Thriving and surviving during a month without plastic
Week One: The month began brilliantly. Day one of Plastic Free July coincided with a Zero Waste My Pantry presentation by a pair of touring environmentalists. I scored some good tips on how to use whole foods and bulk goods to reduce our household’s plastic deluge.
Basically, baking soda and white vinegar can clean almost everything, hummus is ridiculously straightforward to throw together yourself, and there is much money to be saved by making your own toiletries.
I took my kids along to this event, and within half an hour I’d capitulated and bought plastic-wrapped distraction in the form of Proper Crisps and packaged fruit leather. I was not forcibly removed from the presentation for my hypocrisy, so overall, I’d call it a win.
July 1 also happened to be the day when both boys completed the sticker charts that recorded their achievements for things like staying in their own beds at night, not pointing out gleefully who had the biggest slice of apple, and generally behaving like reasonable little human beings.
Their rewards, which we’d bought and stowed away weeks ago, were two highly coveted walking, talking plastic robots. They’re not technically single use, but they cost $5 each from Kmart, so we can all assume that they’re probably not much better than that.
Later in the week, I ran into the supermarket to pick up some bread, detouring to grab an iced coffee before heading to the counter. Then I stopped, turned, and sadly walked my little plastic bottle of caffeinated happiness back to its shelf.
I also made a mental note to pull the bread maker out of the cupboard.
Week Two: Since our younger son has shown himself to be completely open to a toilet training-chocolate bribery exchange, our household is down to one nappy per night. We’ve hauled the cloth ones from the back of the nursery cupboard, and so far, so good.
I dashed into New World one evening for a last-minute dinner assemblage, and handed over my container to be filled with pumpkin salad. The deli staff member pointed to a sign and made a sad face.
‘‘To our valued customers,’’ the sign read. ‘‘At this stage we are unable to fill any BYO containers, this is due to Food Safety Regulations . . .’’
After a small pause, I politely told the staff member that I thought the rule was stupid and that I didn’t want the salad after all.
I took my forbidden container to the bulk food bins and vengefully filled it with figs. Alison of ‘‘Alison’s Pantry’’ clearly resides in a fine mansion somewhere, given the extortionate price of her dried goods.
To rub overpriced Himalayan pink salt into the wound, I was given an entry code for a prize draw because I had brought my own shopping bag.
The bread maker appears to be missing.
Week Three: My Smartass toilet paper delivery arrived. It’s plasticfree, made from sugarcane and bamboo fibres, and each roll is wrapped in sassy, colourful paper that has been repurposed for the children’s art supplies.
My sister started a ritual a while back whereby we take advantage of our local butcher’s Friday ribs special and use this as a base for a weekly shared feast. Jos the butcher is adept at wedging just over two kilos of saucy deliciousness into my Sistema container. Not a skerrick of single-use plastic in sight.
I asked a young member of Countdown’s deli team if I could bring my own containers there to be filled. He looked very frightened. I told him to forget about it.
In a fit of pique, I set up a vege box delivery from a local company so that I had another reason to sidestep the supermarket.
The bread maker has been sighted in an awkward corner cupboard behind the kids’ drink bottles and that mandolin slicer with all the attachments. I can’t be bothered extracting it.
Week Four: We took a holiday down south, and frankly, I need to issue an apology to Mother Nature for a number of liberties that were taken.
The car snacks, for example. Yes, there were homemade sandwiches, sliced fruit and Beetroot Groceries’ bulk bin nibbles, but there were also many little store-bought packets of child distractors.
I did try to maintain my environmental ethos, though. As Ivan, the Christchurch Top 10’s lovely maintenance man, ferried me and my food scraps by golf buggy to their worm farm, he told me that I was the first guest in his six-year tenure to inquire about the holiday park’s composting facilities. This made me feel fanatical and slightly depressed.
In happier news, I discovered – oh joy of joys! – that Trade Aid chocolate comes in compostable packaging.
On the final day of Plastic Free July, my partner returned from a supermarket mission, balancing the butter on top of the bread on top of the cat food box. He’d refused the plastic shopping bag at the checkout. I almost wept with pride.
If I’d ever gotten around to hauling out that bread maker, I’d feel almost triumphant about our household’s plastic-free achievements.
I need to issue an apology to Mother Nature for a number of liberties that were taken.