It was a cold night in Washington, D.C., and I was heading back to the hotel

when a man approached me. He asked if I would give him some money so he

could get something to eat. I'd read the signs: "Don't give money to

panhandlers." So I shook my head and kept walking.



I wasn't prepared for a reply, but with resignation, he said, "I really am homeless

and I really am hungry! You can come with me and watch me eat!" But I kept on

walking.



The incident bothered me for the rest of the week. I had money in my pocket and

it wouldn't have killed me to hand over a buck or two even if he had been lying.

On a frigid, cold night, no less, I assumed the worst of a fellow human being.



Flying back to Anchorage, I couldn't help thinking of him. I tried to rationalize my

failure to help by assuming government agencies, churches and charities were

there to feed him. Besides, you're not supposed to give money to panhandlers.



Somewhere over Seattle, I started to write my weekly garden column for The

Anchorage Daily News. Out of the blue, I came up with an idea. Bean's Cafe, the

soup kitchen in Anchorage, feeds hundreds of hungry Alaskans every day. Why

not try to get all my readers to plant one row in their gardens dedicated to

Bean's? Dedicate a row and take it down to Bean's. Clean and simple.



We didn't keep records back then, but the idea began to take off. Folks would fax

me or call when they took something in. Those who only grew flowers donated

them. Food for the spirit. And salve for my conscience.

谢谢楼主的分享。

谢谢，值得分享的

很有用，谢谢分享。

thank you very much

谢谢您的分享。。。。。。