Many Iowans, including those who work, are struggling with food insecurity and rely on a variety of resources to meet their needs.
Rising grocery and housing costs, coupled with low wages, make it difficult for many Iowans to afford basic necessities.
Public assistance programs like SNAP are not always enough to help families escape poverty, and some individuals face barriers to accessing these programs.

Marisol Saldaña Leza opened her car trunk to show some of the food she received from the Urbandale Food Pantry daily shelf: a bag of bagels, a box of six doughnuts, a breakfast sandwich and some prepackaged snacks with cheese slices and crackers.

"Sometimes when I'm lucky they have the coffee," she said, leaning against her sedan, pointing to a can of La Colombe coffee. "You don't get to pick and choose."

Unlike a full pantry visit, where clients can choose from a wider selection to build a three-day supply, the daily shelf depends on donations and often includes leftover baked goods or prepackaged meals from area grocers and retailers. It's for clients needing immediate relief.

Saldaña Leza flashed a toothy smile at the sight of the Bear Creek soup mix — another lucky snag.

Marisol Saldaña Leza grabs refrigerated meats and other food items during a morning visit to the pantry's daily shelf, which offers leftover baked goods and prepackaged items, on Saturday, Oct. 5, 2024, at the Urbandale Food Pantry.

Saldaña Leza is among a growing number of Iowans facing food insecurity, often resorting to a patchwork of solutions to meet their families' everyday needs. While local food pantries like the one in Urbandale serve thousands of people every month, they are not the only source Iowans depend on to feed themselves. Some turn to nonprofit organizations that bring them food, while others climbing out of homelessness or poverty work multiple jobs and still make difficult choices.

A single mother with mental illness, Saldaña Leza relies on the northwest suburban pantry, part of the Des Moines Area Religious Council (DMARC) network, to fill the gaps while waiting for her food assistance benefits to replenish. With $40 left on her Electronic Benefits Transfer (EBT) debit card, the 44-year-old former social worker hoped the small supply could help sustain her and her teenage daughter for the next 15 days.

"The beginning of the month and the end of the month are the hardest. Those are the times we struggle the most," Saldaña Leza said.

EBT benefits, often called food stamps, are provided through the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP), which is funded by the U.S. Department of Agriculture's farm bill and administered by the state.

With grocery prices still high, Saldaña Leza said the EBT money lasts only halfway through the month, so she tries to stretch each dollar on staple items such as rice and beans or flour for homemade tortillas. It isn't easy to account for an entire month's worth of groceries on one or two trips to the store, she said.

Saldaña Leza said she shops at the pantry with her granddaughter in mind, so she has enough food on the days she babysits.

When money is tight, or the EBT dollars start to dwindle, Saldaña Leza said she makes do with what she has. That could mean eating smaller meals or skipping them altogether.

"Western society tells you, you got to pick yourself up from your bootstrap," she said. "I can't afford the damn boot."

Marisol Saldaña Leza receives food from the Urbandale Food Pantry on Saturday, Oct. 10, 2024.

Area experts and anti-hunger advocates say there is a solution to food insecurity: Address poverty by investing in public programs, offering livable wages and making housing affordable.

"Until we solve poverty, we will continue to have to feed people who are working that can't cover basic needs," said Michelle Book, CEO of the Food Bank of Iowa, which serves more than half of the state's 99 counties.

These are the stories of three central Iowans navigating that system to feed themselves and make ends meet.

'Aqui manda una mujer.' A woman is in charge here.

In her Urbandale apartment, weeks earlier, Saldaña Leza wore her hardship as a badge of honor, cloaked by the hope of tomorrow. The McAllen, Texas, native is a proud Chicana, her "value system" inked in black script on the fingers of her right hand.

"God is first," she said, sitting on a dining chair, extending her fingers one by one. "Then familia, loyalty, money — for survival —," she cackled, "and love. I gave up on that."

The palm trees on her left hand pay homage to her hometown in the Rio Grande Valley, on the United States-Mexico border.

