On this day of thanks...

I'm at my sisters, preparations are underway for today's meal.

For everyone's safety :) , I'm not allowed in the kitchen, but I can hear everyone making today's dinner. It's going to be delish.

My mother, from the kitchen affirms what awaits us. "My goodness, this is enough to feed an army."

So yeah, it's something to think about...this relationship we have with food.

Many years ago, when I hauled produce, my former partner Dallas and I would buy cases of fresh vegetables and fruit. Our loads were what were knowns as "mixers"---multiple pickups of various items starting in Nogales or Yuma and finaling out in Salinas Ca. Sometimes we'd stop at 14 or 16 different produce docks, aka "sheds", during these pickups on each run northbound. Once the load was on the truck, we ran hard to Vancouver or Calgary or Edmonton Canada.

During these pick up's, we'd also purchase food for soup kitchens, stuffing all this fresh produce on top of whatever legitimate produce we were running north to Canada. In the process of this loading, I can't tell you how many times I crawled all the way to the nose of the trailer, across frozen boxes of brocolli or cases of oranges or whatever else was in the trailer, shoving cases of produce in front of me as the vent curtain dropped condensation down my back.

The trucking companies knew, and as long as we weren't overweight, they turned a blind eye to these ghost shipments.

The other unspoken rule? No delays.

That meant volunteers had to meet us at whatever time we rolled into Seattle or Spokane and we had just minutes to get the contraband off the rig. Imagine loading flat after flat of Strawberrys onto outstretched kamakazi volunteers arms. Each case or flat heavier than the last, sometimes one of us on the ground had to rush in and grab one or two of those flats before the volunteer collapsed. With dawn on the rise, and these volunteers still sleepy, ours was a silent momment of purpose. Not much said, just an idling Cat or Cummins motor in the background. Once loaded up, they'd make the final drop and we'd hit the road toward customs.

Still, I can't forget how overwhelmed I was with powerlessness. Everyone I knew was dying. But in that one moment of grace, standing on the refer deck, or crawling back to the nose of the trailer; even during the worrying and hurrying, through all the exhaustion, and while watching these other exhausted folks making their multiple trips back to their motorcycles or vega's and mini vans now laden with garden stock, I felt like we were doing something against the powerlessness. It's wierd to say this, but I miss those days because there was such a determined unity.  I don't romanticize that bleak, under seige mentality, I just wish that the same sense of urgency remained.

We didn't have much money, but with whatever we could afford, if there was room, and sometimes some creative loading, there was bounty. On more than a few runs,
when there was no more room in the trailer, cases of strawberry's and melons, and boxes of potato's and whatever else we could purchase direct from these farmers wound up in our sleeper.

It was a horrible time, and I know Dallas thought I was crazy when stuff wound up crammed in the sleeper and there wasn't even room to get dressed. Never mind the crashing sound when either of us had to dynamite the brakes and carrots or apples when flying out of the top bunk or bounced around in the tool boxes.

The food had a destination, a known place. For what we carried went to Chicken Soup Brigade in Seattle, and Spokane AIDS Network. At final destination, we were met by mothers who'd lost sons, men who were still strong enough to volunteer but who were dying, and we were met by strangers who we never got their names or their stories.  Just the image of outstretched hands, reaching up into the dark hold of a 48 foot refer trailer, faces aglow from trailer marker lights, and maybe just a glimmer of hope; that is what I remember most.

Often the foodbanks at these organizations had no resources to purchase fresh perishables. The items we trucked north were a welcome break from canned peas and beans.

One of the most amazing things about this experience...and something that still brings tears to my eyes, is that on nearly every occassion when a farmer learned why we were purchasing this food, they'd show up at the back of the trailer with more. Either matching, or sometimes even exceeding what we'd already purchased. Several times these hardworking families returned our money, and we'd have more to buy at the next pick up.

I've done a lot of volunteering in my life, but this experience, over several years, remains among the brightest and more reassuring moments of my life. That is came during a period of great uncertainty and darkness remains a puzzling but welcome point of light.