Across the suburbs of Austin, Texas, families are doing everything they can—working extra shifts, cutting back on groceries, skipping non-essentials—but it's still not enough. The cost of living has climbed so steeply that even households with steady incomes are finding it hard to put food on the table. Local food pantries, the safety net many families rely on, are now struggling to keep up with the surge in demand.
At the Circle of Hope Community Center in Pflugerville, Executive Director Tina Lee sees the strain every day. “People are working hard, but inflation and rising living costs are making it impossible to keep up with basic expenses,” she says. The center, along with the Hutto Resource Center, has become a lifeline for residents in these Central Texas communities. But the need is growing faster than the resources.
Pantries adapt to a new reality
The operational costs of running a food pantry—collecting, storing, transporting, and distributing goods—have skyrocketed. Even when food is donated, the logistics of getting it to families are expensive. Nonprofits are having to rethink how they operate, and they're asking the community to step up.
“We're seeing more families than ever before,” says a volunteer coordinator at the Hutto Resource Center, which has recorded an all-time high in visitor numbers. “But our funding hasn't kept pace.” Traditional donors, many of whom are also feeling the pinch of inflation, have had to reduce their contributions. The result is a perfect storm: more demand, less supply, and tighter budgets.
To cope, organizations are getting creative. The Central Texas Food Bank supplies fresh and frozen inventory to pantries in Pflugerville, which now operate twice a week—Mondays and Fridays from 8 to 11 a.m. The Hutto Resource Center hosts pop-up distributions every Wednesday afternoon and holds drive-thru events on the first and third Saturdays of each month. These mobile drives are designed to reach families who might not otherwise have access.
“We're also providing essential non-food items like diapers and hygiene products whenever we can,” says Lee. “It's not just about food—it's about helping families stretch their budgets further.”
The pressure isn't limited to Central Texas. Across the state, food banks are feeling the strain. Grayson College, for example, distributes 15,000 pounds of food monthly, and food stamp enrollment has hit a 17-year low. As federal rules shift more costs to the state, nonprofits worry that food banks can't replace the safety net that SNAP provides.
“We're not a replacement for SNAP,” Lee emphasizes. “We're a supplement. But with so many families in need, we have to be there for them.”
The situation is a stark reminder of the challenges facing Texas families, especially in Latino communities where multigenerational households often bear the brunt of economic downturns. As weather events and other disruptions add to the pressure, the need for reliable food assistance only grows.
Local leaders are calling for more public participation. “We need volunteers, we need donations, we need people to spread the word,” says a city official in Pflugerville. “This is a community problem, and it requires a community solution.”
For now, the pantries keep going, driven by the dedication of first responders, volunteers, and nonprofit staff. But without sustained support, they fear they won't be able to keep up. As one volunteer put it, “We're doing everything we can, but we can't do it alone.”