The youngest of four, Saldaña Leza traveled with her siblings and their parents between Texas and Iowa to find farm or factory jobs. Watching their parents work endless hours taught her the importance of family. She, in turn, would help by providing English translations for her father.

"No matter how poor we were, no matter how much food we didn't have, we were always together and always uplifting each other," she said.

Marisol Saldaña Leza, left, laughs as her sister Leonor Saldaña reacts to the tortillas Leza makes for the family on Tuesday, Oct. 1, 2024, in her Urbandale apartment.

Lessons on loyalty and community came when Saldaña Leza's parents became activists in the 1970s, carrying forward civil rights leader Cesar Chavez's fight for farm workers' labor rights.

Hispanic people are less likely to receive assistance from social welfare programs such as SNAP, disability benefits or Social Security, according to DMARC's annual report. Documentation status or fear of repercussions for using government programs forms barriers. Saldaña Leza said she and other marginalized people also deal with cultural stigma in seeking resources and racial trauma from experiences at work, in their community or within institutions of power.

"We do need to realize that we need to ask for help and it's OK," she said. "My mom and my dad's generation, it's shameful to ask for help. Just thinking that my mom is going to read this article and may be ashamed of it is not a good feeling for me, but I'm willing to speak my truth."

"Cesar Chavez always said, 'If you want to get to know people … you invite them into your home and you let them eat with you," said Saldaña Leza, who has applied for disability benefit claims because of her mental health conditions. "Break bread with them, right? But how you gonna break bread if you don't got no bread?"

Unable to work, Saldaña Leza said she depends on the pantry and her adult son for support. She said she has gotten food from the community fridge near her apartment on Merle Hay Road and as a last resort from the dumpster behind a Fareway.

"That's something my mom and my dad always did when we were little," Saldaña Leza said of searching for unused, overstock food items from retailers' dumpsters. "And that was a poor thing. We're still doing it now."

Marisol Saldana-Leza sits with her granddaughter Lillith as they watch a movie at their Urbandale apartment on Tuesday, Oct. 1, 2024.

She takes pride in having juggling motherhood and divorce while graduating from college and working full-time as a social worker. But her pride took a hit when she left her career to seek therapy and psychiatric care for borderline personality disorder. She said her mental illness coupled with symptoms of ADHD, PTSD and OCD made it difficult to carry out even simple tasks, control her emotions and maintain relationships with co-workers. The weight of it all crushed her, the road ahead uncertain.

"I always had to choose between myself and stability or for my family, you know, but then I would lose myself in it. So I had to decide to keep myself first."

On her patio hangs a hand-painted sign: "Aqui manda una mujer." A woman is in charge here. A tilted royal blue crown adorns the sign's corner.

The 'little tricks' help a previously homeless mother working three jobs

Autumn Barongan grocery shops for her family using her recently replenished EBT on Friday, Nov. 1, 2024, at Fareway in Winterset.

At Fareway in Winterset, Autumn Barongan grabbed 2 pounds of pork chops that were on sale for less than $2 a pound and a roughly 5-pound block of ham. She figured she could have the ham thinly sliced for sandwiches and store the rest in the freezer for later.

It's one of a few "little tricks" to save food and money, said Barongan, 27, who has autism. It's an easy one she learned from her mother. She likes shopping at Fareway because she feels like her dollar stretches further than at Hy-Vee — the only other grocery option in a town of about 5,000 people. Fareway also is a 4-minute drive from Barongan's apartment compared to Target or Walmart, which are at least 30 minutes away.

Barongan works three part-time jobs, making somewhere between $500 to $700 a month, her hours varying per week. She receives SNAP and disability benefits, which she uses to pay her $700 monthly rent. Earlier this year, Barongan was receiving $200 in food assistance benefits and trying to get by with budgeting $50 a week at the store, an impossible task when her total monthly allotment buys "like a week's worth of groceries in this economy," not accounting for a picky toddler.

"The Cuties that he likes, they're like $4.99," Barongan said of 3-year-old Aden's favorite brand of mandarin oranges. "I can't always afford that every time."

Autumn Barongan, her son, Aden, and fiancé, Blaze Kai, sit together during a family dinner on Thursday, Oct. 24, 2024, in her Winterset home.

