Living in a remote place like Hixon, I’ve learned how much of a difference a helping hand can make. Because out here, simple things aren’t always simple.

Most people don’t have running water. Families have to haul water from the creek for cooking, laundry, and washing babies. But you can’t drink it. Safe drinking water has to be bought, and it isn’t cheap. Neither is food.

With only one general store here, groceries cost two or three times what you’d pay in Prince George, the nearest town almost an hour away.

Getting to town isn’t easy either. Gas is sky high. Vehicles break down. Many people can only afford a grocery trip once or twice a month, and winter makes things even harder.

One family hit black ice on the way home from town. They slid off the road, down an embankment and totalled their car. Stranded in minus forty temperatures, they were lucky to walk away unharmed. Something as ordinary as getting groceries suddenly became impossible.

People don’t talk about it. They carry it quietly.

But when you work in the school, you really get to know the children.

I’ve known many of them forever. My own boys were raised here. I know the families. You notice when something feels off.

You notice kids coming back on Monday carrying more than just their backpacks. Tired. Distracted. Trying to sit still in class while all they can think about is where their next meal is coming from.

Or boys pedalling home with half a jug of nearly expired milk balanced on their handlebars like they’ve won the lottery—because to them, they have.

Or the kids lingering around food in the hallway. Hanging 
back, looking away, pretending they’re not interested 
because they’re too embarrassed to ask.

Those moments break your heart.

It hurts because I know that feeling.

I grew up in foster care. Food was locked up. Everything was measured. Later, after I aged out, I was homeless for a while and had to learn how to survive. I’ve known hunger in ways no child should have to know it.

That’s why I reached out to Backpack Buddies for support.

When the food bags started arriving, the kids began counting on them. Fridays became something they looked forward to, instead of dreading. They’d come running.

And slowly, you could see the change. They were lighter. Happier. Able to focus better. And families could breathe a bit easier.

Once food started going home regularly, we began to see needs we never knew existed. Parents started to speak up, because they finally felt safe enough, felt they could trust us. We could connect families to hampers, donations, and community resources. We could bring more people into the circle and make them feel seen and supported.

Sometimes a few simple snacks tucked in a backpack become a quiet reminder to a child: “Someone thought about you this weekend. Someone cared enough to make sure you wouldn’t go without. Someone is carrying this with you.”

It takes a village out here.