From Warehouse to Table

Food Gatherers Keeps Washtenaw County Fed as 1 in 7 Face Food Insecurity

If you’ve spent any time in the Washtenaw County area, you’ve seen the Food Gatherers trucks around town–they’re a ubiquitous presence all over, every day. Food Gatherers is the largest food bank and food rescue program in Washtenaw County, distributing over 10.3 million pounds of food–about 8.5 million meals–to over 140 partner agencies in just the last year. Established in 1988, they are also Michigan’s first food rescue program and among the first six in the entire nation.

The large fleet of Food Gatherers trucks goes out twice each day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. They leave the Food Gatherers warehouse filled with food to distribute to partner agencies, drop the food off, and then on their way back to the warehouse, they refill the trucks with donated or rescued food, which they get from “pretty much everywhere.” Rescued food is usually food from grocery stores that is past its “best buy” or “sell by” date, but which is still healthy to consume. These dates indicate peak quality, but there are different guidelines for evaluating when a food is still safe to consume. The USDA estimates that 30 percent of the food supply is lost or wasted at the retail and consumer levels, so by rescuing these foods, Food Gatherers can both feed the community and prevent massive amounts of food waste.

Food Gatherers focuses on rescuing food that is both high in demand and provides the biggest nutritional benefit, as well as foods that are shelf-stable and will last longer for their distribution partners. Over 60% of the foods they distribute are produce or high-protein items like meats, eggs, and dairy products. After the food has been rescued, a vast force of volunteers sorts through the food to make sure that it is all still safe to be distributed to the community: that nothing has broken its seal or been punctured, that the produce is in good shape, and that everything is still within the date extension guidelines (a certain amount of time after the “best by” date). They do this work immediately to make sure the perishable food gets distributed as quickly as possible, and sort the food into boxes to make it easier to deliver to partner agencies–including making tailored halal boxes for partner agencies serving the Muslim community.

Food Gatherers distributes through a vast network of over 140 partner agencies, 40-50 of which are “open sites” such as food pantries and the remainder of which are “closed sites” such as school pantries and housing complexes. Many of these partnerships go back many decades, and Food Gatherers provides the material support while allowing the agencies to make their own internal decisions about what and how to distribute. Food Gatherers is also intentional about making sure that through their network of partner agencies, they are reaching all portions of the county–both urban and rural–which are reported as experiencing food insecurity.

Because of this vast network of partnerships, any cuts to Food Gatherers' funding affect the entire county. Historically, the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) has played a major role in funding food assistance programs throughout the country. In March, however, the USDA canceled about $4.3 million in food orders to Michigan, equating to more than 2 million meals. Food Gatherers estimates that their organization alone lost 1.2 million meals from these cuts–meals which will cost them about $2.5 million to replace. The program, which was cut, the Emergency Food Assistance Program, focused on providing high-quality, nutritious food such as produce and dairy items. So, although Food Gatherers is still receiving some federal funding, they have been working hard to make up the gap caused by recent cuts. So far, they have been able to, thanks to generous support from donors and our local government.

The recent changes to SNAP (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) in the so-called “Big Beautiful Bill” don’t affect Food Gatherers directly, but they will cause increased need throughout the county as more Washtenaw County residents lose their benefits due to more time limits on benefits and greatly increased paperwork requirements, which many people find difficult to navigate. Food insecurity in Washtenaw County has already been rising, from 12.5% to 14%, meaning that one in seven residents lacks reliable access to nutritious food. Food Gatherers saw a sharp uptick in need when COVID-era SNAP benefits were withdrawn, and they anticipate a similarly sharp uptick in need with the upcoming changes to SNAP. According to Feeding America, for every meal that food banks supply, SNAP supplies nine; organizations like Food Gatherers and their partner agencies are meant to be supplemental to food assistance programs like SNAP–not a replacement.

Food Gatherers won’t be able to fill all the gaps in food access that will come from reduced SNAP benefits, but they expect to be able to continue providing the level of services they have historically been able to. They will continue to distribute record amounts of nutritious food through their agency partners, rescue and distribute food which would otherwise be wasted, conduct community outreach to connect with community members and help them access services, and raise general community awareness through food drives. Even as the terrain of food access becomes increasingly difficult to navigate, community members should have confidence that our local food pantries will continue to be well-provisioned by the incredible work that Food Gatherers is able to carry out.

