On a warm Tuesday in late July, a small group of volunteers stands knee-deep in green and gold rows of rainbow chard at Dog River Farm in Berlin, Vermont. The colors shimmer in the sun — ruby reds, golden yellows, deep greens. In their hands are crates, quickly filling with the kind of food most of us would be thrilled to see at a farmers market. But here’s the catch: these vegetables were destined to be destroyed.
Instead, thanks to a small nonprofit with a big heart, they’re about to find new life on dinner tables across central Vermont.
The Quiet Heroism of Gleaning
If you’ve never heard of gleaning, you’re not alone. It’s an ancient practice that dates back to biblical times, rooted in community and care. Farmers leave behind the crops they can’t sell — maybe they’re misshapen, maybe too small, maybe there’s just too much to harvest. Volunteers step in to gather what’s left. Nothing fancy. No big headlines. Just hands in the dirt, saving food that would otherwise rot in the field.
In Berlin, that work is led by Community Harvest of Central Vermont. On this particular morning, Allison Levin — the group’s founding executive director — is joined by three volunteers, including Cary Friberg. Together, they pull in nearly 150 pounds of rainbow chard. To put that into perspective, that’s enough to fill the trunks of two cars. Enough to feed dozens of families.
Within hours, the greens are on their way to food pantries in Montpelier and Barre, where lines form hours before delivery. For many, this produce isn’t just a treat; it’s the only fresh food they’ll get all week.
Why This Matters More Than Ever
Vermont’s food assistance programs are facing a storm. Federal cuts to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) mean thousands could lose benefits in the coming years. At the same time, small farms are struggling, and public funding to support food donations is dwindling. It’s a painful irony: while more families go hungry, tons of perfectly edible food is plowed back into the soil each year.
“The work that we’re doing is going to be in even higher demand,” Levin says. She’s not exaggerating. In Montpelier alone, the fresh produce Community Harvest delivers makes up a large fraction of what the city’s pantry can offer. Without gleaning, shelves would be bare, and plates emptier.
The Beauty in Imperfection
Walk through any grocery store, and you’ll see what’s considered “perfect”: shiny apples without blemishes, carrots as straight as rulers, tomatoes free of spots. But farms don’t grow like that. Nature doesn’t follow cosmetic standards. The chard Levin’s team salvages may have bent stems or curled leaves, but it’s fresh, healthy, and nutrient-rich.
Farmers call these “seconds,” and without organizations like Community Harvest, most of them would never leave the field.
George Gross, owner of Dog River Farm, admits he’d have no choice but to till unsold crops back into the soil. “We just can’t afford to harvest it,” he explains. For him, gleaning means less waste — and for families in need, it means food on the table.
More Than Just Food
This isn’t only about calories. It’s about dignity. When you walk away with a box of just-picked chard, you feel seen. You feel valued. For volunteers, gleaning is equally transformative. They walk away sweaty and smiling, knowing they’ve done something tangible, immediate, and deeply human.
There’s also an environmental bonus. Every pound of produce saved from rot keeps methane out of the atmosphere and maximizes the resources — water, soil, energy — that went into growing it.
A Growing Movement
Community Harvest isn’t alone. Across Vermont, small nonprofits are taking similar steps, building quiet networks of generosity. They don’t make headlines like big food drives, but their impact ripples through communities. Every box of “seconds” handed to a mother or senior or child is a reminder: we still know how to take care of each other.
And while gleaning may sound humble, it’s revolutionary in its own way. It challenges the idea that only flawless food is worthy. It bridges the gap between farm abundance and pantry scarcity. It turns waste into nourishment.
What We Can Learn From This
We can’t all start nonprofits. But we can all do something. Volunteer for a gleaning day. Donate to a local food rescue group. Shop from farmers who embrace “ugly” produce. Even just talking about food waste — breaking the silence around it — helps shift how we value what grows in our fields.
Because when we stand in those rows of rainbow chard, side by side with farmers and neighbors, we see the truth: there is enough food. The challenge isn’t growing it. The challenge is sharing it.
Where the Work Goes From Here
As Vermont braces for more need and less funding, gleaning will become even more vital. The work is hard, yes — bending, lifting, sorting in the heat of summer. But it’s also deeply hopeful. Each crate saved, each pantry stocked, each family fed is proof that even in tough times, community can rise to meet the moment.
We may not solve hunger overnight. But we can close the gap between what’s wasted and what’s wanted. One field, one farm, one harvest at a time.
When Food Becomes a Bridge
In the end, gleaning isn’t just about food. It’s about connection — to the land, to our neighbors, and to each other. It’s about saying no to waste and yes to care. And in Vermont’s fields this summer, amid the hum of insects and the rustle of chard leaves, that bridge is being built — quietly, beautifully, and box by box.