Irma Eats: Food Waste After the Storm

It's pretty easy for me to get on a soap box about food waste on a good day. But after a hurricane it's even more painful. Stores shelves are empty and their dumpsters are full. 

IMG_7415.jpg

Some stores claim their generators failed and they lost power - other stores admit they didn't have generators at all. I can't help but find this obnoxiously irresponsible. Hurricanes, specifically, are seldom a surprise. Stores knew in advance that their respective towns would most likely lose power - it's why they ordered extra shipments of bottled water and canned goods. But what did they do to insure that their refrigerated and frozen food sections would survive the storm? Did they send their freezer + refrigerated isles to a safer location the same way it was transported to their store as part of their hurricane preparedness plan? Do we mandate they have generators? No. Grocery stores get a fat insurance check when they clear their isles after a storm. Less work to file a claim and far more financially rewarding than taking a proactive approach - so it's the road stores take. 

fw5.jpg

Stores clear their over packed isles and send all that food straight to the dump. Twice now I've seen stores fill over-sized dumpsters they wheeled in just for the occasion. The biggest irony is all of that food - it's production, packaging, and irresponsible disposal - puts us at a greater risk of more devastating natural disasters. 

fw4.jpg

It's a painful reminder of our relationship with food and how our abundance hurts others. A child dies every five seconds from hunger and hunger related illness. And it's clear we don't have a food shortage. What we have is a deadly distribution flaw. I am certain those families would have taken their chances on egos that were in a deep freezer that temporarily lost power. Or any of the grapes or other refrigerated produce (that didn't need to be refrigerated in the first place) that are now being sent straight to the landfill.

fw2.jpg

I can't help but think that we shouldn't have access to such excess when so many have nothing. What if those in need, genuine my child is dying need, had a little more? Are we not willing to go with a little less for them? When the power goes out and the food goes "bad" we're o.k. with the waste because we "need" to throw it away. Do we not need to ensure that children aren't dying in the streets from lack of food and drink? 

fw8.jpg

And on a more mico-level it forces us consumers to look at how we live and hoard food - because grocery stores aren't the only ones who had full freezers that made it to the landfill this week. Plenty of every day people faced the same fate. People from every corner of the state throwing away food (though, in the defense of the people, most I know did try to cook, store and save their stock pile). Stores from nearly every town in Florida throwing away pallets on pallets on pallets.

16,000 people a day. 

The storms aren't stopping. Neither is the suffering of those who go without. We are the ones in a position to demand change. We must start taking a more proactive, less self-centered approach to our resources. 


All images are from St. Augustine, FL post Matthew / Irma - our most recent hurricanes. No stores/ chains were without blood on their hands. Massive food waste isn't out of the ordinary for these stores. Here's a shot of perfectly good, cold food my family rescued from the dumpster on a random non-hurricane day. You can read more about that here. 
fw6.jpg

Is it Really Over?

Walking through Walmart I show my two year old the toddler potty and ask if he wants to buy one and ditch the diapers. He is not interested. Three kids in and I know better than to fight him. We move on. 

We move past the strollers and baby blankets and I am flooded with memories. Being a first time mom and wanting to buy all-the-things cute for the human growing inside of me. Trips for pacifiers that we could never find when we needed. Late night grocery runs with a tight budget. Headbows for my daughters before they were too strong willed to pick their own mis-matched attire. Cracked nipples and leaky breasts. Oh the excitement and pride I felt when they start to sit, stand, sloppily grab toys with great intention. 

My kids are older now - our only lingering link to babyhood are the diapers my youngest isn't giving up on. We're trading car-seats for boosters, and baby-walkers for bicycles. That sweet, sweet newborn smell on the top of my children's heads has been replaced with the smell of dirty, sweaty play. We don't have to hide the leggos. The bulky bouncy baby gear that was a benchmark in my home for years is nowhere to be found, passed on to the next wave of drooling babes. There is no more holding on to baby goodies with the "we will get to use this again" sentiment.

We are moving into the next season of life.

My stomach is no longer a home for new life. It feels empty, squishy and out of place. It's magic gone to most, but it still lingers as I pull my pants beyond the skin folds that once housed tiny kicks, stretches and hiccups. 

 I walk to the kitchen and pass a stuffed Curious George on the floor. He is always there, my son carries him with him constantly. I can't imagine life without "Georgie", but yet one day he will be gone, a distant memory, just like the stuffed toys my daughters cherished years ago. 

Babyhood cracks you wide open. Feed, snuggle, sleep, cry. Life is simple, but simple and easy are not one and the same. It's a massive transition and holy hell is not sleeping for years on end hard. But you do it. And then one day the babies are children and you're sleeping again. And the sweet babies are talking off your ears about boring ass pokemon, telling white lies, and rolling their eyes in the backseat. 

How did I get here?

My children are entering the phase of life that I actually remember myself in. I remember being my oldest child's age. I remember my friends, my parents, my friends parents. I can still feel the child I was. How can I be that person and still this adult, parent self? 

It's an exciting time. Piecing the old and the new together. The veil has lifted on the baby haze, and I see things differently, yet the same. So much beauty to come, so much of them discovering themselves. So much of me reconnecting with myself. Yet I still sit with a lump in my throat. Is it really over?

I stand firm that distance makes struggles seem easy. I will forget the active feeling of isolation that reaches your bones when you're home 24/7 with a baby who doesn't talk or engage. I've forgotten much already.

As they enter this phase I will try to not damage their psyche, but remember that all parents inevitably do. And I will squeeze and kiss and snuggle my youngest until the bitter end, for I know that it is near.