Misperceptions

A month or so after moving to UNH, my Community Leadership Class was beginning to start the Thanksgiving Food Basket Drive and we were instructed to meet one Thursday at the Cornucopia Food Pantry. I was excited to go and see what the pantry looked like, especially since I heard it had just been moved to bigger space and was better and more improved than its previous location in Christensen Hall.
A food pantry. My mind had its own picture of what it would look like. It would be warm and inviting to those who visited. Windows letting in sunlight, carpets on the floor, maybe a table or two. Food was a shoo-in. Of course there would be shelves stocked with food! Everyone donates to the food pantry, so the shelves could never be near bear. The picture in my mind was a close version to my own kitchen pantry at home. Nice and bright from the sun light outside, inviting cabinets stocked with food . . .
The first question that popped into my head after Larry lead us into the room, was where is it? Where is the food pantry? This is someone’s basement! The walls were bare, the ceiling cob-webby. The floor was bare and there were small windows filtering in as much light as they could. There was a door with chain link over it and you could see the studs in the walls. I thought it was a storage space. A spider jumped out at one of the kids in my class.
Entering further through the chain linked door, I finally saw the food pantry. It looked exactly the same as the rest of the basement, except there was food stacked on metal shelves and two refrigerators to hold perishable items. What struck me the most was the food—there was not even close to the amount I had pictured in my head. The items present were separated and stacked upon the shelves according to type. I saw brands of cereal I had never seen or heard of, cans of food I never knew were made. I also saw a surplus of random items like syrup and powdered milk.
“The interesting thing,” Larry explained, “is that food pantries are usually given the cast-off food from people’s homes. People buy the brands that are the cheapest, or that they don’t want to eat. They donate the food they are unwilling to eat, not realizing that those who visit us aren’t going to want to eat them, either. Most of the things on the shelves are unrecognizable to you, and they are unrecognizable to those who come looking for food.”
I suddenly realized how true this is. I didn’t see anywhere on the shelves name-brand items like Campbell’s, Kellogg’s, or Uncle Ben’s.
I also thought of something else: When a person or family decides to donate food to a food pantry, they are giving support to the institution. We are agreeing to try and end hunger. Shouldn’t we donate in such a way as to take pride in the cause we are supporting? I wondered what this pantry would look like, and how many more it could serve, if more in the community were aware of its need. When talking to Durham residents, I learned that most do not even know there is a Cornucopia food pantry, or that there is a problem with hunger in the community.
I left the food pantry that day with a completely different outlook. Gone was my beautiful food pantry picture. Gone was the warm, inviting appearance and fully stocked shelves. The seriousness of the situation had hit me. This was a place in need—who helped those in need. How can change in the community occur if the institutions created to help, cannot? I left with a drive and excitement to begin the food drive and help make a difference in the lives of those who visited the Cornucopia Food Pantry. I know others in my class did as well. I wonder how amazing the difference in the food pantry and in the community would be if more could see what I saw that morning.

If their impressions of a food pantry were set straight.

So I encourage you, go visit it for yourself. Go visit it for others.