Food Pantry Blog – My First Visit to the Good Neighbor Food Pantry: Hindsight is Always 20/20.
“So you begin…I began. I picked up one person – Maybe if I didn’t pick up that one person I wouldn’t have picked up 42,000. Just one, one, one.” – Mother Teresa
This morning I met Stuart Kline in Bread Alone. He was at the high coffee bar on a stool right at the entrance. Stuart and I see each other in passing most mornings at Bread Alone.
We exchange the usual pleasantries. What’s happening in Woodstock? Who died this week. It seems that everyone in our age group is dropping dead at the rate of one old codger a week. Some kind of fad, we joke.
Stuart is wearing a beautiful plaid shirt: chartreuse, red, blue, white. Plaid cotton.
Plaid. Floral. He has the distinction of wearing the most beautiful men’s shirts in Woodstock. His sister who lives in Nashville picks them up at a consignment store and sends them to him.
Suddenly – a shock went through me. A memory. Yes! A memory I never knew I had. It must have been one of the colors of his shirt. Who knows? Like a flash of some kind, I remembered the first time I walked into the Good Neighbor Food Pantry.
A new volunteer, I had been assigned a Thursday morning shift with Marie Duane.
I drove over to the Woodstock Reformed Church, parked my car in the parking lot behind the building and cautiously walked in. I had never been to the pantry before. There was no sign on the door so I wasn’t even sure I was in the right place.
I entered the empty hallway and found the first door on the right open. I turned into the room and there it was: a small room, actually, about 12′ by 16′. There were two windows on one wall and a third window on another.
Each wall supported a set of metal shelving units.
Each unit stood six feet high and three feet deep with four shelves.
Most of the shelves were empty. One shelf had cereal. There was a little handwritten note in front of the boxes: person: 1 cereal. family: 1 cereal.
One had a few cans of tuna. Another handwritten note in front of the tuna said: person: 1 can. family: 1 can.
One shelf had a dozen or so cans of soup with a handwritten note: person: 1 can. family: 2 cans.
One shelf held jars of peanut butter. Person: 1 jar. Family: 1 jar.
There may have been other items on other shelves but I don’t remember them.
A small table stood in the center of the room. A metal folding chair was placed in front of each window.
We sat in the chairs, Marie and I, and chatted with one another as people trickled in. We discussed the usual: weather, gardening, knitting, decorating the alter at St. Gregory’s Episcopal Church.
“Hi. How are you today? Will you sign your name here?” Marie asked each person who came to shop.
The shopper signed his/her name and noted the number of adults, seniors, and children in the household. As a point of trivia, most of the shoppers were single, homeless men.
After signing in, the person walked around the room selecting from the cereal, peanut butter, and soup. The selected food was placed on the table and bagged for the person to take home, wherever or whatever that was.
This was my first visit.
At the time, I knew nothing about HPNAP guidelines: offering a three-day supply of food, who could or could not visit the pantry, what food safety rules we followed. I was unaware of these things.
I certainly had no premonition that I would ever even return to this room after this morning’s volunteer effort.
This was clearly a case of “fools rushing in”. Knowing what I know now, I should have just run out the door and never looked back. Certainly Marie could have handled the crowd that day without me. In the whole morning, no more than a couple dozen people visited the pantry.
But, I wasn’t blessed with any psychic knowledge…certainly not the feeling of danger I felt when I first saw Ed Jabbs of the building committee.
So…Marie and I sat and visited with one another for two hours while people trickled in for the few items on the shelves. At 11:00 a.m., we rose out of our chairs, walked out of the room while turning out the lights, closed and locked the door, and went home.
I got in my car, totally unaware of experiences waiting for me in the pantry, completely unprepared for what lay ahead.
Never in my wildest thoughts did I envision the hall filled with hungry people, the tiny room packed with fresh produce and jammed with shoppers.
Never did I foresee monthly food deliveries in excess of 10,000 pounds.
Never did I for one moment imagine the building committee of the Woodstock Reformed Church being irate over hungry people receiving food according to guidelines set down by the State of New York, the Department of Health, and the United States Department of Agriculture.
Never did I think I would be grappling with the term “unworthy hungry”, introduced to me by local religious residents.
Peace and food for all.
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Thurman Greco