The essential services that Food Gatherers provides would not be possible without the incredible support they receive from the Washtenaw community in the form of volunteer hours, monetary donations, and food donations. In 2024, over 4,100 volunteers dedicated over 53,000 hours of their time to sort and pack food, go on food runs, cook and serve meals at the Food Gatherers Community Kitchen located in the Delonis Center in Ann Arbor, and help with the Summer Food Service Program, which ensures that families have access to food even when school is out. As more and more federal funding and support are cut for food access programs, it is more important than ever that our local communities show up to support programs like these at the local government level and in our actions as members of the community.

This post is part of a series by Emma Rose Hardy, a PhD Candidate at the University of Michigan and the Rackham Local Food Systems Intern at Growing Hope. The series aims to highlight the essential role that SNAP and other food assistance programs play in the Washtenaw County local food system.

< Older Post

Newer Post >

Mother Earth is Asking Us to be Present

By Julius Buzzard • April 1, 2026

Beloved community, April arrives the way it always does in Michigan; tentatively at first, then all at once. One morning, the ground is still stubborn and cold, and the next, something is pushing through. We call it Earth Month, but Mother Earth does not need a month. Mother Earth is always working. What Earth Month does, at its best, is return us to attention; to the slow, faithful labor happening beneath our feet, whether we notice or not. This month, I want to talk about that labor. Not just the labor of growing food, but the labor of staying whole while doing this work. The labor of belonging to one another. The labor of grief. Food sovereignty has never been only about food. It has always been about the conditions under which people live; who controls the land, who decides what is grown and for whom, whose hands are trusted to tend it, and whose labor is rendered invisible in the process. When we plant together, across our differences, we practice a different way of being in relationship with the earth and with each other. We are rehearsing the world we are trying to build. This is food sovereignty at its fullest: not a policy framework alone, but a practice of restoration. Of the land, yes. But also of people. Of community. Of self. Earth Month, then, is not just a celebration of the natural world. It is an invitation to remember that we are part of it; that the health of our soil and the health of our souls are not separate questions. This spring, I am carrying something heavier than usual. And I suspect many of you are too. Our community lost Melvin Parson. And that loss has settled into me like the coming of spring here in Michigan: quietly, then suddenly, everywhere. Melvin was a farmer, a visionary, and a neighbor. Through We The People Opportunity Farm, he built real pathways of belonging and dignity. He understood that food sovereignty is not only about growing food; it is about restoring people to possibility. Melvin planted seeds that will outlive all of us. In the soil and in the lives he helped rebuild. Rest in power, Melvin. We will keep tending what you planted. But grief does not arrive alone. And I think we need to name that. Something has been accumulating in many of us. The anxiety of not knowing whether your rent will hold, whether the program keeping your mother's medication affordable will survive the next budget cycle, whether the news tomorrow brings another cut, another threat, another loss. The weight of watching war unfold on a screen while packing your child's lunch. The low hum of uncertainty has grown so constant that many of us have stopped recognizing it as something being done to us. Mental health in our communities is rarely one dramatic moment. It is the slow erosion of the conditions that makes life feel possible. And right now, those conditions are under pressure from every direction. We are not imagining it. It is real. And it deserves to be named. I do not want to move past this moment too quickly, because I think it is asking something of us. Those of us who work in food systems, in community organizing, in the daily labor of trying to repair what has been broken, we carry a particular weight. The need is constant. The resources are not. The work is relational, which means every loss is personal. Every family facing hunger has a name. Every policy that fails our community lands in someone's body. We are not separate from the communities we serve. We are one of them. And that means the strains of this moment: economic precarity, political hostility, grief, isolation, and the relentless demand to do more with less all live within us. I have been thinking about what it means to tend ourselves the way Mother Earth tends herself. To acknowledge that fallow seasons are not failures. That rest is not retreat. That asking for help is not a weakness, but the most honest form of community care. Mother Earth is not asking us to be strong; she’s asking us to be present. This April, I am inviting Growing Hope's community into that same practice. Tend your plot, yes, but also tend your people. Check on your neighbors. Come to the farm not just to grow food, but to be held by the community. Let the soil remind you that transformation is slow, and real, and worth it. We are in this together. And together is the only way through. In solidarity, Julius P.S. If this month is weighing on you, you don't have to carry it alone. The NAMI HelpLine offers free, confidential one-on-one support, mental health information, and resources — available Monday through Friday, 10am–10pm ET. Call 1-800-950-NAMI (6264) or text NAMI to 62640. And if you need a reason to get outside and be with people, join us on April 11, 10am–1pm for our Spring Seedling Distribution.

