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A New Step in Community Health at The Dale: Introducing Jacquie

The stories are endless. One person has a wound that is just not healing- the struggle to keep the bandage on and clean is nearly impossible while living outside. Another has a foot injury, but they can’t keep off it because they walk everywhere to access food and shelter. Someone else refuses to seek medical care because it triggers past trauma.

These challenges, and so many others, are why The Dale has long dreamt of incorporating a health-care component into our work.

Over the years we have been able to forge a tight connection to Parkdale Queen West Community Health Centre. Our partnership has allowed us to introduce our friends from the community to our friends who are clinicians. In many cases we are able to create a circle of care around an individual. They have also provided space for The Dale to do outreach and run a drop-in.

It was at our Wednesday gathering outside the Health Centre that we first got to know Jacquie Burkhardt. At the time, Jacquie was engaged in nursing studies and had been referred to The Dale. She quickly became a regular participant and, over time, a deeply engaged community member.

More recently, Jacquie indicated a desire to share her ability and gifting as a nurse with The Dale. In the spirit of raising up community members to contribute to programs and outreach, we now have the opportunity to add Jacquie as a Community Nurse. To begin, Jacquie will offer 12-15 hours per week. The role is still taking shape, and we are committed to slowly and thoughtfully walking with Jacquie as we discover all that this can become together.

And now, in Jacquie’s own words:

Each Sunday during our service at The Dale we are invited into a time of offering. During this time we are reminded that God gives each of us gifts and whether they are big or small they are all valuable to God. The basket is at the front and we acknowledge each person’s gifts might look different and some may not fit in the basket. These gifts may be things like a piece of artwork or a call to a friend or helping clean up after drop-in. Then we are invited to share a portion of what God has given with each other in community. I have recently graduated as a registered practical nurse. In the posture of our offering, I am excited to be joining The Dale as a community nurse using the gifts God has given me in service of our community.

I have experienced joy and belonging at The Dale. Five years ago, when I first approached Erinn about volunteering, she welcomed me to come to the health centre and “hang out” at Outreach. Since then I have been increasingly connected to the community. Together we have experienced church on Sunday, eating together, drop-in, playing games, Bible study, carolling, camping trips, BBQs, open mic’s, celebrations and memorials. During this time, I have received support, care, and encouragement and have had the opportunity to share in the lives of community members with trust and acceptance. As my nursing skills expanded, I have had the privilege of hearing people’s stories, accompanying people to appointments, sharing health knowledge, and helping to navigate health challenges. Through a process of discernment and attentiveness to God’s leading, I am excited about stepping into this new and evolving role.

After we collect the offering, we pray. These prayers are consistently characterized by gratitude and humility. I am grateful to The Dale team and the community as they have affirmed and encouraged me to share my gifts in this way. I welcome your prayers, encouragement and support as we step more deeply into community together.

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Homecoming

I have to admit I felt nervous as I anticipated my first day back in the community after sabbatical. There wasn’t a lack of readiness in me to resume regular life. In fact, I felt eager to reengage. I suppose some of it felt like the ‘going back to school’ jitters I got as a student. I think most of it was that sabbatical was an entirely new experience not just for me, but The Dale- I knew how I journeyed through it but did not know how everyone else did.

Through Dion I learned that one person was convinced I was not going to return. This was rooted in previous experiences of other people going and not coming back. I hoped that my arrival would allow these concerns to melt away, though also understood that when old wounds are triggered, healing and recovery can take time.

When I first saw this person, we had a long embrace, each with a hand on the other’s head. I felt a wash of relief. She went into the building ahead of me. When I later entered, I saw that she had brought balloons (that said happy birthday on them) and colourful plastic leis for some of us to wear around our necks. I sat beside her to say thank you for the decorations, and she looked at me and said, “I can’t believe you came back”.

What followed was an emotional, vulnerable conversation. I explained that being with her and everyone at The Dale is exactly where I want to be, and my intention was always to return. We hugged again.

Later, during our service, she shared with the group her gratitude for Joanna, Meagan and Olivia, a theme that was consistent throughout. Unsurprisingly, the team had done a tremendous job over the last four months (I am so proud of them). And then, with tears, she expressed how happy she was that we were all together again.

I was reduced to a puddle of tears where I was seated.

One community member came over and gently put a number of tissues in my hand, another placed their hand on my back.

