On a recent Friday, people started lining up for a food distribution about three hours before the 9 a.m. start. Shade from the towering trees helped provide some respite from the sun, while the day got increasingly hot as the sun moved overhead. Many of the families were Latino, and among the rations being distributed that day was Maseca for making tortillas. Sitting in a Chevy sedan one September morning, Emma looked out with a daze in her eyes—the hustle and bustle all around was just a blur. Many businesses were closed, and some folks were eating on the sidewalks as cars lined up for a food distribution.

If one place underscores just how dire our hunger problem has become during the pandemic, it is here, in the heart of the San Fernando Valley, in a city that supplies food up and down the coast and across the border. For many who are fighting hunger, the ranks are expected to swell some 45 percent this year. Emma, her husband, and children are among them. She has come to this spot, an empty parking lot, to collect free boxes of food resources: fruits, vegetables, dairy, protein and bakery goods. Many waited in line ahead of her for hours. “It has been hard,” she said. “We have had to dramatically change how we eat.”

Before the coronavirus shut down, which cost Emma her job as a teacher, she had visited some community food pantries, but had never been to a large-scale, drive-through food distribution in her life. Now, at 40, she is a regular. This is one of the most jarring aspects of the hunger crisis: About one-third of those relying on food pantries, large-scale and emergency food distributions now are doing so for the first time, according to Feeding America, the nation’s largest hunger-relief organization.

On a recent Zoom call with a local Rotary Club, the director of the Valley Food Bank, Will Hernanddez, was quoted as saying: “We are no longer projecting a surge. We are experiencing a surge in food insecurity and an unprecedented demand from first-time recipients.”

Demand at the pantries are up 63 percent this year over the same time last year, and groups like Second Harvest say the peak has yet to come. The federal government’s $600 weekly supplement to unemployment insurance, which helped millions weather job losses and pay household bills, came to an end.

There are people like Emma, who previously did not work enough to qualify for unemployment benefits. Her husband works construction but that has been slow, sporadic at best. Meanwhile, the family has had to give up eating lots of things to make the mortgage and utilities. “Food is one of the last things on our list,” she said.

A program known as Farmers to Families Food Box Program, which is buying surplus supplies to deliver to food banks and other organizations provided the food that Emma received.

The Teens Giving Back Initiative (TGB) is a teen-run organization created by sisters, Andy and Abby Soriano. Because of the Coronavirus pandemic, they wanted to create a group with the goal of “giving back” hence the name.

The organization wanted to use current events to help those affected by them. First they started with front liners. They created their first project in May of 2020 called “Project #001 LifeSavers for Life Savers” where teens from all over Los Angeles County created handmade notecards with words of gratitude and encouragement to keep doing the hard work front liners do every day, especially during this challenging time.

Their most recent project was “Project #002: Community Food Drive” where members of TGB went out into their communities and placed paper bags at doors with a letter attached asking for donations of food and hygiene products. The teens then went out into their communities a week later and collected the donations from doorsteps, sorted the collection, packed it all in cars and headed to the Valley Food Bank, knowing their efforts would help hundreds of people.

TGB is a safe place for teens who aspire to give back to the communities. The organization is all about building friendships, providing an outlet from school and other concerns, and creating a love for service and generosity.

There is a long, curvy dirt road leading off a main street deep into a rough area riddled with bumps and full of dust. A rooster can be heard crowing in the distance. This is a neighborhood of mobile and manufactured homes in Sun Valley, where life is hardscrabble and amenities are few or nonexistent. There are lots of wire fences and several “No Trespassing” signs. At the end of the road sits a pale, lime green home, where Eneida and her children live. She makes a lean living by working odd jobs, like painting, cutting grass, trimming trees, minor home-repair work—whatever it takes to help her and her family survive. She also cleans houses, and sometimes travels with her sister to work in other cities.

The odd jobs and housecleaning gigs have largely dried up as the coronavirus pandemic continues. Life is harder than usual. Eneida, a single mom, doesn’t ask for sympathy. She started working at 13 years old. She has also worked in the packing houses. She is used to hard work and managing with less. But she has also learned to ask for help when she needs it. We met her recently at one of the distribution sites, where the Valley Food Bank held a drive-through food pantry. She received a pre-packed kit with enough perishable food to feed a family of four for five days, along with some fresh bread and bakery goods.

Eneida said she has received food from the Valley Food Bank a total of three times—only when money gets reallytight, she tells her kids. “If I don’t need it, I don’t go. Other people need it.” That is what the Valley Food Bank is there for—to help people who are unable to make ends meet in the face of life emergencies. They may have lost a job, be battling illness, had an accident, living on a fixed income, dealing with the death of a loved one or facing other challenges. The coronavirus has intensified and compounded these challenges so that the Valley Food Bank is seeing a 100-percent increase in need.

Back in her yard, Eneida sat with her son Emilio, 10, and daughter Naya, 6. A rooster and a few chickens occasionally strutted by. She said peacocks from the property next door sometimes pay a visit. The children are animated and talkative. Emilio, who is in fourth grade, likes science. He misses school. Naya, a kindergartner, likes math. But the eldest, daughter Maya, 15, won’t come out of the house. She is still embarrassed by the fact that her family needed food, Eneida said.

Eneida and her three children sleep in one large room of their family home, which is shared by her mother and her brother. The home was left to them by her father. The extended family’s main bills are utilities, taxes, the car— and food. Eneida’s mom is on Social Security. Her brother is on disability. They get by. Sometimes, Eneida and the kids collect cans to recycle and earn money. Eneida has diabetes and high blood pressure. She hopes she does not get the coronavirus. She knows a lot of people are afraid. All they can do is live day by day and try to stay positive, Eneida said. Sometimes they live by a thread. It has been awhile since she had a job, but she will not give up. “When they call me, I’m there.”

A long-time supporter shares why she gives back: “I tell everyone about the food bank,” Daisy said. “That’s important to me—that people know how much is happening here.”

Daisy and her husband Dave are longtime donors to the Valley Food Bank, and also volunteer at their church packing meals for seniors. “The food bank addresses every area of need,” Daisy said. “From people in dire need of emergency food, to people who just need a short-term helping hand, to people who are ready to take that next step, start a new career and change their lives. That’s huge. The food bank is doing it all. I’m proud to be a part of that.”

Daisy looks forward each week to her assigned task to ensure food is inspected, separated and repackaged for distribution to needy individuals. She is always cheerful and upbeat. There is no task too big or small—she just wants to make a difference