Becoming financially stable is tough for Barongan and her fiance, Blaze Kai, both of whom were homeless in their teens and lived in and out of shelters or supportive housing. Kai, who moved in with Barongan last month, said he was living in supportive housing in Des Moines and working at a Jimmy John's, where he made decent money as a shift manager. He said he was able to pitch in for child care for his future stepson and other expenses, at times sacrificing his own needs. He's now working a new job at a Winterset restaurant.

"I've been in my apartment for about two years," Barongan said, "so I feel like I'm finally getting that stability, but it's still difficult. I feel like the house of cards."

One in six full-time Iowa workers does not make enough money to cover the cost of basic needs, the nonprofit advocacy group Common Good Iowa reported in March. The state minimum wage has stayed at $7.25 since 2008, though living costs have increased significantly. Grocery prices are up 1% in the last year, while food sold at restaurants rose 4%, on top of double-digit year-over-year food price increases in 2022 and 2023, according to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics. Rental prices have surged 29% since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, averaging an annual increase of 7% over the last four years, according to Zillow.

Average rent for a one-bedroom apartment in Winterset is $990, slightly under Des Moines' average rent of $1,100, according to the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development.

Autumn Barongan grocery shops for her family using her recently replenished EBT on Friday, Nov. 1, 2024, at Fareway in Winterset.

A single parent with one child like Barongan must earn at least $25 an hour to meet their needs, Common Good Iowa also found. A couple with two children must each earn roughly $20 an hour. The nonprofit noted that public social welfare programs like SNAP and the Earned Income Tax Credit (EITC), which offers financial assistance to working parents earning low to moderate incomes, are "no longer able to lift households above the basic needs line."

"We know that somebody who is surviving on that lower economic rung of the ladder, or people already in poverty, that it takes them three to five years to recover from a financial setback," Book said.

Kai, who recently landed a job at a chain restaurant in Winterset, recalled earning around $900, at times $1,100 biweekly with the long hours he put in at Jimmy John's. It was the most money he'd ever made, but it was not at times enough to support himself or his family.

To qualify for food assistance, a single person's gross monthly limit is $1,632, according to the Iowa Department of Health and Human Services. So Kai's salary made him ineligible for SNAP benefits, and he found himself relying on the free food at work — "slamming soda for the calories" — to survive those 80-hour-work weeks.

Kai said any time he felt hungry he would "trick" his brain into thinking he was not or use it as motivation to work even harder.

Autumn Barongan, her son, Aden, and fiancé, Blaze Kai, take a weekend trip to the pumpkin patch on Saturday, Oct. 12, 2024, at Thompson's Fall Festival in Macksburg.

"Being hungry is the only (thing) that's going to get me up and moving," he said. "Get me to do what I need to do."

Kai said he knows that's no way to live, and he and Barongan want better for themselves, each other and their family. Kai, who stepped into full-time parenting, said he has swapped out soda for water and is prioritizing his health.

The soon-to-be husband said he's a father now and has his future to think about.

"It's not even about me," Kai said. "I care about Autumn. ... You gotta understand that a woman and her child are a package deal. There is no second or third option to that. It's them."

Meals on Wheels offers more than food for elderly man who lives alone

Paul Tullis talks with Wesley Life's Meals on Wheels' Pam Reeves as she drops off his daily meal on Thursday, Sept. 26, 2024, in his Des Moines home.

The tan recliner where Paul Tullis' late wife, Linda, once sat is a soft landing spot for 14-year-old Yorkipoo Bella.

"She is company for me," Paul, 78, said of the tiny dog whose pitchy barks command his attention. "Even though she's maybe laying there and sleeping or whatever, just knowing that she's here, I'm happy."

His wife's death in 2017 left a gaping hole in Tullis' heart, which cratered after his two sons died — his youngest, David, at 54, this May.

"It took me awhile," Tullis said about losing his wife.

