That's nice of you, and not really the norm around here any more, sadly.
When I was a kid, we lived on a little one-lane rural back road (like a single-track road in the UK), and our driveway was between two little WPA bridges.
There would be workmen there a few times a year, either doing bridge work, or trimming trees, or working on the power lines.
If my mom saw them, she'd always make them lunch. She'd fry up burgers, or heat up cold fried chicken from the night before, or make pork chop sandwiches, whatever she had.
She'd start in, and before too long, it was a feast: little of this, little of that, half a layer cake, big jug of iced tea, jar of pickles, you name it.
She'd do everything up, wrap it in tinfoil and plastic wrap, wax paper, whatever, her regular dishes, glasses, flatware, pile it all in a laundry basket, and make me mule it down to them: "Mom says just a little something for working so hard."
Those fellows learned in a hurry to get assigned to the truck that was going out on my folks' road that day!
I still try to do the same. When we had the landscapers here last, even though they did crap work, I filled a cooler with all kinds of soft drinks and put out a big basket of snacks.