It happened again this week. The moment of discovery that we were out of milk, a minor crisis for a family with three young children. The solution, in theory, was simple. But in practice, for most families that means finding keys, jumping into a vehicle, and undertaking a 15-minute return trip for a single common purchase. (I have a cargo bike which makes this errand more fun and interesting, but that’s another story)
This familiar frustration sparked a concept that led me to apply a simple diagnostic tool to my surroundings: I call it the “10-Minute Errand” Test. The rules are simple. Step out your front door, start a timer, and think about just how many useful things you can accomplish on foot in ten minutes. Can you grab a coffee, pick up that carton of milk, mail a package, or buy a bottle of wine? Almost all of you could need to accomplish at least one of these things almost every day. From my suburban home in Convent Glen North, my answer is probably quite common for suburban homeowners. I could take a pleasant walk, drop the kids off at school, probably just barely pick up a pizza in 10 minutes, and potentially accomplish effectively zero other completed errands.
My failure at this test isn’t an accident; it’s a key feature of post-war suburban design. For decades, our city’s zoning by-laws have effectively made it illegal to build even a simple corner store or a small café in the middle of a residential area. This is the result of policies that separated every aspect of life—living, working, and shopping—into isolated parts of town connected only by asphalt, and asphalt only for cars. Our streets, in turn, were meticulously engineered for one primary purpose: moving cars quickly. They were not designed for people outside of their vehicles, other than to check a box on a technical spec sheet, at most.
Our neighbourhoods were perfectly designed to produce imperfect drivers (hence the wide roads with lots of clear space next to them in case you lose control) who know the shortest route to Place d’Orleans or the Walmart on Innes, but not the names of their neighbours three streets over.
But what if our neighbourhoods could pass the test? This isn’t an urbanist fantasy; it’s the reality of the places we love and often pay thousands of dollars to visit on vacation. Think of bustling resorts, historic city centres, or vibrant European villages—environments prized for their walkability and convenience. This is the foundation for a vision for a New Orléans. Imagine a 10-minute walk from your own home taking you to a small bakery, a local pub, or a daycare for your young kids.
The benefits of such a shift extend far beyond convenience. It means real financial savings for families through reduced spending on gas and car maintenance. It means more daily physical activity built into our routines. It means more opportunities for the spontaneous social interactions that build a true sense of community. And for the city’s bottom line, these small, productive local businesses and mixed-use developments are models of land use efficiency, generating far more tax revenue to pay for our roads and pipes than the equivalent land used for a single home.
This is not an unsolvable problem. It is a policy problem, which means it has a policy solution. The city is currently undertaking a comprehensive review of its zoning by-laws—a generational opportunity to undo these restrictive rules and decriminalize the gradual, organic evolution of our neighbourhoods.
So, I challenge you to try it yourself this week. Take the 10-Minute Errand test. Step out your front door, walk for ten minutes, and see what your community truly offers. Then, talk to your neighbours, contact your city councillor, and get involved in your local community association (mine is the Convent Glen Orleans Wood Community Association, and I’ve been on the board for almost a year now). The power to build a more walkable, convenient, and connected Orléans rests with us.
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