‘Gleaning’ on local farms helps us all answer an ancient call to help those in need
The harvesting of fruits and vegetables for or by those facing food insecurity is as old as the Old Testament. As far as I can tell, it’s a win-win-win.
The rows of yellow, green, and red peppers glisten brightly as sunlight catches the morning dew.
We get right to work, aiming to pick as many as we can before the heat sets in. For the next two hours, I’ll be a gleaner, a volunteer field hand gathering fresh produce for a local food bank.
“Gleaning?” asks a wisecracking friend. “Is that glamorous cleaning, like ‘glamping’ is glamorous camping?”
Gleaning is the harvesting of fruits and vegetables for or by those in need, and is as old as the Old Testament. A verse of Leviticus spells out a farmer’s obligation to leave some of his crops for the poor and foreign travelers:
“When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap your field right up to its edge, neither shall you gather the gleanings after your harvest. And you shall not strip your vineyard bare, neither shall you gather the fallen grapes of your vineyard. You shall leave them for the poor and for the sojourner: I am the Lord your God.”
Modern gleaning is typically arranged by a community group or nonprofit, and as far as I can tell, it’s a win-win-win.
Hungry people get fresh, nutritious, free food.
The farmer gets a tax deduction and the knowledge all his hard work isn’t for naught, even as he forgoes a bit of profit. Farmers tell us they traditionally over-plant to hedge against the weather. They know the dill might get hammered by the heat, the corn stunted by drought, or the tomatoes bloated like overinflated water balloons from all the rain.
But what if the weather cooperates? Then the farmer has more bountiful crop than he can handle. He has neither the manpower to reap it nor sufficient customers to buy it. He might as well give it away.
To be sure, we get instructions about what crops we can take. Leave the heirloom tomatoes, we’re told: they fetch extra at the farmer’s market. Don’t take the purple peppers for the same reason.
And what do we gleaners get?
I get my exercise: Why do the Forward Fold pose in yoga when I can bend to gather a ripe melon? Why lift weights at the gym when I can be in the fresh air, lifting plastic crates filled with corn? (It turns out corn is heavy! Each ear weighs about a pound.)
Why do the ‘Forward Fold’ pose in yoga when I can bend to gather a ripe melon?
It’s also gratifying to know that I’ve helped those in need, but in a way that feels far more authentic and efficient than writing a check to the local food bank, which they’d use to buy canned vegetables.
And as I toil in the fields, I’ve gotten new appreciation for the farming roots of our language.
When we say a piece of legislation “died on the vine,” farmers say that about cantaloupe.
When we call a student “a late bloomer,” farmers say that about a green tomato that is the last to ripen.
When we say Uncle Henry has “gone to seed,” farmers say that about basil.
When we call someone a “bad apple,” we’re mindful that a person can taint others. In the fields, we gleaners see that in action and know to discard any fruit with rotted spots because that rot will spread.
When we talk about a “windfall,” we mean an unexpected inheritance from our Aunt Thelma. Its true meaning, I now realize, can be found in the orchard, when a storm blows ripe apples or peaches to the ground. (Easy gleaning, that.)
I also get a tiny taste of a field hand’s life, and with it, a solid dose of gratitude when my little shift is over.
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And I get a taste of the farmer’s life, as well, with its cruel dependency on the weather. Occasionally the organization will send out a text blast about a crop-picking emergency: Can you help gather apples before a late autumn ice storm decimates the orchard? Farmers don’t need spreadsheets to prioritize their work; Mother Nature does it for them.
Once our shift ends, we face what for me is the hard part: Leaving. While we’ve rescued a lot of perfectly good food, plenty remains. It’s hard to turn my back on all that waste.
The organizers weigh the day’s harvest so they can tell the farmer how much he has donated. Once the crates are stacked in the truck, they’ll go directly from the field to a nearby food bank or free produce market.
Before our shift organizer climbs into the truck, she looks over her load of peppers, tomatoes and corn, and predicts with certainty: “Those will be on someone’s dinner plate tonight.”
Kathleen O’Brien is a former newspaper columnist who lives in New Jersey.
Learn more
Want to become a volunteer gleaner? Most shifts are on weekdays — weekends are for farmer’s markets — and all groups require volunteers to sign a waiver. Children are usually welcome, including small groups (Scouting troops, soccer teams, high school service groups, etc.) Gleaning takes place from now until the first hard frost. Here are some local options:
New Jersey Farmers Against Hunger, run by the New Jersey Agriculture Society in Bordentown, N.J., aims to reduce waste on its member farms by gleaning. The crop is then distributed to 85 relief agencies in 13 New Jersey counties, from Cumberland to Hudson. (609-721-6300; www.njagsociety.org; or email gleaning@njagsociety.org)
Rolling Harvest Food Rescue gleans every Wednesday and Saturday, 9-11 a.m., at Gravity Hill Farm, 67 Pleasant Valley Rd., Titusville, N.J. Produce is distributed in Bucks, Mercer, and Hunterdon counties. (267-293-0085; www.RollingHarvest.org)
Bushels of Blessings is a Christian-based gleaning ministry out of Carney’s Point, N.J. The website allows first-time volunteers to register, and posts a calendar of upcoming gleaning shifts. (302.494-6114; www.bushelsofblessings.org)
A slightly different kind of farm volunteering is offered by the Philadelphia Orchard Project, which plants orchards in smaller urban spaces. Help is need to plant new orchards as well as maintain existing orchards and vegetable gardens. (215-724-1247; www.Phillyorchards.org/volunteer)