dispatches from Rhamnous

On March 1st, I moved into an apartment with Noah, of CitySlickers fame. Since then we've been doing our damnedest to live a sustainable lifestyle and furnish our apartment with minimal budget.  This is part one of our twisted saga.

We live rather close to Fiesta Farms. I support their business in theory, but the reality is they have the same shitty atmosphere as every other fluorescent-lit supermarket, regardless of their philosophy or politics. I had to find another way.

The Goal: No Supermarkets.

The Toronto Farmers' Market Network is a great resource to find markets near you, and connect with local agriculture and your community. However, March isn't exactly market season, so for the time being that's out.

FoodShare runs a brilliant program called the Good Food Box that I can't say enough good things about. It's been putting fresh, delicious produce in my fridge since I moved in, and their program runs city-wide. In short, they use bulk purchasing to provide exceptional value to subscribers who pick up a food box from a volunteer in their neighbourhood who organizes a bi-weekly dropoff. A variety of boxes are offered ranging from big to small and organic or not; prices vary accordingly. If you're buying your produce from a grocery store, stop, and follow the link above.

Bulk food stores abound in the city, and offer a great selection at excellent prices. For a good list of general and specialty bulk stores around the city, check out this blogTO article.

So that's food sorted.

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When we moved in we were funiture-deficient. I can't think of a more sustainable way of furnishing an apartment than the second-hand market.

Craigslist was an obvious place to turn, but we thought we would tap into our neighbourhood and see what she had to offer. Noah found a couch on the side of the road not too far from our door. It had been a vagrant for a few days before we both had time to seriously consider snapping it up. We were questioning the wisdom of introducing a couch of unknown lineage into our respectable home, when it began to rain. The decision was pressing: to remain couchless or to run the risk of any number of couch-bourne critters.

I wish I had a picture of Noah and I pushing a couch perched precariously on a shopping cart through dark streets in the rain. It would certainly foreshadow the coming debacle adequately.

Thus committed, we resolved to reupholster the tramp, taking care to inspect and sanitize the innards against mould and vermin. We thought this would grant us the peace of mind necessary to fall asleep on the thing. Besides, it would make a fun project to post on the blog...

I look at pictures we took of the project in anticipation of the blog post, and I see optimism bordering on smugness, unbridled happiness, and the kind of bushy-tailed eagerness that comes from feeling like big boys - nay, Men - doing their own thing under the big city lights. We thought we were two savvy city slickers who had Figured It Out, and were doing our due service by informing the herd of the joys of DIY and thrift.

Hubris is the technical term.

In the interest of brevity, I'll simply say that before investing time, energy, and hope into such an ambitious project, it's prudent to measure the couch to ensure that it will actually fit up the stairwell to its new home. Sadly, we lacked even this basic foresight, blinded as we were by opportunity and the dizzying promise of padded seating. Our stairwell will forever bear the scars of gouging that can only be created by a couch getting stuck like Louie Anderson in an airplane seat.

In tribute to our epic failure, and in anticipation of many more to come, I've proposed Rhamnous as the name for our couchless abode. I want to say lesson learned, but I've proven myself wrong before...

Pictures to follow, when I find the bloody cable to get them off the camera.

- J