In the final week of sabbatical, I had tried to be intentional about what my return to The Dale would look like: what conversations I would need to have, what tasks I needed to catch up on.

But what I couldn’t prepare for was how it would feel.

As I reflect on this past month, the word that stands out most is: homecoming.

I am no longer re-entering. I have entered.

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Support The Dale: Community Care During Uncertain Times

There is no denying that the world is very unsettled right now. There is a lot of anxiety attached to ongoing conflicts, financial upheaval, and political uncertainty. I feel it, and I imagine you do too. You might wonder why, in the midst of it all, The Dale would launch a fundraiser. The reality is, The Dale is entirely dependent on the gifts of others to do what we do. We seek to create spaces of belonging for all, while making intentional room for people who are typically held at the margins.

In community we learn about one another’s needs, and for many of us this includes basic necessities that are simply outside of reach because of poverty, like hygiene products or socks. For some, becoming housed means starting from scratch, including needing a bed. These and other items are highlighted in The Dale’s Community Care Catalogue, giving you some very practical ways to support us. As always, we value support that is not financial too. If you are able to share about us on social media, or participate in one of our gatherings, or pray for us, we would love it!

Though times are uncertain, we continue to find hope at The Dale. We are grateful for so much, including our partnerships in the neighbourhood, the buzz of conversation in our drop-ins, the gatherings that take place outdoors, the ways we are learning to both give and receive in community, and our growing network of supporters. This work takes a village, and we have a wonderful one.

Check out the catalogue here: https://trellis.org/dalecommunitycarecatalogue

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Life, Loss, and Community: Reflections from a Meaningful Retreat

I had a dream the other night. In it I was surrounded by people I have been missing from The Dale since their deaths. We were all together in a room simply hanging out. One woman walked over and said, “I haven’t been able to give you a bear hug in a while”, and then proceeded to enfold me in a long embrace. It all felt both ordinary and extraordinary. I woke with a sense that I had just been given a gift, and I haven’t been able to shake that feeling since. 

In the weeks leading up to my dream, I found myself thinking of my friends a lot. This was especially true during the planning of our first community retreat since 2019. One day I had to pull out a file folder with the sign-up sheets from previous retreats, which took me down a rabbit hole of memories. Though I know exactly who is no longer with us, I felt overwhelmed by the volume of loss and the reality that they would have been some of the first to sign up for our excursion.

I continued to feel the absence of these friends during the school bus ride up north to Camp Crossroads, the settling into cabins, and eating our first meal in the lodge. At one point I lifted my face up to the sky and said, “they would have loved this”. The moment was broken when some of our group came outside to join me in looking up. Together we breathed in the air that smelled of pine and wood smoke, commented on the beauty of the lake, and chatted about the plan for the evening. 

Over the course of the next couple of days, we went on walks, sat on the dock, put together puzzles, played games, ate lots of food, slept, gathered around campfires, took out boats, and talked. Joanna and I jumped in, and very quickly out, of the lake. Meagan’s kindergarten aged daughter Charlotte drew pictures of people as gifts. Some gathered for Morning Prayer. On the last day we sang, shared gratitude, and took communion together. By the end of it people felt closer, some commenting on how they are now more a part of the community. 

The retreat helped me to grieve and to hope. I felt able to name that I was missing people. I also got to be present with an amazing group of people who did sign up and get on that bus. Maybe that’s part of what brought about my dream. Life continuing does not mean forgetting. And remembering does not mean excluding. The table is wide and there is always room for more.

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Embracing Hurt and Healing: A Soul-Searching Weekend

I recently had an overwhelming week at The Dale. Without getting into details, let’s just say I felt emotionally and spiritually spent. While it is not uncommon for my life to feel like a lot, I don’t often feel so downtrodden. Without even the words to describe what was going on in me, the discomfort of it all ballooned.

Before all of this happened, Cate asked if I would be willing to drive her, Matthew, and Declan up to the camp that they all attended and worked at for many summers. Though the three of them are not working there anymore (it’s a new stage of life!), they wanted to visit. I said yes. By the time our trip rolled around, I was especially tender. I didn’t know what I needed but was worried being surrounded by a lot of people at camp was not it. However, the trip went ahead as planned.

Whenever I drive north on Highway 400, I get pangs of nostalgia. My mom grew up in Sudbury, and my grandparent’s cottage was in Killarney. The red rock of the Canadian Shield, the swaying birch trees, and the water all bring me a degree of peace. A lot of the landmarks along the drive have changed, but not all of them- enough remain that bring up old memories.

