice until I started cutting and sewing, and by then, I’d wasted enough material to feel it in the budget. I had to call the tannery and talk through the whole process step by step to figure out what went wrong. Turned out it was a problem with the climate control in their drying room.
I’ve learned to test each hide as soon as it arrives. Now I use a simple bend test to check for flexibility, and I keep a record of each batch’s characteristics. The leather comes in natural tones — tan, chocolate, black — and each hide has its own unique grain. There’s something satisfying about cutting into it with a sharp knife, feeling the clean edge glide through.
One wallet takes about 45 minutes to sew, from start to finish. I use a heavy-duty stitching awl and waxed thread, which holds up well over time. The design is minimalist, just two pockets and a folded cash slot. It’s not flashy, but it does the job. I’ve had customers tell me they’ve been using theirs daily for years, and that kind of feedback makes the effort worthwhile.
So next time you pull out your wallet to buy a coffee or pay for petrol, spare a thought for the leather it’s made from. It’s more than just a piece of material; it’s part of a process that involves careful hands and a fair bit of trial and error. And yes, a lot of phone calls to Queensland.
Why Recycled Glass Is Perfect for Summer
Our recycled glass water bottles are popular year-round, but they’re especially handy during the hot Australian summer.
Every December, I notice an uptick in orders for our recycled glass water bottles. It makes sense; staying hydrated in a Fremantle summer is serious business. The bottles are made from post-consumer glass sourced right here in Australia. They come in two sizes — 500ml and 750ml — and the glass is surprisingly tough. I’ve dropped my own more times than I’d like to admit, and it’s still intact.
One of my favourite summer drinks is a simple lemon and mint water. Slice half a lemon, toss in a handful of mint leaves, and fill the bottle with cold water. The glass keeps it cool longer than you’d think, especially if you store it in the fridge overnight. It’s an easy way to feel a bit more refreshed when the temperature climbs to 40 degrees.
I get a lot of questions about the lids on these bottles. They’re stainless steel with a silicon seal, so they’re leak-proof. That’s not to say they’re magic; if you leave the bottle on its side in a hot car for hours, you might still get some condensation on the outside. But for day-to-day use, they hold up well. I’ve been using the same bottle for three years now, and the lid’s still as good as new.
It’s funny; people often assume glass is too fragile for a water bottle, but recycled glass has this durability to it. Plus, it doesn’t hold onto flavours like plastic does. If you switch from lemon water to plain water, you won’t taste the leftovers. I think that’s part of why so many people keep coming back for these bottles. They’re reliable. They just work.
On a personal note, I love seeing these bottles pop up in other people’s daily lives. Whether it’s sitting on a desk or tucked into a bag for a road trip, it’s nice to know that something I helped create is out there, quietly doing its job. That’s my kind of product.
From Toowoomba Market to Fremantle Hustle
A visit to a regional market in Toowoomba reminded me why I started Heath Goods in the first place.
I went to the Toowoomba Farmers Market on a whim last month while visiting family in Queensland. It’s smaller than some of the markets here in Fremantle but has its own charm. Stallholders were selling everything from fresh produce to handmade soaps. What struck me was how personal it all felt. You could see the pride in every table, every jar of chutney or tray of seedlings.
It reminded me of when I started Heath Goods. Back then, I was selling at markets too, trying to scrape together rent money. My setup was basic — a folding table, a striped awning, and a handwritten sign. What I lacked in polish, I made up for in sheer grit. People would stop by, curious about the Merino throws or the bamboo cutlery, and I’d tell them the full story. It wasn’t slick, but it worked.
Walking through the stalls in Toowoomba, I felt a pang of homesickness for those early days. There’s something grounding about markets; they strip away the gloss and bring you back to the basics. It’s just you, your products, and the people who might take them home. No algorithms, no SEO, no packaging waste to worry about. Just real conversations.
That said, I don’t miss packing up at the end of a market day in the pouring rain. And running Heath Goods full-time now, I don’t have weekends to spare for stalls. But visiting Toowoomba gave me a renewed appreciation for all the small businesses out there giving it a go. It’s not an easy path, but it’s an honest one.
So if you ever find yourself near Toowoomba on a Saturday, stop by the market. You’ll probably meet someone who’s putting everything they’ve got into what they make. If nothing else, you’ll come away with fresh strawberries or a jar of honey. And maybe a bit of perspective too.
Autumn Tips for Your Merino Wool Throws
As the weather cools, here’s how to keep your Merino wool throw looking fresh and feeling soft.
Autumn in Fremantle is that perfect mix of warm days and cool nights, which is when I start pulling out my Merino wool throws more often. They’re great for layering on the couch or the bed, but after a long summer in storage, they might need a little refresh. Wool naturally resists odours, but it still picks up a bit of dust over time.
The trick to freshening up wool is simple: air it out. Every April, I like to hang my own throws outside for a few hours on a sunny day with a light breeze. Avoid direct, harsh sunlight, though, because it can fade the colour. If you’ve spilled something on it (and who hasn’t?), spot clean with cold water and a tiny bit of wool-friendly detergent. Blot, don’t rub.
For a deeper clean, you can hand wash or use the ‘wool’ setting on your washing machine. I recommend cold water and a slow spin cycle. When it’s done, lay the throw flat on a clean towel and roll it up to squeeze out excess water. Then reshape it and let it dry flat. Never hang wet wool; the weight can stretch it out of shape.
Storage is another thing to think about. When you’re not using your throw, fold it neatly and keep it in a breathable cotton bag. Avoid plastic storage bins unless you’re dealing with a moth problem. Wool needs to breathe. Toss in a cedar block if you’re worried about pests — it smells better than mothballs and does the job just as well.
With a bit of care, your Merino wool throw will last for years. Mine have been through spilled coffee, muddy dog paws, and a toddler’s sticky fingers, and they’re still going strong. Treat it well, and it’ll treat you well too — especially as the nights get cooler and you start reaching for that extra layer.