Mainers are stretched thin. In Oxford County, many can’t afford enough food.
Mexico, Maine – A Warm July Lunchline Mirrors a Year‑Long Struggle
By the time the first families arrived for lunch on a crisp July morning, the atmosphere in the modest kitchen of Good Samaritan Missionary Services was already humming with activity. Volunteer hands were setting out clean tablecloths, arranging baskets of fruit and snacks, and filling orange coolers with lemonade and water. In the background, a pot of baked beans simmered, its aroma drifting through the room.
The operation is the brainchild of Michelle Williams, a retired hospice nurse who turned a modest emergency pantry she launched three years ago into a soup kitchen after seeing the overwhelming demand. The menu that day featured barbecue‑pulled‑chicken sandwiches, a street‑corn pasta salad, and the signature lemon icebox cake. “Food is a necessity, not a luxury,” Williams explained, her voice reflecting the simple philosophy that drives the effort.
A Region in Need
Williams’ kitchen is more than a feeding site; it is a barometer of the economic pressures gripping Maine’s River Valley. Oxford County, long tied to the paper industry, now ranks among the state’s most food‑insecure areas. Data released this summer by United Way of Western Maine shows that 66 percent of households in Rumford struggle to afford basic expenses, while half of those in Mexico and 39 percent in neighboring Dixfield fall below the ALICE (Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed) threshold.
The statistics paint a picture of a community where many are “one unexpected expense away from crisis,” according to Dan Coyne, who leads United Way of Southern Maine. The region’s unemployment picture has shifted from the heyday of the ND Paper Rumford Division—when the mill employed more than 3,000 workers—to a present where the plant employs just over 500. The loss of manufacturing jobs has left a void that service‑sector growth and new energy projects have only partially filled, town manager George O’Keefe noted.
Barriers Pile Up
Joleen Bedard, president and CEO of United Way of Western Maine, described the daily calculus many families confront: “It’s certainly a struggle and I don’t see it changing any time soon. There are two Maines: the haves and the have‑nots.” Residents speak of “barrier after barrier after barrier,” as Melissa McEntee, director of Rumford Group Homes—the county’s only homeless shelter—put it. Seasonal work, irregular incomes, and a dearth of public transportation make it difficult to hold down a job or reach medical appointments.
The shortage of affordable housing adds another layer of difficulty. O’Keefe said the town has been courting developers to add both single‑family homes and apartments for seniors, hoping to ease the financial pressure on families. Yet for many, climbing the economic ladder remains an uphill battle.
Personal Stories of Hardship
Sue Grace, a 72‑year‑old Rumford native who spent decades as a hospital phlebotomist, knows the feeling all too well. After retiring on Social Security and a modest pension, she initially managed. Over the past few years, however, rising costs have forced her to tighten her budget. She receives about $24 a month in federal food assistance and a $417 rent subsidy. To stretch those dollars, Grace often eats only two meals a day and relies on the soup kitchen for a hot lunch.
“It was drilled into me that you don’t ask for help. I had to learn to do that,” she said, sitting in her modest apartment under a sign that read, “Live well, laugh often, love much.” Grace’s experience mirrors that of countless others who have found themselves “falling through the cracks” as basic expenses outpace income.
The Food‑Pantry Network
A short drive away, the Old School Food Pantry in Mexico operates on a weekly basis, serving a similar clientele. William Gallant, a 77‑year‑old volunteer who has been involved for four years, keeps a tally of each visitor behind a check‑in table. In August, nearly 300 families came to the pantry to collect fresh produce, meat, and shelf‑stable goods. “There are always new people coming in for the first time—older retirees whose pensions don’t cover the bills anymore, working parents who can’t afford groceries,” Gallant observed.
The pantry’s role has grown more critical since sweeping changes to the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) were implemented last fall. More than 11,000 Mainers have lost access to the program, and rural areas—often dependent on SNAP—have been hit hardest. Food‑bank leaders report record visit numbers as they attempt to fill the widening gap.
School Meals and Summer Hunger
The strain is especially acute for families with children. In late June, the Rumford–Mexico school district announced it would not provide free lunches to kids over the summer, citing staffing shortages. Williams said the decision sent a ripple of need through the soup kitchen. “Holy smokes, we are getting our butts handed to us,” she recalled in early July, noting that on one day she served 45 people—half of them children—in under an hour.
Angela Dean, a Mexico resident who stays at the homeless shelter, finds the meals a lifeline. “It might seem like one meal three days a week isn’t a big deal, but when you’re a mom trying to survive, it’s so important,” she said after feeding her toddler a high‑chair lunch. Dean, who knows most of the regulars by name, relies on the soup kitchen for a predictable source of nourishment.
Families Who Help Each Other
The Holtorf family exemplifies the tight‑knit nature of the community. Alisha Holtorf, who runs a church‑based food pantry in Rumford, brings four of her five children to the soup kitchen each week. She homeschools and holds two part‑time jobs, yet still struggles to make ends meet. “People are doing all they can, but it still doesn’t seem like enough for this area,” she said.
Courtney Johnson, a Mexico mother of seven, offers a stark illustration of the trade‑offs families must make. After a $5 lottery ticket won $200, the family bought a $55,000 house in 2023. Yet the triumph did not erase their financial constraints. Johnson left her job as a direct‑support professional when childcare became unaffordable, and her husband’s subcontracting work is inconsistent. “It sucks to be poor,” she said bluntly, describing how she chooses heat over electricity each winter. “Robbing Peter to pay Paul” has become a daily reality.
Despite their own challenges, the Johnsons try to give back. They purchased toothpaste for a church member who was using dish soap to brush his teeth and pooled $200 to buy meat for a family in need. “We will go without to help another family,” Johnson affirmed.
Grassroots Solutions
In River Valley, informal networks often fill the gaps left by formal services. McEntee, the shelter director, highlighted how providers know one another and can redirect people when one organization cannot meet a need. At Good Samaritan, the assistance goes beyond meals. On Thursdays, a retired social worker sits in the back room, helping clients apply for assistance programs. Basic toiletries, household items, and pet food are also available.
Williams and her board operate on a shoestring budget, applying for grants and relying on a small donation jar during each lunch. When a grant payment was delayed, Williams used part of her Social Security check to keep the kitchen running. A supporter contributes $400 each month from her own benefits. In preparation for winter, Williams spends hours canning sauerkraut, pickled beets, tomato sauce, and vegetables.
She has had to scale back operations, offering only two lunches per week as the summer wanes. “It’s a tiring week,” she said, “but it’s nice to go into the weekend knowing you’ve helped people.” On the coldest days, she plans to open the kitchen as a refuge for those without adequate heating.
A Community at a Crossroads
The story of Good Samaritan and its neighbors captures a broader narrative across Maine: a state where the cost of living increasingly outpaces earned income, and where traditional safety nets are fraying. While the town of Rumford is making strides in housing and energy development, residents like Grace and the Johnsons continue to wrestle with everyday scarcity.
“People who care and want to help have found a way to band together,” McEntee said, reflecting on the resilience she sees in Oxford County. “We feel lucky that in Oxford County we are small and all the providers know each other.”
As summer transitions to autumn, the soup kitchen’s coffee will remain hot even when lunches are scarce. For now, the line at Mexico’s Good Samaritan continues to grow, a testament to both the depth of need and the community's stubborn commitment to feed one another.