When we arrived at the camp, I greeted people, found the cabin I would share with Cate, and explained that I would be going into Parry Sound for much of the day. As I drove along the gravel road, surrounded by forest, the lump that had been lodged in my heart for the majority of the week began to dislodge. I still didn’t have any words, just groans and tears. It was all its own kind of prayer.

I eventually got to the beach in town where I laid out a towel, sat and watched the waves, the sailboats, and the handful of children building sandcastles. One little person got into a game of tag with a seagull. I soaked in the sun, read a book in fits and starts, and eventually jumped in the water. As I floated around and stared at the clouds, I felt reminded of how the world keeps moving and growing, even when my own little piece of the world feels stalled and upside-down. I cried some more.

Over the course of the day I ate some food, watched pontoon planes land on the bay, and slowly walked around the docks. Eventually I decided it was time to head back to camp. The groans and tears that accompanied my drive into town, joined me again on that same gravel road. It felt both exhausting and cathartic. I wiped my face and rejoined the group in the late afternoon by settling into a couch in the lodge. From that vantage point I saw Cate working away as though she was still staff. I took a moment to admire the ease with which she was interacting with everyone. I listened to Declan play the keyboard and sing, something I loved doing when he was my housemate for a year. Matthew came to check on me with his characteristic concern and smile. I began to feel more grounded.

We only stayed at camp overnight and into the next day. Cate and I reunited with Dion and shared a good meal. As I reflect now, I think I needed the nostalgia of the highway, the connection to the landscape, the company of Cate and her crew, the alone time, and dinner with my family to find the words to describe my state.

It turns out I had experienced a deep level of hurt during my overwhelming week, and I wasn’t sure that I was allowed to feel it. Over the years, I have gathered up a lot of tools to manage the kind of work that I do. I have a high tolerance for and can help de-escalate heated situations. I feel equipped to practice active listening, which includes hearing about many traumatic things. I know God gives me strength that is not my own. And, I can only hold so much. In a sense, denying my hurt diminished my humanity.

As I write this, the fog I have been in is lifting and the hurt is dissipating. I am realizing that just as I need to ride the wave of grief when it hits, I need to address pain. When I do, the noise is calmed enough that I can again hear God’s voice, reminding me of where I have been called and that I am loved. Without even realizing it, I started to hear those truths whispered as I cried amongst the trees.

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Holistic Wellbeing: The Importance of Sabbath, Mutual Care, and Community

I am frequently asked: how do you take care of yourself? Some people want to specifically know how I manage in the work that I do. Others wonder what it looks like to hold the various aspects of my life in balance. As I think about answering, usually the first thing that comes to mind is, “I have no idea what I’m doing.” The truth is, I am stumbling along, just trying to take the next (hopefully) best step. Upon further reflection, I realize there are a number of values that have been instilled in me by mentors, pastors, friends, and family. In the moments when I am struggling to know what to do, I lean on the wisdom of others.

SABBATH

Marva Dawn says, “A great benefit of Sabbath keeping is that we learn to let God take care of us — not by becoming passive and lazy, but in the freedom of giving up our feeble attempts to be God in our own lives.” Sabbath is fundamental to my wellbeing. I am reminded that I cannot do it all, nor am I required to. And whew, is that ever a relief. I hold Sabbath on Fridays. The outgoing message on my phone alerts people to this. I’m not saying it is easy, or that there aren’t occasionally emergencies or other things that require my attention. I am though convinced it is worth it. It has been in the quietest moments of rest that I find myself reminded love is not earned by doing. I am, WE ARE, simply beloved- though there is oftentimes nothing simple about embracing that truth.

MUTUALITY

At The Dale I am not just doing something for someone else. Instead, the invitation is for us to do something together. We are all made to both give and receive, and we lose a part of ourselves if we are always the giver or always the receiver. I call this mutuality. Holding this posture also invites me to see every person I encounter as unique, noticing that they have their own set of experiences which contribute to the way the world is viewed. In turn, I then have to allow people to see me. As relationship develops, there is opportunity for me to both offer care and receive it. Mutuality can at first feel quite vulnerable. The typical power dynamic suddenly shifts. For me, embracing both sides is life-giving and I think one of the biggest contributors to my longevity in this work.

