The can of quail eggs in brine still sits on a shelf in our pantry. It’s been there now for more than five years. It serves as one of those reminders that haunts us. Soothes us. Humbles us. Reminds us.
It was one of the worst winters of our lives together. My husband’s masonry business, which hung by a thread during our Western Nebraska winters, had been at mostly a stand still that entire winter. To top it off, I was enduring the second maternity leave within a year and had virtually zero paid time off in my bucket. We were white knuckling it until spring and hoping none of our many creditors would send us to collections before the weather could clear and my husband could go back to work.
His first job in the spring was a chimney repair. A job where he fell off the roof, landed in a belly flop 15 feet below and broke his pelvis in two places. The job that sent our entire world into a tailspin and forever changed our lives.
At the time our mortgage payment was more than I brought home in a month.
The month after my husband’s accident I sat in the car outside the food bank sobbing. My trunk was filled with boxes full of food. The social worker at the food bank had offered whatever we needed. Anything I could possibly use. Offered me the things they had a hard time getting rid of. I loved to cook, I wasn’t sure of what we could need or use, and had absolutely nothing available for grocery shopping. I had applied for welfare, but the red tape that encircled all of the public assistance programs was making it nearly impossible to get any actual help. I was desperate and wasn’t going to turn down anything.
I never thought I would be there. I never thought I would be “that” person. We had decent paying jobs, a house, multiple cars, young kids, a supportive family, education and skills. We were on track to live out the “American Dream.”
Our reliance on debt to fill in the gaps, spending more than we earned, and burying our heads in the sand meant that even the slightest shift in our lives could cause the entire house of cards to fall down on top of us.
My husband falling off a roof and being out of work for a year didn’t just topple the house of cards, it set it on fire.
Standing in the food bank I felt both relief and shame. Relief that I could feed my family. Shame that I had to rely on someone other than myself to provide that food. Relief that such an amazing outreach was available to me in my community. Shame that I felt ashamed.
Those tears in that parking lot were filled with the emotions of both the shame and relief. I had always been one of those privileged saviors who donated graciously to food banks. Donations from my surplus. Search the cupboards for the school’s food drive to throw a can or two into the bucket. Now here I was with my hand out thankful for the canned asparagus, tuna, bags of dry beans, venison, Campbell’s Chunky Soup.
And quail eggs in brine.
We’d never eaten quail eggs. Had no idea what to do with it. But I was so desperate. So afraid to turn down anything that I accepted whatever someone would allow me to have.
But who the fuck thinks quail eggs are a good addition to a food bank?!?!?
I was shocked and appalled at what was in the food pantry. It was at a time of year and month that much of the pantry had been picked over and new donations weren’t expected until the giving season of Christmas. I had sorted canned food at food drives before and always rolled my eyes at the number of expired items, dented cans, crushed and partially opened boxes that would be donated. But to have this facing me as a quail-eggs-or-starvation decision, I was horrified. I chose the quail eggs and prayed we would never have to be that close to starvation.
We haven’t been. But we keep that can at the front of our pantry as a reminder that one time we were at risk of being there. And that every day there are people in this country who are there. It reminds us that we have the ability (and the responsibility) to keep people from being there on that precipice.
By the next year my husband had recovered enough to go back to work. Our beautiful community, friends, and family had come together and saved us from ruin. We had been introduced to Dave Ramsey and had made significant strides toward recovering our lives. That year I went grocery shopping specifically to donate to the food bank. I bought everything I wished had been at the food pantry when I went. What I hoped could be there for someone else as they stand in that room of desperation and hope.
Coffee, peanut butter, chunky soups, tuna, jelly in something other than grape, Chef Boyardee, anything but Ramen Noodles, applesauce, enchilada sauce, spaghetti sauce, alfredo sauce. I made sure the cans weren’t dented and nothing had expired. Every food drive since, I go to our own pantry and see that can staring at me.
No one should be faced with the option of starvation or quail eggs in brine.
