La Vie Boheme | Tobin Thompson, Erich Welz, and Jacquie Day of the Golden Lentils Lodge share dinner on a typical weeknight at the co-op.
The spacious living room of Golden Lentils Lodge is a testament to almost 40 years of communal living: artwork by past and current tenants adorn the walls, plants sprout from every crevice, guitars without owners line the entrance hall, and a cardboard lamppost cut-out from some bygone theatre production stands propped up against the wall.
With more and more of Edmonton surrendering to the viral trend of big-box stores, condo developments, and gentrified neighbourhoods, it’s comforting to remember a different mentality still exists in continuing housing co-operatives. Members of such living arrangements possess no equity or ownership apart from their shares, which are equal among neighbours and are sold back to the co-op when they move out. Costs are dealt with internally and no one member can profit from the space. The ethos is quite utopian, indeed.
“It’s odd to be living in a house that no one really owns. I had trouble wrapping my head around this when I got here,” says Erich Welz, GM External of the Assiniboia Co-operative, as he surveys the motley charm of his environment. “These houses are pretty much untouchable. I look at them as a gift.”
Unlike Edmonton’s other 37 continuing housing co-operatives, which offer self-contained units and waitlists of up to six years, Assiniboia consists of three separate houses in the University area that collectively offer 17 single-dwelling arrangements. This co-op tends to cater to individuals in their 20s, and Welz says that with 14 current residents, it is the only housing co-op in Edmonton that is actively seeking members.
Now in its 37th year of operation, Assiniboia is no longer affiliated with the U of A, and is home to an even mix of students and non-students. The cost of staying in one of the rooms ranges from $230-$260 per month. Unique to this co-operative is the requirement that each member chip in $40 for communal shopping and cook for the rest of the house once a week. The chores are also delegated in a systematic way, and all members are expected to be present when housing candidates are being interviewed.
“I think the main difference between this and having roommates is just how organized everything is, says Welz. “I’ve heard lots of people having interesting problems with roommates, and that doesn’t happen in this structure because there is a structure, and [because] we are looking for like-minded people.”
He believes the individuals who gravitate towards the co-op lifestyle tend to be people interested in actively working towards the “health of the house.” Many members have training in community development and much of the interaction revolves around informal skills trading.
“I guess a lot of the people who live here are a little bit counterculture, myself included,” Welz says. Everyone in the co-op is vegetarian, no one drives, and three out of five members bicycle through the winter. While he says co-op members defy the patchouli-wearer stereotype, he does admit that their setup does have a whiff of Children of the Corn about it. “It does take a little more time to live in such a fashion,” he says. “We all have our roles to keep the house going [strong].”
While Welz admits part of his motivation to join the co-operative was simply pragmatic—finding and furnishing his own place seemed like a daunting task after returning from a year-long stint teaching English in South Korea—he says he has learned a lot by living in this environment. The sense of community the co-operative provides helps him feel more grounded in his life here in Edmonton.
“It’s an instant social group—any co-op is like that,” agrees Marilyn Baldwin, president of the ArtSpace Co-operative, who’s decked out in a tie-dye shirt in hues as vibrant as her passion for community development. “[In a co-op] you know your neighbours and you’re responsible for more than just your own environment.”
Members of ArtSpace must purchase $1,000 worth of shares in the co-operative upon signing up, and participate on committees that keep the co-operative running. Collectively, they are also responsible for creating their own by-laws. Unlike Assiniboia, which operates without any grants, 50 per cent of ArtSpace’s 88 units are subsidized by the government. The co-operative’s VP of Membership, Marlene Garner, believes this allowance for mixed income creates a community with a wide variety of people.
“We’ve had lawyers, nurses, teachers, and yet we have single mothers too,” says Garner. “Honestly, I’ve been surprised at the different types of people we’ve had.” ArtSpace offers two to five bedroom units ranging in price from $728 to $1,200 per month.
While both Baldwin and Garner believe co-operatives are one of the most efficient forms of low-income housing and that it would be in the interest of the government to create more, they are bothered by the perception that housing co-operatives just mean cheap rent. “It’s a community, it’s not just the rent,” says Garner, who says the social structure of the co-operative buoyed her up during retirement. The entire complex attends potlucks, Halloween festivities, balcony decoration contests, and many other communal functions. Most members will turn up on Nov. 1 to celebrate the co-operative’s 18th birthday.
“I love the idea that I know everybody,” says Garner. “It’s an important feeling of belonging to this community. It’s not just a place to live, it’s a place to make a home.”