COMMUNITY

I cannot do this life alone. I need people. I need those who know my strengths and my weaknesses, and who out of love and care call me out on things; who I can share the hard stuff with; who I can laugh with until I’m crying. And I need to be that person for others. I am so grateful to have friends who are all these things to me. I believe that we humans are built for community, which is why isolation (which is different than choosing solitude) is so debilitating and lonely. At The Dale it has been very important to grow a staff team, one where we know one another well and trust that we all have each other’s backs. The Dale as a whole spends a lot of time together, around tables, outside, in various spaces around the neighbourhood. We eat, we make art, we sing, we cry, we pray, we waste time together- all of which serves to nurture community.

COUNSELLING

I am a big fan of therapy. I see a counsellor nearly every other week. I also see people who function as spiritual directors and coaches. This might increase if I am in crisis, but it does not decrease when things are steady. I deeply value the active listening, question-asking, feedback, homework, prayer, and wise counsel of these sages. I have come to better understand myself through their care and been given tools to better manage my life generally. I know it is a privilege to have the resources for this type of support, something I do not take for granted. I think in the absence of counselling, the necessity of community is yet again high-lighted.

HOME

I love my family and the life we have built together. I count being a partner to Dion and a mother to Cate two of the greatest gifts in my life. Dion and I have seen each other at our best and at our worst. We have weathered a lot of hard stuff, and as one friend recently commented, I still laugh the loudest with him. When I look at Cate it is like my heart is walking around on two legs. With all of this in mind, it has been very important that I not let work consume me. As a family we spend a lot of time together, even in this new stage where Dion lives in Long Term Care and Cate is launching into adulthood. We have developed what some think of as a ridiculous amount of traditions and we stick to them. Dion and Cate participate in the life of The Dale whenever possible. My home life helps to ground me.

I was going to make prayer a section of its own, but I realized that for me, it has to cover everything. At its most basic, prayer is a conversation, and folks, I tend to be in conversation a LOT- sometimes it is calm and peaceful, other times it is choppy and frantic. I ask a lot of questions. I wail. I cheer. I hope. Always I am given strength that is not my own, which reminds me of one of my mother’s favourite Bible verses: “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” I suppose I have buried the lead. How do I manage this challenging and beautiful life? Through prayer and by grace. Both of which have directed me to Sabbath, Mutuality, Community, Counselling, and Home.

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When Easter and Death Collide

This year, Easter coincided with multiple deaths in The Dale community. The result for me has been a real wrestling with resurrection. In the Christian faith, we celebrate that Jesus died and then came back to life. There is promise in this that we too will ultimately overcome death, but for now we still have to stare it in the face. Three friends, in the span of mere weeks, are gone from here arguably too soon. Resurrection seems very far off. 

Death is an experience, as the band Mumford and Sons sings, that is so “full”. There is no mistaking that the person is gone, and yet it doesn’t make any sense. Clinging to a future hope while managing the reality of now can be hard work. It has me exploring the word “resurrection”, and delving deep into the story of Jesus, wondering again about what it all means. 

The origin of the word resurrection means “to stand” or “to rise up”. Some dictionaries define it as: “the act of bringing something that had disappeared or ended back into use or existence”. This actually brings to mind the ways that I have seen forms of resurrection. Like when a tree buds in the spring, or a broken relationship is restored, or sobriety is found, or a family is reunited, or health returns after an illness. 

In Scripture, all of the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus center on the physical. Jesus didn’t speak with a loud voice from the sky, He instead showed up with hands, feet, and scars. He embraced Mary, made footprints on the road with people, chewed on a piece of fish, and made a campfire on the beach to cook breakfast for his friends. It was in the presence of skin and bones that the disciples came to faith. Jesus turned the trauma of his death into communion with His people.

I love that Jesus used ordinary and concrete things to ground the divine. It makes me think we can do the same: that there is a sacredness in gathering, in breaking bread together, in doing dishes, in walking and leaving footprints, in sharing our scars. When I take a step back at a Dale drop-in and listen to the hum of conversation, notice the cups of coffee being shared, watch two people forgive each other, see the joy on someone’s face when they receive a compliment, I do believe I am experiencing communion while catching a glimpse of resurrection. 

