An ode to the stories behind the products

The other day, I attended the 7th edition of the Marché du printemps.

The market, held at the steel-and-brick-filled, all-empowering Locoshop Angus, featured local, hand-fashioned everything: from spicy sauces to pet fashion accessories. From children’s wood toys to vegan purses.

What a local market can teach us about storytelling

One thing you can do at a local market, that you can’t do elsewhere: listen to the stories behind the products, speak directly with their creators, and gain personalized support.

Nowadays, this type of personalization is rare. In fact, the distance between us and most products is oceans away.

We often find ourselves communicating with 1-800 numbers, sales people situated in other countries, or rigid chatboxes–let alone the makers and creators themselves (in person).

The Marché du printemps does one thing fabulously well: it humanizes the experience.

While the history of Angus Shops hovers over you as you make your way around the tables, other people’s shoulders.

“The CPR Angus Shops in Montreal were a railcar manufacturing, repairing and selling facility of the Canadian Pacific Railway. Production mainly consisted of passenger cars, freight cars and locomotives. Built in 1904 and named for founder, Richard B. Angus, the Angus Shops were decommissioned in 1992. The underlying lands were subsequently redeveloped for commercial, industrial and housing usage.

The 1,240-acre (500 ha) site had 66 buildings. More than 12,000 people worked there over the facility’s lifetime.”


Today, the area has been reimagined and is booming with chic eyewear stores, slick restaurants and perfectly square condos.

Reimagining a story for every passerby

When I finished strolling the market, I went to grab a bite at La Cloche à Fromage, a bistro slash cheese shop.

I chose a spot on their terrasse, ordered their mediterranean salad with a side of Rieme® a sparkling French lemonade (in blood orange), and imagined a story for every passerby.

Afterwards, I found a spot in the shade of a Parc Jean-Duceppe tree, and spent the afternoon reading Elle’s articles as children splashed their wishes away in the distance.

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