Midge Thomas carried a paper bag up some steps, across a porch and knocked on the door.
The sack sagged a bit from the cooked turkey and mashed potatoes inside. No one, however, answered to claim the food. Thomas rang the bell, waited a few moments and then found a different door to knock on. Still nothing.
She stepped back and weighed her options.
The meal in Thomas’ bag was one of hundreds prepared this week by volunteers with the Fallbrook arm of Veterans of Foreign Wars, a nationwide nonprofit. VFWs act as gathering places and can offer a range of services for people who served in conflicts abroad.
This one was among several hosting feasts across San Diego County, but its home deliveries extended the bounty. You didn’t even need to be a veteran to receive it.
Men and women had already been cooking for days when the sun rose on Thanksgiving. There was enough food for 300 meals. While some would be eaten in the dining hall, more than half was to be driven all over town.
“Hot pot!” a woman shouted while stepping out of the Fallbrook VFW’s kitchen. She was followed by James Duncan, a Marine Corps veteran and a leader in the organization.
Duncan stopped at a man with tattoos running down both arms. “You want to do cranberries?”
“I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
Duncan turned toward a guy in a camouflage hoodie and asked if he could oversee gravy.
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
Post 1924 sits just off a residential street in North County. There’s a dining hall, a bar, a covered patio and smoke room, which together carry enough memorabilia to give a fairly comprehensive history of the U.S. military. A framed Los Angeles Times cover from the 1940s (“Japan Signs Surrender”) hangs near hand-written notes sent by troops in Afghanistan (“Thanks for the cookies”).
One small table sat empty on a stage. A chain kept anyone from sitting in the chair. Atop the tablecloth was a poster that read, “POW MIA.”
Duncan’s red T-shirt struck a similar note: On the back were names of service members killed in the 2021 airport bombing in Kabul, Afghanistan.
He watched as volunteers loaded containers. Bags crinkled. Styrofoam squeaked.
Thomas, the daughter of a Navy veteran and a leader of the VFW’s auxiliary committee, grabbed seven bags and walked to the parking lot. She set the meals inside a Cadillac SUV and climbed into the driver’s seat.
“For an old woman,” she said, panting, “that’s a lot of exercise.” (Thomas is 73.) Then she balanced a list of home addresses on her lap, typed the first one into her phone and pulled onto the road.
The mobile home park where she was headed was only a few miles away. Thomas slowed as she neared the entrance. This place was a maze.
Within a few minutes she was knocking on doors. Many people who answered were alone. One woman explained she recently had reconstructive foot surgery. Another said her husband was recovering from a stroke. A third noted this was her first Thanksgiving not cooking a turkey in 55 years.
“Be careful,” Thomas told one recipient as the bag changed hands. “It’s leaking on the bottom.”
Acorns popped under her tires as she drove from house to house. Sometimes she hit a dead end and had to double back. “We’ll need breadcrumbs to find our way out of here.”
The home where no one answered sat in a cul-de-sac. Thomas waited a while. Then she set the bag on the porch.
Her next delivery was across the street. A man and woman with white hair answered that door, and as they chatted Thomas inquired as to whether the couple knew the whereabouts of their neighbor. They didn’t think anyone was home.
Thomas retrieved the bag from the porch and left it with the couple for safekeeping. But immediately after saying goodbye, Thomas rounded a corner only to see that a Honda Accord had since pulled in front of the once empty house. A man in a flannel shirt now sat out front.
“You’re back!” Thomas said. “I just gave your food to your neighbor.”
“Thank you so much,” the man said when he realized who Thomas was. “Oh my god, can I write you a check?”
“If you want to do a donation, that’s always good for our veterans,” Thomas said.
The man found a checkbook and wrote “$20.” Then, unprompted, he announced whom he had supported during the presidential election. Thomas, who happened to be a fan of the other candidate, thought of several things to say, chose to pass on all of them and instead opted for a wave.
Back in the car, Thomas checked her delivery list. She needed to get the check to the VFW, and there was still a broccoli and cheese casserole that needed to be made for her own family.
As she backed up her SUV, the man on the porch raised a hand in farewell.