Downtown Ypsi Deserves This

By Julius Buzzard • March 27, 2026

Beloved community, Last season, organizers of all sizes hosted 168 events at the Ypsilanti Farmers MarketPlace, from mutual aid distributions and cultural gatherings to health outreach and food policy conversations. These moments reflect how we steward shared resources to maximize good and meet multiple community needs at once. At the heart of it all is the Ypsilanti Farmers Market itself. If you’ve spent any time at the market, you know that it’s never just been a place to shop. It’s a place to linger. To listen. To organize. To feed one another, body and spirit. Together, we are building a food ecosystem where everyone has access to fresh produce and where advocacy, mutual aid, and belonging intersect. That was especially clear this year when our community faced a sudden gap in food access. When early federal funding shifts threatened nutrition dollars, our community didn’t wait. Together, we rapidly designed and launched the Ypsi SNAP Gap Program, a locally powered response that ensured hundreds of local families could continue to access food. As we move through spring, your support sustains this work; keeping vendor fees low, strengthening food access programs, and maintaining the MarketPlace as a space for belonging. Every gift sustains a place to live, organize, and nourish one another. With deep gratitude, Julius Buzzard Executive Director P.S. Your early spring support ensures we’re ready to respond when our community needs it most.

Nutrition and the Right to Thrive

By Julius Buzzard • February 26, 2026

Beloved community, March is National Nutrition Month, and across the country, we’re told to read labels more closely, count nutrients more carefully, and “eat real foods.” But nutrition is not a trend cycle; it is a question of power. I invite you to join me in curiosity and ask: Who has access to what’s being recommended? Who can afford the “real” food being celebrated? Who grows it, and who gets paid? Are we treating illness, or are we transforming the conditions that produce it? Health outcomes matter, but health equity goes further. Health equity asks why certain neighborhoods have higher rates of diabetes in the first place. It asks why fresh food feels exceptional in some zip codes and ordinary in others. It asks why farmers struggle to survive while healthcare systems expand. If we do not address land access, procurement policy, and economic extraction, then “eat real” risks becoming a quiet moral judgment instead of a structural commitment. Michigan once modeled real structural commitment through 10 Cents a Meal for Michigan's Kids & Farms ; matching school dollars to buy Michigan-grown produce and making local food standard in cafeterias. It strengthened children’s health, stabilized farmers, and shifted institutional purchasing habits. This year, the program was not funded. And as a result, students miss the chance to build lifelong food memories rooted close to home. And still, we are not retreating. Together, we are building a foundation of generational health. Generational health is the long game. It is the work of ensuring that today’s third grader doesn’t just eat a fresh apple; but grows up expecting apples from Michigan orchards in their cafeteria. It is ensuring that a teen doesn’t just volunteer at the market; but understands zoning laws, farm bills, and supply chains well enough to challenge them. This is the foundation of our theory of change. We build generational health by shaping habits early and reinforcing them often; through initiatives like our Teen Leadership Program, where young people gain the skills and critical lens to navigate and influence the food system; through field trips to our urban farm and incubator kitchen, where learning is rooted in soil; through Farm to School programming that normalizes local procurement; and through Power of Produce (POP) Club, where children practice agency by choosing fresh food for themselves. This is how we shift from reactive nutrition work to regenerative nutrition culture. We do this by pairing conversations about Food as Medicine, dietary guidelines, and eating real foods, with: An insistence that farmers are part of the prescription. Guidelines that align with affordability and access. Understanding that real foods need to be reachable, culturally meaningful, and dignified. Nutrition is not simply about what’s on a plate. It is about who has the right to thrive. This National Nutrition Month, I invite you to see nutrition not as an individual burden, but as a collective project that treats fresh food not as charity, but as infrastructure. We are cultivating a community where children expect fresh produce, where farmers are stable and respected, and where health is inherited as legacy. That is generational health. And that is the future we are growing together. In solidarity, Julius P.S. Check out the FoodCorps Policy Action Map or sign up for our Farm to School Newsletter if you’re interested in building generational health.

ALL ARTICLES