In sickness and health, Fresno Food Not Bombs turns 25!

As the year 2020 unfolded for Fresno Food Not Bombs, we were unhappily adjusting to two of the biggest losses yet.
Robin Landseadell and Gail McCabe, two spirited souls of essence to the twenty five year history of Saturday FNB meal servings
demonstrated their already apparent intelligence and moved well clear of Dodge, to spend time nearer the luckiest of
family members.

This impacted the kitchen staff about 50%, and threatened the quality control of our beans, soup and salads.
especially the beans.
Watching those two people in the Wesley kitchen over the last many years has probably been
the greatest nature show of my life. To see the way Robin approached his craft was worthy of a
Marlon Perkins voiceover. That mongoose never had a chance against Robin's bean paddle.
Watching Gail fret every detail of the salads she made... it was funny and rarely unremarked upon,
but it was beautiful.
You don't always get to see love with the naked eye, but damned if they weren't shameless about it
when it came to making food for people they rarely if ever met.
They took care of cleaning and closing the kitchen every Saturday, one of the necessities involved in the chain of events involving a facility
such as the Wesley kitchen.

The serving crew that assembles every Saturday at Roeding Park is a slightly different beast,
with absolute monsters like Victoria Molina running QC in the middle of an assembly line that packs food into
sustainable containers like some magic bag from Harry Potter, a treasure chest of more and better food than anyone
has a right to expect for love or money, filled with surprises like tamales and as of late quiche and sausages ala vegetarian.
These things cannot be taken lightly. Although we are on a vegan/vegetarian diet based meal preparing mission-
when the vegetarians want to serve sausage, you best pick another battle.
Not one complaint EVER in regards to these culinary expeditions, and certainly some of the most impressive meals we could offer,
made in quantities to feed a few to several dozen people who live in that area and have been attending the meal for many years,
some for longer than the 17 or 18 years I have been standing around.
As hard as it must be to live on the streets, in areas like that, I see people surviving in the midst of the pollution that destroys bodies and souls.
I have seen people return from the dead, the affidavits of their deaths being somewhat exaggerated. Until they weren't.
I have seen as many or more volunteers come and spend their last days at the serving. Too many. too many.
If I have learned anything, I am now convinced nobody lives forever. Maybe nothing does.

But for 25 years this coming January, a meal on Saturday has been served EVERY week of EVERY year.
This really helps the math challenged, because the numbers are straightforward-
(watch me screw this up)
25 times 52
IS THIRTEEN THOUSAND.
whoops.
1300.

That is one thousand, three hundred meal servings. One thousand and three hundred days spent making this meal real.
now you can play with the number of meals served each time any way you want.
anywhere from 30 to 100 people (and/or more) over the years have lined up for what we could bring out.
I am not losing another battle with the calculator here. It's a lot.
Not enough of course, but it could stop there.
Heck, we could not make it that far, conceivably.
Some of these chickens havent hatched yet, their eggs yet to be boiled, but I am counting on them.
Another few weeks to that magic mark, with only one slight hiccup ahead.
We are becoming homeless ourselves, in a sense. A tasteless analogy, and a lazy turn of phrase, but how else do you put it?
We have had the privilege and pleasure of using the Wesley United Methodist Church for what I can only assume is the last 18 to 20 years.
As 2020 proceeded, we found ourselves trying to maintain the serving in difficult circumstances. The park itself was closed to vehicles, and serving nearby was fraught with real dangers as well as the stress of Covid related concerns. It seems we have made it this far without
any known cases or reported issues, but that danger is clear enough and we will continue to keep our distances the best we can.
One of the seeming benefits of the new situation was unfettered access to the kitchen, which was becoming a resource we had to share on certain Saturdays, doing the work at home instead when others needed the kitchen.
At the same time, clearly this crisis was impacting WUMC as it would any other church, and ultimately, they determined their budget could
no longer sustain our operation. This is completely understandable, as it is sad for all of us.
The memories and incredible work done there, are truly fantastic.
A sumptuous feast of nostalgia for those willing to sit on laurels that meant so much to so many.
That could be me.
But a few strong hands on my back are not having it,
and I appreciate the "support" as my legs grew weak.
But still, those weak knees are actually a problem.
Along with the ankle and back problems, sketchy reliability issues from the logistics department leave the meal serving suspended by a thread.
None of these ailments are attributed to FNB activity, I know where I injured myself, ever so many times, in ever so many ways.
But the most recent clumsiness nearly took me out for good.
That I was able to recover enough to handle subsequent servings was fortunate, but at the same time, every extra effort made seems to be a setback in healing what are obviously bone fractures. This unwelcome lesson underscored the unfortunately tenuous situation I present.
I need to not be the lifeline for this meal any longer,
because I will fail, eventually. And that can't be allowed.

