Barn Duty at the Food Pantry

It snowed a little bit last Saturday when I was at Mower’s Meadow and more is expected this week.  The books and clothing all got a mini dusting of the first snow of the season.

Whenever that happens (the first snow of the season) I always  remember one of the first things I learned about the Woodstock community and its residents when I moved here:  Labor Day means we pack away our dreams of a summer moon and drag out the brand new boots we were  waiting to put on.

And, further into the memory is the afternoons in the pantry when the cold was so cold and Bob Otto and Tony Cannistra  about froze to death in the barn.  They   distributed frozen food to the shoppers from that dirt floored room in the unpainted, uninsulated, unheated  building behind the church parking lot.

Even though the pantry couldn’t open until 3:00, Bob and Tony unlocked the barn and got to work at 2:30.  “Come on over!” they called to the crowd gathered in the parking lot.  “We’ve got chopped meats, cutlets, steaks, roasts, mac and cheese packages, frozen juices.”

2:30 in the parking lot was described by some of the volunteers as a circus.  I lovingly thought of it as a bus station in a third world country.  And, actually, I thought of it as more than that.

I once spent a couple of hours in an out-of-the-way airport in  Venezuela that was overcrowded with hundreds of gold miners who  themselves waited for planes.  They either waited for planes to get further into the interior of the country to hunt for gold or they waited for planes to return to civilization to sell what they found.  Whatever their destination, the place was packed.

But, whether we were all coming or going at the pantry, we were in a hurry, too.

In the pantry, we were always in a hurry.  The crowd was always larger than the hallway, the parking lot, and the barn entrance.  And, they wanted to get the long wait behind them  so they could have a two or three minute  shopping spree in the tiny room.

And, after the shopping, they were always in a hurry to get their new found food home because the event had taken all afternoon.  For some, it took more than just all afternoon because they got to the pantry late morning.  Hitch hikers started out early and, if they got a ride quickly, they were in the parking lot before noon.

My memory always includes a vision of Bob and Tony  taking turns to come into the hallway to warm up, whatever that meant.  Even though the hallway was crowded, there was just not quite enough body heat generated to call the place cozy…or even cool.  The place was cold.

I never said a word about the temperature because I was afraid that if I did the volunteers would walk off.  I just went about my business pretending that I wasn’t wearing two sweaters under my coat.  Volunteers made statements about the temperature of the hallway as they wore two hats.

“My hands are frozen!” Bob always remarked as he briskly rubbed them together, hoping the friction would get the heat going.  Just outside the door to the building, Bob  stomped his feet, trying to get some feeling into his cold toes.

Tony was less vocal but just as cold when he got his short break.  I always suspected that he had a small hidden flask to help warm himself up.  How else could he be so calm about fingers one degree away from frost bite?  I never saw any evidence but it was the only excuse I could find for a person in such cold weather conditions.

Because, not only were the two men standing in the cold, they were handling frozen meats, vegetables, fruits, juices.  All of it came rock solid frozen from the food bank.

Before the pantry opened, Tony also doubled as the parking lot manager which put him in the middle of the confusion.  Just the parking lot was a fulltime toughie job.  But, somehow, Tony made the parking lot and the barn distribution look easy.

But, no one complained.  Ever.  They had gotten a three-day-supply of food a week ago and it was all gone now.  They were hungry.  They were the struggling poor.

Thank you for reading this article.  Please share it with  your favorite social media network.

Thurman Greco

Woodstock, New York

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