I don’t recall ever setting foot in the Food Pantry in all the years I lived here, but now, I’m in the building several times a week, thinking about it the rest of the time and taking pictures when I can.
It’s not my whole life, but it’s a good chunk of it now, along with the Mansion and Sue Silverstein’s wonderful art students, my farm, and my blog.
It’s a powerful place for me, a place of emotion, work that can never be finished or done, and the endless commitment of ordinary people who can’t stop caring about their neighbors and friends who suddenly can’t afford to go to the supermarket or the grocery store to feed their children.
It’s a place of feeling and heart; new work begins the second it is finished, even for a moment. The need grows every week, and the funds constantly shrink. The challenge is enormous.
How can I not love it?
The pantry, a complex, elaborate warren of rooms, shelves, refrigerators, and freezers, which serves hundreds of people and children several days and nights a week, has gotten under my skin and into my head, as is evident.
The drama is evident to me: What kind of people are we, after all? We are good people, and there are many more good people; I know I am right every time I see those volunteers and the boxes strangers send from all over the country.
These people run to people in need, not away from them, just like the volunteers at the pantry. I like to think I’m the same, even though, in many ways, I am different.
That is what matters to me. So much of our country is looking the other way.
When Sarah Harrington called me a couple of months ago and asked if I would advocate for the pantry – she is new to the director’s job (there was no director for months) – I said sure).
After all, I have a small Army behind me; they are called the Army Of Good.
Sarah immediately impressed me as being direct, honest, and passionate about the place. She is a person of great heart, caring, and as bright as a whip. She pulled me in in minutes.
We work very well together. She is the first person working at the pantry with an e-mail address.
I agreed to work with her on one condition: I could take photographs, not of the needed visitors but of the people helping them.
I said my readers respond to people, not institutions. My pictures don’t lie; they can see what I am trying to do and decide if they want to come along. My photographs are how I communicate with them; they tell the story better than I can.
I have only met a handful of my blog readers and the people in what we call the Army of Good. We know each other well now, but the photos tell the story. They always succeed in doing good when asked, and they have not refused once in eight years.
They are all over the country, and I am not likely to meet any of them. I bless them every day.
I said I would never photograph or bring a camera inside when the Pantry users were there, I would never photograph the child volunteers without permission from their parents and the school, and I would never ask for or use their full names.
Sarah agreed and got me right away and put me to work. I volunteer when I can help and get to know the other volunteers and the people who make the place work. It sometimes seems to be hanging by a thread, never enough money, often few to people, but that is not so. It is a well-oiled machine that never fails.
The volunteers are impressive people. They are hard-working, humble, and full of heart. They seem to have inexhaustible energy and commitment.
I have been going into the pantry occasionally to get a feel for the place and take the pictures that tell the story.
I’ll do that from time to time. I’m posting two of my favorites here tonight and want to do that more often.
Again, I want to thank you, Army of Good, for your faithful and earnest commitment. You have made an enormous difference in the lives of many people caught in one of life’s traps—little money for rising costs and hungry children.
I will share some pictures from time to time, and I will stick with them, even if I end up alone with them. So far, that has not happened, and I will be careful about asking too much. Thanks again for following this chapter.
By the way, Sarah’s weekend need: Prego Pasta Sauce, Case of 6, $11,64.