In the middle of this season of loss, we experienced a person being brought back to life during a gathering of The Dale. It was at our Bible Study, while we were talking about resurrection that this person died, was revived and about a half hour later walked away. It was astonishing. It made me appreciate even more how shocking it would have been to see Jesus a full three days after death. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have one of my recently deceased friends show up, even if it is exactly what I long to have happen. 

The profound mystery that is the resurrection is one I do not expect to entirely understand on this side of things. In the meantime, my prayers for healing here and now will never stop. I desire for all that has been taken, broken, mistreated, wronged, and forgotten to be restored. The resurrection of Jesus is the promise I hang on to, sometimes by the skin of my teeth, when healing does not look like what I might expect or hope in the present.

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Homage to a Van

Years ago, Dion and I purchased a wheelchair accessible van with the financial help of many people. At the time Dion was in a mobility scooter and could ride into the van, transfer into the front seat, and drive using hand controls. Even after a wheelchair became necessary for Dion and he stopped driving, it remained an important form of independence for him. Our family can get around together, including to places beyond the boundaries of Wheel Trans (the accessible arm of public transit in Toronto). Since Dion’s move into Long Term Care it has helped us maximize time together. The van has also been an important part of my work at The Dale. It has served as an office, a storage unit, and a community outreach vehicle. 

Not even two weeks ago the van died. The end came as a surprise. I took it in to have the brakes looked at, only to be told there were much bigger problems that couldn’t be fixed. We got a second opinion which matched the first.

When I told folks at The Dale, I wasn’t sure what the response might be. I get that having a vehicle is a privilege, one that most of our community does not have. People expressed such concern and said they would pray for our family. Once again, I felt cared for and seen. I was also reminded that the vehicle has meant a lot to many people, including those who like Dion, use mobility devices. It has carried people to picnics and restaurants and funerals and waiting rooms and court. Once we had to transport someone’s beloved deceased pet to a clinic. We have rolled down the windows and blared music while travelling on the highway. There are a lot of memories. 

During last Thursday’s Breakfast-to-Go, someone expressed to me their true concern for Dion in all this. They went on to recount some of their favourite experiences of the van. Shortly after, my co-workers Joanna, Meagan and Olivia reported on two exchanges they had with people about the van. One person expressed their true sadness about its demise and how it really deserves a proper burial. Another mentioned how helpful it has been to see it parked in the neighbourhood because it signals that I am around. I wanted to both grin and have a little cry. Who knew a beat-up burgundy Toyota could have such an impact? I’m grateful that we have been able to share it in such a way that people came to count it their own. 

The van got towed away to a scrap yard last week. And so, with very little fanfare, it is now gone. We’re not really sure what is next. There are pros and cons to every solution we are considering, including not having a vehicle. I’m glad that the van, while we had it, was used to its full potential. I hope that whatever comes next will serve our family and extended community just as well. 

The windshield of the van was often decorated with gifts, in this case paper cutouts, by community members of The Dale.

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Four Topics that Challenged Me in 2023

I can hardly believe that we are about to end a year and launch a new one. As I reflect on 2023, four topics stood out as ones that consistently challenged me.

THE MESSY MIDDLE 

In this increasingly polarized world, there are very few spaces where people can dialogue across difference. This can quickly lead to the de-humanization of the ‘other’. Though it can be uncomfortable, I want to spend time in the messy middle. I want to co-create opportunities for us to learn from one another, to understand what informs our choices, and to develop empathy for the challenges and trauma experienced by others. I believe this helps to remind me/us of our common humanity. I also hope that this can lead to increased advocacy and support for the people and places that desperately need it.

CHANGE IS HARD AND GOOD

I have been reminded in 2023 that change, even the best kind, is hard. For example, after years of doing The Dale’s Monday lunch as a meal-to-go, we got a space to move back indoors and re-launch our drop-in. For some members of the community this was a return to something they knew well, except in a very different location; for others it was a first, knowing The Dale only through the pandemic; for the staff team it was both exhilarating and exhausting, a dramatic shift from our well-established routine of the last 3.5 years. What became clear very quickly was that we couldn’t just replicate what was in the past, not because we changed our values or vision, but because this was a new time and a new place. Change for us required being gentle with ourselves, and the community. We are still settling in, each week feeling better and better. Change, though hard, is also very good. 

