My folks were dirt poor as kids in the depression, in Texas. My mom’s dad hopped a train to Oregon to pick fruit- it was work, and it was easier for other people to give them stuff if he was away.
Neither family owned property. My dad’s dad made things worse by being a drunk, too. Grandma used to buy “sweet meat” (the internal organs that would otherwise be thrown away) from the butcher, because they were cheap. Dad, his two sisters, brother, parents and Grandpa Otto all lived in a two bedroom home, without running water. They kept chickens, of course, and when they killed a pig, they ate all of it (including the head cheese).
Flour came in big bags, with floral patterns on the sides. Moms would pick them out for the pattern, because they would make clothes from the bag material.
Dad said that whenever a drifter knocked on the door asking to work for food, Grandma would give him some (chore and meal). The food wouldn’t be any better than what the family ate, so it might just be bread drug through refried beans.
The war made things a lot better. Grandpa enlisted in the Navy and they taught him to make x-rays in the Seabees. My mom’s dad moved them all to L.A. and got work in the shipyard.