Jennifer Harmony was doing eight Soup Squad shifts a month by herself. Not eight a year. Eight a month. Alone.

I've been doing this long enough to know that the people doing the most important work in Salem are rarely the ones getting the attention. This week I want to change that for at least one person.

Here is the 30-second summary before we dive into the full story…

She founded Salem Soup Squad in the fall of 2021, just her, a collapsible wagon, and an Instant Pot, and by the time others started paying attention, she had already served thousands of people and built something from nothing. Today, Soup Squad had served over 16,000 meals. Today it runs as a collective of nearly 10 hosts.

On Friday we get to recognize her in public. Today you get a chance to hear her story.

Enjoy!

Quick ad and then we will get right back to Jennifer…

A big thank you to Capital Trophy, the local shop that created the trophies for our award show.

Capital Trophy is a locally owned Salem business specializing in custom trophies, plaques, medals, ribbons, name badges, engraving, signage, and personalized gifts. Whether you are recognizing a team, honoring an employee, celebrating a milestone, or creating something custom, they help turn meaningful moments into something people can hold onto.

If you need help recognizing people in your organization, get in touch.

Jennifer Harmony was doing eight Soup Squad shifts a month by herself.

Not eight a year. Eight a month. Alone.

That's a detail it is worth paying attention to. And one of the reasons she's one of four community builders we're recognizing at the Grand Theater on May 1st.

I've spent time in rooms where people talk circles around homelessness without touching it. Jennifer is not that kind of person.

I went to high school with Jennifer Harmony. I didn't know about Soup Squad until I started working on a documentary about Salem's unhoused community last year, and when she told me what she'd built, I had to know more.

The origin Soup Squad story actually goes back to the 2020 fires.

As people came into Salem from the canyon and stayed at the fairgrounds, Jennifer and others began making meals for them. Epilogue was a big part of that effort. The idea was simple: people were displaced, people were hungry, and a sandwich could go a long way.

That work eventually grew into Salem Free Fridge.

That led to a bigger question:

If people displaced by the fires were hungry, what about the people in Salem who were already hungry?

So they started loading up collapsible wagons with an Instant Pot or Crockpot and heading to the park to feed people.

That was the beginning.

After a couple months, friends joined. Then they started posting about it on Instagram. Then more people showed up.

And Salem Soup Squad was born.

From one person to a community effort

One of the things that stood out most to me in Jennifer’s story was the heart behind it.

The mission was simple: No one should have to earn food. Not food with conditions. Not food if you qualify. 

Just food because people are hungry.

The first official Soup Squad happened in the fall of 2021.

At one point, Jennifer was doing eight squads a month by herself.

That is a wild amount of work.

Ryan Erickson-Kulas, who now helps lead the effort alongside others, got involved in 2022 after finding Soup Squad through Epilogue, and became a host in 2023. He said he was blown away not just by the work itself, but by Jennifer’s hustle.

When Jennifer realized she couldn’t keep carrying it alone, Ryan and his wife stepped up to take on two shifts a month. Others joined too. Today, Soup Squad has grown into the collective Jennifer always hoped it would become.

There are now nearly 10 hosts helping keep it going. Ryan and Holly Erickson-Kulas now lead the collective alongside the other hosts.

And even with 10 hosts they still are not doing as many squads as Jennifer was doing alone.

Being a Soup Squad host means spending your whole week on Instagram begging for signups, organizing plates and hygiene supplies the night before, and showing up at the park on Saturday hoping enough people come through. 

Ryan told me there's a low-grade anxiety that builds every week, are we going to hit the number? But by 2 p.m. on Saturdays, 16 people are there making it happen. 

Jennifer was doing that alone, eight times a month.

At some point, Jennifer had to step back. Compassion fatigue is real, and she was honest enough to name it.

Feeding a person is life-changing.

Jennifer told me that hearing someone say they haven’t eaten in a week changes you.

Finding out someone has a birthday coming up and throwing a small, impromptu birthday celebration matters.

Getting a hug matters. Offering hope matters.

Ryan added another layer that I loved: Soup Squad doesn’t just help the people receiving food. It also changes the people who show up to serve.

He said the relationships he has built through Squad are ones he never would have built otherwise.

About half the people who sign up once come back again. Ryan shared the story of Elizabeth without hesitating, a woman originally from France who has shown up 54 times in two years, always with mac and cheese, now one of their closest friends. She started as a volunteer and now is a crucial part of the community.

In a world where it is easy to sit at home, stare at a screen, and doom scroll, Salem Soup Squad creates a reason for people to show up in real life and be part of something that matters.

May 1, we are recognizing Jennifer and three other community builders at the Grand Theater. 

Jennifer saw a need and moved toward it. She took action. She built something that continues on. It’s helped feed and connect people in Salem. It exists because she took the initiative to bring it to life.

She did not wait until she had a perfect structure. She did not wait until someone gave her permission. She did not wait until she had enough help.

She started with what she had.

Jennifer told me that one of the quiet stresses she carried was knowing people were depending on them to show up.

"They come to know when we're going to be there," she said. "Those red and black buffalo plaid tablecloths have never changed. They know who we are."

When you've been let down enough times, consistency becomes a form of love.

That's what Jennifer built. Not just a food program, a reason for people to trust that someone was coming.

On May 1st at the Grand Theater, we're celebrating Jennifer and three other community builders who saw a need and moved toward it.

Come be in the room.

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