NO ONE CAN DO EVERYTHING

This is a lesson I have been learning my whole life. There were days in my teens and early twenties when I tried to do too much because I thought it was required, not just to be “successful”, but to be loved. I have learned along the way (through struggle, crisis, therapy and my faith) that I am beloved not because of what I do, but simply because of who I am: a child of God. It’s not always easy, especially when there are so many things to do and battles to fight. The Dale team will attest to the fact that I talk a lot about choosing what we can do, and then working really hard to do it well. One of the greatest gifts has also been discovering the gift of partnership and community: when we rely on and support the gifts of one another, so much more happens.

SABBATH IS A GIFT 

To some the notion of Sabbath (in order words, intentional rest) feels either like a punishment to self or to others. If I stop, then I won’t get through my to-do list. Or, if I stop it will potentially come at a cost to the person who relies on me. Or, if I stop [fill in the blank]. Stopping can be scary- at least it has been for me. After years of practicing Sabbath, I have discovered that all of the things that made me worry about it have not been the issue. Stopping actually enables me to get through the to-do lists. Developing a plan for the people who rely on me has meant we both learn to rely on a broader community, and we both learn of our capabilities. So, what is the issue? It goes back to that basic fear that I have to earn love by doing. Sabbath reminds me that I am no one’s saviour and that life carries on without me, both humbling and freeing truths. 

On the cusp of a new year, I am challenged by these words of Henri Nouwen, “Did I offer peace today? Did I bring a smile to someone’s face? Did I say words of healing? Did I let go of my anger and resentment? Did I forgive? Did I love?’ These are the real questions. I must trust that the little bit of love that I sow now will be many fruits, here in this world and the life to come.” As I consider these questions, I also hope for more opportunity to sit in the messy middle with people who want to do the same (let’s get another Story Day happening friends!), to navigate change with gentleness and persistence, to work hard at the things I can do and remember that we can do more together than on our own, and to rest. May we all be strengthened with hope for peace this coming year. 

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The Fridge is Empty: the Reality of Food Insecurity

Food insecurity is the condition of not having access to the quantity and quality of food that is required to meet one’s needs. The Dale is in relationship with a lot of people who experience this type of insecurity, and we’re noticing a trend: more and more people are coming to identify themselves as “food insecure”. Second Harvest, a food rescue organization of which The Dale is a part, agrees. In 2022 the number of people served free food by non-profit organizations increased by 134%. The projection is that this will increase by another 60% in 2023. 

According to Canada’s Food Price Report, the average cost of food per month for an individual is between $311 and $347. At The Dale, many of our community members are unable to work and are therefore recipients of ODSP (Ontario Disability Support Program). The maximum one person can receive is $867 per month. Consider that the average cost of a bachelor apartment in Toronto is $1317. It’s not hard to do the math. Unless you have access to affordable housing (and maybe not even then), you already don’t have money to buy food. 

The line-up for food at The Dale meanders along Cowan Avenue. We set up tables from which we distribute bags of food, including a hefty meal provided to us from Second Harvest, served either hot for those who live outside or frozen for those who have the ability to heat it up. We include other items too- this week there was a bottle of water, a bag of grapes and a good handful of cookies. We admittedly don’t love having to ask people to line up, our preference being to eat meals around tables together. However, the pandemic put a cramp in our style that we are still recovering from. Our drop-in spaces all closed and have yet to re-open to us. 

There are some weeks where there is a heightened sense of urgency for food, especially near the end of the month. We try our best to assure people that everyone will receive something, even when we can feel our own anxiety bubbling up at the sight of the lengthy line. Somehow it almost always works out, for which we are incredibly grateful. 

Food insecurity can be difficult to know how to address, especially with the rise in the cost of food generally. It can be alarming to know that what accompanies the shortage of food is the alarming WASTE of food. Second Harvest notes that 11.2 billion tonnes of avoidable food waste occur in Canada each year, which includes, but is not limited to unsold food from restaurants, unharvested produce, and food left to go bad at distributors (not to mention our own refrigerators). 

The danger in sharing statistics and even about The Dale’s “line” is that the humanity of this situation can be lost. Not having access to food, a basic necessity of life, is a scary reality for a lot of very real people. And just think about all the additional benefits of food, including the way we gather around it and how it nourishes our spirits and not only our stomachs. Some of my most distinct memories are attached to the smell and taste of food. I can’t eat certain things without thinking of the people who first prepared those dishes for me. We hear similar stories at The Dale all the time.

Food has the ability to gather us together. May this crisis, which can help fuel our collective response to it, do the same.