Fresh eggs, thrifty neighbours and food security

Opinion

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 13/03/2025 (210 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Every second Tuesday without fail, my egg farmer deposits three dozen eggs in my courier box and picks up my cash and empty cartons to recycle back into his egg operation. Fresh eggs are a small-town luxury that I don’t take for granted.

I would raise chickens, but municipal bylaws block residents from next-level food-sufficiency. So I leave egg production to my farmer since my efforts are better expended on vegetable growing and cooking.

In 2005, an elk breeder met me outside the local nursing home where his wife worked. He smiled while he pulled a tattered black garbage bag full of frozen elk cuts, wrapped carefully in butcher’s paper, from the trunk of his car.

I arrived home puzzled by the elementary packaging. But then glamorous packaging isn’t a big priority on the rural Prairies. The bag of butchered elk was $60 and my spouse and I cooked the lean meat into various recipes over a couple of months.

In fall 2008, our octogenarian next-door neighbour, George and Denise, arrived at our door bearing sustenance gifts: frozen deer roast and stale-dated homemade salmon in a small canning jar. I tossed the janky salmon, washed the jar and we cautiously ate the deer roast. It was better than a beef roast from the store.

Once a week, the elderly couple travelled in their compact Dodge Neon to an auction house in nearby Saskatoon where they acquired cheap bananas, hiked the price then sold them to less-mobile locals. On Mondays, the wife sold freshly baked bread from her kitchen.

These pension-stretcher strategies worked for a couple of old-timers who survived the Depression years. I found their homegrown commerce quaint. “Oh, look at those penny-pitching seniors; aren’t they cute?”

Now, I see them as prescient.

As Winnipeggers batten-down for The Great Tariff War, look to rural residents for inspiration and direction. Plant a big garden. Preserve the surplus. Get a hunting licence and secure some wild game for the freezer. In the winter, find a friend with an ice-fishing hut, then enjoy some good company and the fresh taste of pickerel.

As rents rise and more inflation looms, food security is top of mind for Manitobans. Since the pandemic, food bank use has jumped drastically. More than 50,000 Manitobans now rely on food banks to meet their nutritional needs.

My late parents, John and Betty Robertson, dedicated their retirement years to building food security for their neighbours in Manitoba’s Interlake. They drove their old Mercury Grand Marquis with a massive trunk filled with donated canned goods from Winnipeg Beach’s Our Lady of the Lake church to Gimli’s Evergreen Basic Needs.

Once a month, the Robertsons pointed the car south to Winnipeg for John’s meetings at Winnipeg Harvest Food Bank. His “Sunshine Club” was a group of able yet retired men — many of whom played baseball with dad for the St. Boniface Native Sons.

In 1992, my first job out of university was in the non-profit sector. Thanks to my mum and dad’s volunteer contacts, I secured a position as special events co-ordinator at Winnipeg Harvest Food Bank.

Since Canadians were mired in a recession, jobs were scarce. Winnipeg Harvest was in expansion mode and executive director David Northcott took a chance on a recent grad with no experience.

While The Sunshine Club brainstormed, networked and raised money, I served up lentil soup and homemade corn muffins and took the meeting minutes.

The life lessons gleaned from that tenure still resonate. It was the most rewarding job of my life. My efforts made a difference. I also learned about the cruel stigma of poverty and the resilience of people who juggled a monthly budget within strict constraints.

My modest salary covered rent on a Wolseley apartment, groceries and student loans. I drove my late-grandfather’s Ford Tempo to work, meetings and special events. I paid for my own gas and parking because the food bank’s stern bookkeeper was tight-fisted. She taught me the value of a dollar.

For the foreseeable future, Manitoba families will carry a heavy burden as they navigate a Trump-made recession. Go gently on each other and try not to judge yourselves too harshly. Living in challenging circumstances is hard enough without adding shame to the equation.

If you have surplus, please donate to Manitoba Harvest. If you garden, grow a row for them. Volunteer for a collective kitchen or join a community garden.

Your modest efforts will build food security and resilience for you and your neighbours. Because if one Manitoban goes hungry, everyone suffers.

Patricia Dawn Robertson lives and writes from her small-town perch in rural Saskatchewan. Her first book, Media Brat: a Gen-X memoir, releases in late April.