The pantry of “purple community bins” in Takoma Park began before the pandemic, in spring 2019, as a single bin that Lara Kris Watson set outside her apartment building to share items she saved from chain-store dumpsters: toys, cases of soda water, dental floss, tampons, bath poufs, just-expired food.
Wp Get the full experience.Choose your plan ArrowRight
But soon Watson’s dumpster-dive scores grew, and one bin became a few, and a few became 20, as community members contributed extra food and household items and the nonprofit Small Things Matter delivered thousands of dollars’ worth of food, too.
The bins have become a lifeline for families and seniors from Takoma Park and nearby communities — many of whom have lost work during the pandemic and struggle to pay bills and feed their families. The city and Montgomery County, where it is located, are relatively wealthy areas but have deep disparities.
This month, though, that lifeline came under threat.
On Feb. 9, a Montgomery County official conducting a routine inspection at the apartment building deemed the purple bins a violation. Watson, alarmed that the volunteer-run pantry would be taken away, raised a red flag in a place where the city’s residents sound off and hold vociferous debates: the Takoma Park Facebook group.
Advertisement
Story continues below advertisement
“Help save the Purple Community Bins!” she posted on the 3,200-member page at dawn on Valentine’s Day. The inspector, she wrote, “cited my landlord for the purple community bins, saying that they are considered ‘solid waste’ and needed to be removed! My landlord told him what they are and how much they help the community (he is very supportive of the bins) but the inspector said he had to cite him.”
She then asked “everyone” to write to Montgomery County Councilmember Tom Hucker (D-District 5), who represents Takoma Park, and “ask for his help to ensure the bins can stay and continue to help the community.” She urged the Facebook group’s members to contact other elected officials as well.
And the wheels of activism — well-oiled in a liberal enclave like Takoma Park — kicked into gear. One woman shared in the comments of Watson’s post the letter she wrote to Hucker. Watson shared an online petition that she launched. More than 200 people signed.
A third of all food in the U.S. gets wasted. Fixing that could help fight climate change.
Later that night, Hucker joined the comment thread, saying he would reach out to county officials. Another woman active in the Facebook group told Watson she had reached out to her father, who, she said, would be “reaching out to inspector IMMEDIATELY and telling them to back down and leave you alone.”
Advertisement
Story continues below advertisement
Watson, befuddled, replied: “Wait, who is your dad?” The response: Montgomery County Executive Marc Elrich (D).
The next day, Watson posted to the Takoma Park Facebook group again, this time to thank Hucker and Elrich for reaching out to the housing department. The community bins stayed.
“This is a nonprofit community venture in support of our less fortunate neighbors, and we should have a lot of tolerance for this and support it,” Hucker told The Post. “The last thing the government should be doing is ticketing them.”
The pandemic intensified hunger in the D.C. region. Now, there’s a push to end it for good.
Each week, Small Things Matter drops off $7,500 worth of rescued food donated by Trader Joe’s, Wegmans and Imperfect Foods to three community-bin pantries in Takoma Park, including Watson’s, which receives 80 percent of the food, said the nonprofit group’s executive director, Roxanne Yamashita.
Advertisement
Story continues below advertisement
The people most in need arrive on the Thursday and Saturday delivery days, Watson said. Others in the community swing by at other times because “they also want to contribute to stopping the waste of food,” she said.
Restaurants throw away a lot of food. These volunteers pick it up first and take it to people who are hungry.
One recent Thursday, elderly women and younger mothers with children in tow queued up before the noon delivery: nearly 30 boxes filled with fresh produce, such as blueberries, sugar snap peas and avocados, plus cheese, salmon and eggs.
“This is super great. Lara makes sure the food is shared equally among everyone in the community,” said Francisca Guerrero, 67, who was a housekeeper at a hotel in D.C. but hasn’t worked since March 2020.
Vilma Guerrero, 30, who said she works at a laundromat, came with her 3-year-old son to get food for her family of five. “The pandemic really reduced my work. It has impacted my rent, my bills,” she said. “This has helped us to save some money.”
Advertisement
Story continues below advertisement
Lyn Fraser, 67, who regularly picks up food for herself and four other seniors, said she gets calls from people asking her for help. “There are a lot of hungry people out there,” Fraser said. “It saves me a lot — I don’t have the money. It’s a great help for all of them.”
Little Free Pantries are like Little Free Libraries — but with food
Elrich, who came to observe the delivery, said he understood the inspector’s initial instinct but added that there needed to be more understanding after Watson told him about the community initiative.
“He didn’t do anything wrong ... but when she explained, it should have been enough. He maybe felt he didn’t have the flexibility,” Elrich said. “I called them up and said it’s not trash, it’s part of a purposeful thing. It’s not a commercial operation. It’s the kind of thing we should be encouraging.”
For Watson, 45, a recovering alcoholic who has been sober since July 16, 2007, the bins have become a personal lifeline, too, as so much else has fallen apart.
Advertisement
Story continues below advertisement
She used to dumpster-dive between her jobs shopping and delivering for Shipt customers. But last summer, her long-standing back pain became so severe that she stopped working in July, and dumpster-diving became impossible. An MRI in August showed two herniated discs.
After she mentioned her struggles on Facebook, “people stepped up,” Watson said. “They brought me food. A neighbor paid my electric bills, people sent me money, and I use that money to pay my bills, my rent, my phone bill.”
She now needs a walker to get around and has enlisted other volunteers to help with the deliveries and bins.
“When there was the threat of them being taken away, I knew it would be bad for my mental health,” Watson said. She thought of the women she’s met who say the bins are the only way they and their families are able to eat.
“I would be so upset if I couldn’t feed them,” she said. “The bins are the one thing that are keeping me from feeling completely useless.”