CRAFTS : ‘THE WINDMILL KING’ : Going Full Tilt : James Giminiani, 87, has narrowed his focus from Jack-of-all-trades to master windmill-maker.

The shingled house on North Ann Street stands out from its neighbors like a swan in a flock of sea gulls. Or like a peacock. In this conservative Ventura neighborhood, the home is as unusual as its 87-year-old owner, James Giminiani, “the Windmill King.”

The owner painted his once-white house with floral garlands. They run along the windows, across the sills, on the door panels, the mailbox and in a bold mural across the front. He added cobalt blue to the gutters, and did not neglect, as a lesser craftsman might, the trash cans and the doghouse.

Those who might consider this art an attempt to draw attention to the windmills for sale in the front yard would be wrong. Giminiani has painted all his houses like this.

He says he learned an appreciation for flowers and color as a child on his parents’ farm in Abruzzi, Italy, and all of his painting copies what he sees in nature.

He does not consider himself an artist or a carpenter. And it is only in the last dozen years that he has capitalized on the windmills, a hobby he began as a boy.

In earlier years, he says enthusiastically, “I was a jack of all trades.”

He was 18 in 1921 when he followed two older brothers to America--more out of a spirit of adventure than need, as the farm was prosperous. He worked as a dishwasher in a restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, learned to cook and moved to restaurant jobs in Bakersfield, where his brothers had bought land that proved to be rich in oil.

The two brothers made fortunes from their investment. Mike Giminiani built his into a bigger fortune. Bill followed a different dream.

“Bill was a dancer. He was in all of the dance contests, and he always got the prize. He gave away everything. When he died in 1976, I had to bury him. Would you believe that?”

Giminiani feels he takes after the dancer.

But he did manage to go into business, and weathered the Great Depression as owner of his own cafe, The Early Bird.

In 1934 he married one of his regular customers, a schoolteacher named Julia Anderson, and two years later they bought land where he would build nine rental units, largely through his own labor.

Giminiani had no training in carpentry or masonry, but he says, “Necessity is the mother of invention. Everything we start to do, pretty soon we learn how.”

He enjoyed painting murals on the buildings and covering the grounds with flowers, but after he sold the restaurant, he needed more to do. So he bought a grocery store and on the side he tinkered with windmills.

The couple never had children, and after Julia died in 1958, Giminiani decided to leave Bakersfield for a better climate, choosing Ventura among several towns that would put him near nieces and nephews. Here he found time to do watercolors--always of flowers--and to perfect his windmills.

Beneath the hand-painted sign, “Wind-mills 4 sale,” he tends flourishing dahlias, sweet peas, camellias and onions. Two dozen color-splashed windmills turn in the breeze.

In the shade of a huge avocado tree, which he grafted as a seedling, his wares are displayed. In addition to an anti-gopher windmill, which sells for $84.50, there is the “camel,” featuring two wheels separated by a large semicircle, ($49), and the double-wheels “fancy” at $79.50. This model, with a tail fin and two wheels turning in opposite directions, is the best seller; and in spite of the infinite color combinations he turns out, red and yellow is the most popular choice.

The “fancy” he figures takes him two days of leisurely labor. The process involves fashioning the tin blades, cutting the wheels, mounting, painting with three coats of enamel and decorating the eight-foot post.

There was a time when he went in for more variations: a jigsawed hen pecking an ear of corn, a set of dolphins rising and falling behind wooden waves, a farmer milking a cow. The once-popular cow takes five days to make, sells for $250, and he isn’t taking any more orders for them. He has a dozen yet to complete, and he says he is too old for that kind of schedule.

For the last few years, he has begun looking for someone to whom he can teach his skills. He has worked out careful patterns, ones that produce balanced and durable machines. Several apprentices have eagerly started to work with him, but lost interest before mastering the craft.

“Anybody could do it, but a lot of people are lazy,” Giminiani says, “They don’t like to be bothered.”

He sells enough to get by, particularly since he put out the sign and had cards printed declaring himself “The Windmill King.” One recent Saturday there were three sales.

There are lots of repeat customers, and now there are those who drive all the way from Los Angeles to buy a windmill. Public television station KCET came up a couple of years ago and taped a segment in his yard, and people still remember it and seek him out.

He keeps no regular hours. “When I’m here, it’s open all the time.”

But he isn’t always there. At 87, he still drives, and there are lots of family parties and weddings to attend.

When he is home, he likes meeting visitors and watching them stand knee-deep in flowers, choosing among the windmills for sale.