We will be changing, like it or not over the next few months.
I am certain (and frightened) that this will be a very good change, presenting opportunities that were not previously possible.
But only if we reach a point where diverse hands produce a bigger and better result. That has to be the goal, and it has to be met.
We cannot waste the time, money and energy involved in this activity without getting better at what we do.
That is the only profit to be had here.

And we have been roliing in that sort of profit, even as we contend with missing men, women and facilities.
I work (imo, but mostly I watch'em) with Ninjas.
Not the really cool ones you never see that kill you, but the really cooler ones that show powers undreamt of, hearts the size of elephants,
beating countless eggs into submissions (as quiche), and what they do to onions elicits just as many comments,
every one the same- "Whatcha cooking? That smells GOOD!"
Mary Ann Quann and Heather Balcom are what makes the meal what the meal is, every Saturday, and they own no shame for their work.
Worth mentioning, I suppose, that they have been at it for at least 12 years now, so they should be pretty good at it.

A million monkeys working overtime could never do their works justice, so I won't try.
It is all written inside each and every container packed with more food than they should be allowed to hold.
It is frequently testified to by people who take the time to thank us and emphasize the value and importance of that meal.
Testimonies that these hardest working activists have never heard first hand, and cannot be relayed with the intensity of the real message.
But they already know what needs to be done, and that must be why they do it.

The absence of the pillars and salt of Food Not Bombs, Gail and Robin has been a high price in addition to the other costs of doing business.
With the introduction of the Covid crisis, we suddenly could not organize any fundraisers, we could not expect or request additional participation inside a small kitchen, and even if we did, this is a tough time for anyone to do anything with the threat of infection in mind.
I suppose the real lesson is the work that was continued in the face of increasing challenges was well met by two serious soldiers doing incredible things under circumstances that only increase the awesomeness of what they actually achieve.
Detailing those herculean efforts would simply be redundant, petulant, maybe.
But I'm telling you- Ninjas.

I do live in slight fear of being run over by a truck (most likely my own, with me at the wheel)
and mostly because the next meal still needs to be delivered.
But if that does happen- I will go out knowing I got to see something really incredible, over and over,
and the great fortune of knowing what certain humans can create within a world other humans are destroying.
That leaves room for hope, and that there is a real miracle.
Somebody call the Pope!

As we ring those silver bells approaching this imminent anniversary,
many names should be heard in those chimes.
I would love to read that list aloud some day,
but even better to think mine might be in there too,
only because I skulked in
Next to real giants.
Thank you for this privilege, Jean Chipp!
and everyone who got us this far.
They know who they are.
I can't wait to find out who will join the honor roll next.

Fresno Food Not Bombs continues to serve a meal at ROEDING PARK in Fresno California,

EVERY SATURDAY at 12:00 noon near the Olive Ave entrance by the tennis courts.
Please join us for food (that is what we are there for) and get ready to make the second 25 years even better than the first!

I can hear Jean Chipp right now
("Yeah right, good luck with that!")



taking the minimum number of meals that could go out on the slowest of serving days into account,
a very fair lowest possible number of meals we have served on average being 45, times 1300.
you do the math.
you place the value.
they get the credit, even if they don't ask for it.
some kind of huge.
an actual difference was made, every time.
priceless, but with a price paid in tears and laughter.
not a bad deal for a free lunch.