Colony stays humble by volunteering

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This article was published 04/01/2018 (3066 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Dorothy Waldner wanted to inspire her students at Green Acres Hutterite Colony.

Dig deeper, she asked. She didn’t want them solely reciting facts from their experience volunteering at Helping Hands Centre of Brandon in the stories they’d write.

“I wanted them to feel, to put it on paper,” she said.

To provide an example, Waldner penned a reflective story of her own. It recalled the first time she’s seen the city’s soup kitchen operate — a vital lifeline to approximately 170 people enjoying a warm lunch every weekday.

Recently, the TA (teachers’ assistant) was reading her story to students at Green Acres Hutterite Colony when Margaret Martin happened to drop in. Martin was there to pick up this year’s batch of peace posters the students drew for the Lions Club’s annual contest.

Waldner was planning to stop reading her story now that a visitor showed up, but Martin implored that she keep going. The little bit Martin heard had touched her.

“She was wiping tears,” Waldner remembered.

Hoping Waldner’s recollections should be shared with a broader audience, Martin shared the letter with The Brandon Sun.

Waldner said volunteering with the soup kitchen is an important endeavour for Green Acres Hutterite Colony, located near Wawanesa.

She said the kids help prepare the food on the colony.

“We want them to experience how fortunate they are, that they actually have a warm home to go home to, they have food on their table,” Waldner said.

The submitted story, written by Waldner, looks back at a day when 12 Green Acres students in Grade 5, Grade 6 and Grade 8 visited the Brandon soup kitchen.

his was Waldner’s first visit. In previous years, she stayed back at the school with other students.

» The Brandon Sun

BY DOROTHY WALDNER

As the building filled with people, a child was crying. He was waiting in line, trying to convey something to his anxious mother. He was distressed, as if he’d been crying for a long time.

“Calm down. I can’t hear a word you’re saying,” his mother pleaded, looking around desperately. Filled with frustration, her voice faltered.

“Is your son hungry?” Helping Hands Soup Kitchen co-ordinator Vandana Jamadagni cheerfully called out to the mother. “Bring him over here! We’re about to open the serving tables!”

Her hysterical child trailing behind her, the weary-looking woman joined the long line.

“The smorg is open!” Jamadagni’s strong voice echoed through the crowd some minutes later. “Come and eat!”

Relieved, I saw the mother and child moving through. When they arrived at the last table, where she was serving bowls of hot soup, I looked up at the woman.

“Your son looks tired and hungry, but he’ll be fine once he’s eaten!” I told her. Smiling, I added, “You’re doing a wonderful job!” She nodded with a weary sigh. The boy stopped crying.

Green Acres Hutterite Colony has been volunteering at Helping Hands for a number of years, but it was my first time. The simple act of expressing empathy with a stranger’s feelings made me thankful for everything I so freely enjoy without worry and largely take for granted.

We drove into Brandon that morning with our Grade 5, 6 and 8 students to deliver and help serve a meal they prepared for the less fortunate. At the front door, the children jumped off the bus, eager to carry our homemade food inside.

The door was open and we entered an enormous old building. Spacious, with a strong high ceiling, it had a narrow, escalating staircase a few feet into the adjoining hall. The air felt clean with a faint dusty smell.

At the top, we entered a huge well-lit banquet room with a warm, welcoming atmosphere and a kitchen in the far left corner. Meandering and observing the place from front to back, I noticed, a platform on which stood two beautiful pianos, adjacent to the front door. Three high school students were chatting on the platform, waiting for their shift to begin. We learned later these high schoolers volunteer every Tuesday. The quiet scene inspired serenity and a joyous spirit.

Continuing on toward the back to where the children carried homemade food, I saw the staff greeting them with welcoming smiles. Everyone was energized and eager to begin.

The menu was broiled chicken with homegrown, cooked peas and freshly cubed baked potatoes. For dessert, we brought trays of warm apple crisp to serve with ice cream.

We were led into the office where I was introduced to Jamadagni. Bubbly and energetic, her contagious laughter welcomed us, making it easy to connect with her. She briefed us about what to expect and shared snippets of her Indian culture as we waited for kitchen staff to prepare the serving tables.

Ushering us out of her office, she told us to grab a plate and stand in line. “The staff is eating first”, she explained, scurrying about. I filled my plate, thinking of the hungry people soon to arrive: for some it might be their only meal of the day.

We had a half-hour to eat. I enjoyed the company of Jamadagni and a Tim Hortons manager who volunteers occasionally. Since it was Halloween, the manager wore a period costume — a full, halflength red-and-white striped dress with huge, puffed elbowlength sleeves, reminiscent of Little Red Riding Hood’s Grandmother. Her long, ballooned stockings covered her legs all the way to her knees. “This, ladies,” she intoned, “is a bathing suit from the early ‘30s!”

Soon it was time to begin serving. Volunteers were pushing in plastic carts, loaded with food. The children were designated spots behind the tables where it was their task to place food onto each plate as people passed by.

Several times I glanced over to where the mother and her once-crying son were eating. The line was much shorter now, so I asked someone who served beside me to take over my job for a few minutes. “I need to go and visit,” I said. He nodded his assent.

“How are you making out?” I asked the mother.

“We’re fine,” she smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

Can I give your son a hug?” I asked. I’d wanted to do that since I’d first heard him in his heartbreaking state.

“Sure,” she replied.

I turned toward him as he sat silently nibbling and asked if he wanted a hug, but he kept looking down. Kneeling, I hugged him. “I’m glad you’re feeling better now,” I said softly, surprised at the tension in his little body. Children should be happy, full of life; I wondered what hardships he’d endured in his young life. Why was he was so upset? He hadn’t smiled or met my eyes once. I wondered where they lived and when they’d last eaten.

Later, I noticed the boy cheerfully ambling about, scanning the dessert table. Sauntering over, I told him, “There’s fresh apple crisp, still warm from the oven, and other desserts. His mother smiled, rose from her chair and followed her skipping son to the dessert stand. I felt deep gratitude that they’d come to this place to receive the love and support they needed — a warm welcome and wholesome food.

The hour of serving was nearly ended, the last person seated with his hot meal, and it was almost time for cleanup.

Out of nowhere the mother reappeared to stand beside me, holding her son’s hand. “We came over to thank you for caring,” she whispered with a smile. I was amazed. Impulsively, I gathered the boy in my arms and hugged him close. I’m not sure who needed it more. This time his arms were soft and relaxed, but his body still somewhat stiff. It was the first time we made eye contact and I smiled.

Rising, I brushed the mother’s arm and asked how she felt. “Do you need a hug too?” I asked.

She embraced me and I hugged her back. Then she smiled, took her son’s hand and walked out the door.

I hadn’t expected to react as I had, but it made me feel warm inside and I cherished it. I couldn’t help wondering where they were going. What impact had this lovely place made on them?

Travelling home that night, I marveled at the many things we take for granted: a country where we feel safe, warm homes, food on our tables and, most of all, being loved. We are so blessed and I’m grateful we could share some of that with folks who are less fortunate.

» The Brandon Sun