HUMANS OF HEARTS: ANGELA STONE
“Soccer is a common language.”
Humans of Hearts is a series about members of the Hearts community shaping life in Maine. These voices offer a glimpse into the lives that inspire and connect us across this state we call home.
Photograph: Nicole Wolf
Sometimes it starts with a request from a caseworker—helping a newly arrived family adjust to life in Maine. And a young boy, who doesn’t yet speak English, wanting just one thing: a soccer ball.
When kids arrive with almost nothing, they rarely ask for much.
Angela Stone, Founder and Executive Director of Maine Needs, sees these requests come through time and time again.
“On the surface, these are material things — but they carry so much weight beyond that. These things are a bridge.”
Based in Portland, Maine Needs connects families across the state with essential items— delivered with dignity and care. But the organization isn’t just about meeting ‘needs,’ it’s about building community, cultivating empathy, and making space for people often overlooked.
And like many great ideas, Maine Needs started in a garage.
“Most things start with one person—but they only grow when others believe and join in too. Sometimes, all it takes is the first step,” Angela said.
Today, that humble beginning has grown into something far greater: 16,000sqft of ceiling-high shelving stocked with underwear, socks, diapers, toiletries, cleaning supplies, bedding, dishes, pots and pans, tents, sleeping bags and rack upon racks of men’s, women’s and kids clothing and sneakers and boots in every size. More than just a donation center, it’s become an active community, a safety net, reaching tens of thousands across the state.
Photograph: Nicole Wolf
“Each day, donations are sorted, packed, and sent back out into the community,” Angela explained.
“What comes in on a Tuesday rarely lasts the week.”
Since 2020, Maine Needs has distributed more than a million items, reaching 36,000 people across Maine each year, and has welcomed more than 3,000 volunteers since January 2025.
Angela sees the direct impact of this work every day. She shared a story that captures what a simple item can mean:
“It’s a classic Maine winter. At recess, most kids run out the door in their snow pants—they’re sliding around, laughing, all bundled up in winter gear. And then there’s the one kid standing at the edge of the playground. He’s wearing jeans. Not because he forgot snow pants, but because that’s all he has.
He watches the others fly down the hill on the playground, cheeks red, boots kicking up snow—kids just being kids. He laughs along when they crash into each other and start snowball fights, but he doesn’t join in. Not today. Not most days. Nothing’s keeping him off the hill. There’s no rule, no teacher saying no. Just cold denim.
That’s the first step—getting him snow pants. A coat that fits. Boots that keep out the slush. And suddenly, he’s not just watching anymore—he’s flying down the hill too.
Then the snow starts to melt. The hill becomes grass, the sleds are put away, and the soccer balls come out. And a new kind of need shows up.
Now it’s cleats. A pair of shorts. A soccer ball.
For kids arriving in a new place, still learning the language, still finding their footing—soccer becomes the common ground.
It’s less about the cleats, or the soccer ball or even the snow pants. It’s more about the connection. A small gift that says ‘you matter’. And maybe—for the first time—he starts to believe it.”
Angela wasn’t always doing this work. For over a decade, she built a career as an interior designer in Chicago—raising two young boys, managing deadlines, navigating a life that moved fast.
“Something kept pulling me back home,” Angela recalls. “I just kept feeling like the life I wanted for my kids was the one I had growing up—climbing rocks, building forts, running around in the quiet woods of Maine.”
So in 2018, her family packed up and moved back home.
“Around that time, I started hearing stories—mothers being torn away from their children at the border. And that hit me hard. There was this deep, gut-level ache,” she said. “Like the very heart of what it means to be a mom was being threatened.”
Months after headlines faded, the questions in Angela’s mind lingered. Were those children safe? Were they together? Who was helping?
“It was like waking up and realizing the world isn’t what you thought it was,” Angela said. “I had to relearn how to see.”
“I assumed there were better systems in place. That someone else was taking care of it. But the reality is—there’s a gap. And too many families are falling through it,” she said.
It began with a few collected items in the corner of her garage, but quickly became something larger.
“First it was diapers, baby clothes, and cleaning supplies,” she recalled.
“Then sneakers, coats, toothpaste, and toys. There were piles of just about everything—socks, deodorant, shampoo, underwear, even shower curtains. Neighbors dropped things off. Friends told friends. The network grew, and so did the need.”
Photograph: Nicole Wolf
You could call that helping someone in need—but Angela would gently challenge that.
“I’ve always felt like the word ‘needy’ boxes people in,” she said. “It creates distance, like there’s an us and a them.”
To her, Maine Needs isn’t about dividing people into givers and receivers. It’s about seeing the full picture.
“There’s only us. And the sooner we stop treating compassion like charity, the sooner we start actually showing up. Because at the end of the day, we’re all needy,” she said. “That’s not a weakness. It’s human.”
In time, what began as a simple, informal effort eventually became Maine Needs.
“We’re a community. A network of people who’ve decided to show up.”
This work of showing up so often revolves around the tangible: Winter gear, socks, underwear, diapers, tents and sleeping bags, pots and pans. But recently, a different kind of connection caught her off guard—one tied to something she’d never paid much attention to before.
“When I found Hearts of Pine and saw how they were telling the story of soccer in Maine, it hit me,” she said.
“It was so clearly from the heart. And to be honest? I’m not sporty,” Angela said. “I’m probably the least sporty person you’ll meet. But even if I don’t know the rules of the game, I understand the hope it cultivates. Hearts have always been rooted in community. It’s never just been about soccer. It’s about something bigger. It’s more than hope — it’s purpose.”
“Because when kids in Maine—whether they’ve just arrived or they’ve been here forever—see players who look like them, who love what they love, and who’ve been where they are… it shifts something. It gives them something to hold onto. Something that says: You belong, we all belong.”
“And none of us should have to earn that. You don’t need to be a player. Or a coach. Or a donor. You just need to care. And if you’re still reading this, you probably already do.”
Want to get involved with Maine Needs?
You’re invited to be part of this community effort: sort donations, fulfill requests, shop for essentials, make kits with friends, donate, or even organize your own collection drive based on what’s needed most. Visit maineneeds.org to learn about how to get involved.
Photograph: Nicole Wolf
Do you know someone connected to soccer who’s making a difference in the Maine community?
We’d love to hear about them! With their permission, send us their name, contact information, and a few words about the impact they’re making. Drop us a note below.
Contact us here at info@heartsofpine.com attn: Christina Ferragamo, Humans of Hearts.