This past week seemed busier than many, at least in my appropriately masked world. I got to see the JFK Middle School cafeteria and kitchen as the bustling focal point for the Northampton School’s emergency feeding program during the COVID-19 pandemic. Healthy meals get made and delivered to all school-aged kids who need them — not just the three grades the school usually serves.
It’s quite a Herculean task as a crew of perhaps six or seven comes together twice a week to bag hundreds of breakfasts and lunches, all meeting USDA nutrition guidelines, that are then bussed to four pickup spots around the city. Just acquiring the goods in the right sizes, with the right mix of proteins, fruits and vegetables — especially in this time of shortages when countless other schools throughout the country are doing the exact same thing — is daunting, especially on a tight budget. Quite different than buying in bulk and setting a lunch on a tray in the cafeteria. As Food Services Director Mistelle Hannah put it, “It’s certainly nothing we’ve ever done before.” It was nice to recognize this work on the occasion of the eighth annual School Lunch Hero Day.
On Saturday, I witnessed another minor miracle, maybe not of heroism, but at least of tolerance and cooperation. I was about to leave a demonstration in Northampton that was billed as both a “MAGA May Day” and a “rally for freedom” from COVID-19 restrictions when a woman asked me if I was with the press. A Trump supporter, she said her car had been vandalized in the nearby parking lot. By the time I was able to reach her vehicle, she and another woman were busy wiping up a shattered egg, apparently thrown with some force, dripping down the roof and windshield of her car. This second woman, offering help, let it be known quite clearly that she was not a Trump supporter. Yet they both worked together cordially, sharing a roll of paper towels and water from a bottle to clean up the mess.
Afterward, I drove to the home of a Chicopee man who was taking in the spectacle of “the St. Patrick’s Parade that never happened” from his frontyard. At least, that’s how his mother characterized the nearly half-hour long stream of vehicles. Brandon Sullivan was born with a developmental disability and according to his mother, Denise Sullivan, he has developed a “savant-level” knowledge of local parades, especially the Holyoke parade, often joking with her, “I want to have one come by our house.” Though this year’s March parade was canceled, the kind efforts of these 300 or so “parade-makers” made Brandon’s wish come true.
Kevin Gutting can be reached at kgutting@gazettenet.com.