Near 22nd Avenue and Jefferson in Phoenix, a front porch has become a lifeline. Tyisha “Ty” Dillard stocks it with snacks, clothes, hygiene products and water, and on a given day more than 50 people stop by to grab what they need. She calls it Katherine's Pantry, named for her grandmother.
Dillard cannot work because of mental health conditions, scoliosis, hip dysplasia and double ACL injuries, so she funds the pantry with community donations and some of her Social Security and disability checks, according to the seed article from The Arizona Republic. The idea grew out of her own hardship: Dillard and her family faced food hardship, and she shared surplus food with neighbors, the Republic reports.
The need was already visible on her street. As abc15.com reported, Dillard set up a small spot for her neighbors where people can grab snacks, clothes, hygiene products and water, and she said she's helped over 50 people a day. The station noted that the pantry accepts small donations that fly off the shelf within days — a sign of how quickly supplies disappear once word spreads.
A Childhood Shaped by Shelters and Survival
Dillard's drive to help traces back to her own childhood. She told abc15.com, “Me and my mom used to stay in a homeless shelter in Durham, North Carolina,” describing homelessness she experienced as a child and later again as a single mother. She and her mother, Sandra Hairston, became homeless after escaping a domestic violence situation in North Carolina and later stayed in a domestic violence shelter that provided food, clothing and temporary jobs, according to the seed reporting. Hairston eventually left that shelter after being served spoiled food, the Republic reports.
The hardship resurfaced decades later. During the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020, Dillard and her family lived in their car, a period that the Republic's reporting ties directly to the instincts she now brings to the pantry. Her mother now helps run the operation, using a computer to look up information for pantry visitors who lack internet access, including locating family members or friends who may be in jail and finding nearby rehab and cooling centers.
Open-Access Pantry Built on Trust
The pantry runs on an informal honor system. According to archynewsy.com, Dillard asks visitors to take what they need and leave surplus items for others, keeping the shelves in rotation without a gatekeeper. Beyond basic necessities, Dillard tries to provide favorite foods and desserts, the Republic reports.
She has faced hateful online comments after her story was shared.
Phoenix's Food Desert Problem
Dillard's porch sits inside a city with a stark food-access gap. Maricopa County has 55 communities classified as food deserts, and 43 of them are in Phoenix, according to coppercourier.com. Nearly half of the city's population lives within a food desert, per the city's 2025 Food Action Plan Impact Report cited by the outlet, even though the plan has delivered more than 5 million meals and distributed over 22 million pounds of food since it began in March 2020.
Federal cuts have added pressure on top of that structural gap. The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities calculated that Arizona SNAP participation fell by nearly 51 percent from July 2025 to July 2026; using more recent state data, the decline measured 45 percent from July 2025 to September 2026. Phoenix Rescue Mission has reported roughly 40 percent more people seeking food on average, with some months exceeding 50 percent, and more than a third of those visiting its pantries are first-timers, according to Phoenix New Times.
Homelessness has climbed alongside the food strain. Maricopa County's point-in-time count recorded 9,734 people experiencing homelessness on Jan. 27, a 3 percent increase from the previous year's 9,435, Axios Phoenix reported, while the number of unsheltered people in Phoenix jumped from 2,701 to 3,761.
Other Food Assistance Across the Valley
Phoenix Rescue Mission operates Hope for Hunger Food Bank.
Against that backdrop, Dillard's porch remains a small but steady fixture for her block — a place where neighbors know they can show up, take what they need, and leave something behind for the next person.
