Anarchistcook’s Weblog

I live in the United States of America. 

Clouds tumbled slowly over my beach town Santa Cruz as I arrived at Lot 27, home to the daily Food Not Bombs meal. The first thing that caught my eye was the new bright white canopy with walls that hugged the Credit Union wall. 

The proud owner was a family of four that had returned to Santa Cruz the day before just in time to snag this palace of a donation.

The mother of the house smiled as she told of her families effort to find a place in Nevada and several other states. “It’s the same every where we went so we just came back.” Her son reminds me that he had volunteered with Food Not Bombs when we shared at the downtown Post Office. He asked if I could get a larger tent for them. All four we stuffed into a two person pup tent sheltered by the canopy. 

Friends joined me to report the events of our asphalt dining room that I had missed the day before. We needed to restock the larger plates and another friend needed money to buy another green canister of propane for their Coleman so they could make coffee in the morning. Our coffee arrives at noon. 

Two more friends come to let me know the police had come to their tent that clung to a patch of dry grass along the levee that morning telling them they would have to leave by Monday. They asked the officers where they should move and the police didn’t know but suggested they might try the San Lorenzo Park Benchlands where a few hundred other people were already camping. 

Another friend drives into the parking lot grinning fresh blue tape strengthening the new back window we were able to buy to replace the plastic that had been between his worldly possessions and the thieves of the streets. 

Student volunteers join the festival. One has agreed to post our flyers seeking more volunteers around campus so I give her the posters, and J21 staple gun and backup staples. The school year has begun. 

My dear activist friend pulls in next to the Food Not Bombs van. We hug that long hug of our friendship. She is delivering a t-shirt she designed “Most of my heroes have done some time in jail” with my name included in a list of revolutionaries. I passed her a few of the Food Not Bombs pot holders she requested and signed page 617 of her hardback copy of “A People’s History of the United States” by Howard Zinn. She didn’t depart until she had made a generous financial donation and another long hug.

More friends arrived several seeking tents to replace the ones that were stolen by a desperate neighbor or trashed by the city. 

Than it was time to unload my Honda Pilot of its cases of coffee, coconut oil, sugar and creamer at the kitchen. A loyal occupant of the streets did the heavy lifting. He and I meet a few minuted later at India Joze to move our pallets of that days Second Harvest delivery. One load goes to our shipping container at Laurel and Front Streets. The rice is stored in Joe’s office and the balance fills my car again for the trip to the Benchlands camp.

Our staff at the Santa Cruz Homeless Union tent unpacks the first half of the load. I take the other half to “Mama Judy’s Memorial Honor Pantry”. A grumpy camper tells me to screw off when I call out for help and returns to his dismantling of his tiny tent tossing parts into a pile unloved debris.

But a couple of other friends answered the call and the pantry was restocked. A passer by asked if I had water and I let him know I would return with a supply in about an hour.

It was back to the union tent and the collection of empty dusty five gallon water jugs and the run to New Leaf to fill them with filtered water. If you lived in Santa Cruz you would know that the tap water tastes like a mixture of chlorine and allege and that’s what the one faucet in the park provides. 

I run into an old friend at the grocery. He tells me he is tired of the police repression in Santa Cruz and plans to leave. The city has seized his vehicular homes twice now. He shared that he lost all his family photos, precious childhood belongings and work tool in the first tow. He lost the replacement tools in the second. He is done with it. 

It was another day navigating the country I live in. It wont be long before the Bidenvilles of America will double in size and numbers. This will be a rough winter for millions in the country I live in.

Keith McHenry is working on another book, The Food Terrorist Diaries http://www.foodnotbombs.net