They grew up on Des Moines' far north side in the Highland Park neighborhood, lived nearby and went to the same schools. He fessed up to teasing her in grade school but "something clicked" by junior high "and we started dating." In February 1966, shortly after graduating from North High School — Linda in 1964, Paul the year after — the teens tied the knot. The couple, known for starting the annual free Parks Community Thanksgiving Dinner, welcomed their first son, Jim, in 1968. David came two years later. The black and white wedding photo on Tullis' bedroom dresser is his North Star, his daily routines guided by the sight of his wife.

Paul Tullis shops for chicken tenders, salad and vanilla ice cream during his weekly trip to Kwik Star on Thursday, Sept. 22, 2024, in Pleasant Hill.

"I still hadn't gotten over her all that much when Jim passed away two years later. Now, David," Tullis said while sitting on the brown recliner next to Linda's. He had hoped his sons would take over the decades-old Thanksgiving event offering free meals — a daylong affair he has been unable to attend in recent years because of health issues.

Tullis is one of roughly 1,600 older adults in the Des Moines metro who receive Meals on Wheels through WesleyLife, the state's largest nonprofit provider delivering over 230,000 hot, healthy meals a year to central Iowans. Like Tullis, many of the program's clients live alone, are in their 70s or older and coping with several health problems, according to WesleyLife. More than 85% of its clients live at 185% below the federal poverty line. For a single person, that's less than $27,000 a year.

Tullis said he receives around $2,300 in monthly benefits from Social Security and retirement, which is just enough to cover his monthly expenses. He said he manages his money well and avoids using credit cards. His expenses overall are minimal, consisting of his utilities and monthly rent for the lot of his mobile home on Des Moines' far east side.

Paul Tullis stores his daily Meals on Wheels delivery in his microwave on Thursday, Sept. 26, 2024, in his Des Moines home.

A Meals on Wheels recipient since 2020, Tullis said he cut back on the home-delivery service to save money, supplementing the gaps with Stouffer's TV dinners and other prepackaged meals from a nearby Kwik Star. He said he paid about $200 a month to receive 10 meals a week but has since cut his bill in half after dropping down to five meals a week.

Tullis said he enjoys the meals he receives — and getting to know the two drivers who regularly deliver them. One, Pam Reeves, brings Bella treats.

"We are a meal, a friend and a lifeline," said Shannon Draayer, executive director of community nutrition at WesleyLife. Program volunteers and drivers like Reeves offer clients company and are trained to perform safety checks. Since 2016, the program has helped save three to seven lives a year.

The U.S. Surgeon General released a report last year calling loneliness an "epidemic" that "harms both individual and societal health." People with poor physical or mental health, disabilities or financial issues are more prone to experiencing loneliness and isolation, the report stated.

Family photos fill the walls of Paul Tullis' Des Moines home. Tullis lives alone with his dog, Bella, after the passing of his wife and two sons.

"The mortality impact of being socially disconnected is similar to that caused by smoking up to 15 cigarettes a day and even greater than that associated with obesity and physical inactivity," the report said.

Reeves visits Tullis around 11 a.m. Monday to Thursday to drop off his meals. She sometimes sits on Linda's empty chair or the loveseat across from the pair of recliners, hands in her pockets, searching for Bella's milkbones. Tullis said he and Reeves talk sports, sometimes politics or whatever else is going on in their lives.

"Pam —," Tullis said, "she takes care of her customers." If it was not for the Meals on Wheels drivers, "I wouldn't be seeing nobody, visiting with nobody, you know."

Food insecurity in Iowa by the numbers

The average cost of a meal in Iowa is $4.
More than 344,000 Iowans are food insecure. More than 30% — roughly 110,000 — are children.
1 in 9 adults — and 1 in 6 children — do not have enough to eat or know where their next meal is coming from.
Families with children spend an average of $331 a week on groceries, or 41% more than families without kids.
Iowans experiencing food insecurity would need an estimated additional $245 million to cover food costs.

— Data from Feeding America and USA Today.

USA Today contributed to this report.

F. Amanda Tugade covers social justice issues for the Des Moines Register. Email her at ftugade@dmreg.com or follow her on Twitter@writefelissa.

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We spent time with three Iowans facing food insecurity. Here's what we found: