I was volunteering at the foodbank today when a donation was delivered.
By Enola.
She was bringing back some food, because they're moving tomorrow and they're trying to lighten their load to make the trip easier. Ned is doing better, but he still can't carry much.
A few days ago, they were approached by a couple of workers from the municipality who informed them that a complaint had been received (probably from some yahoos with a souped up Jeep who Enola had asked to turn down their custom subwoofer in the middle of the night), that they were camping illegally on the beach, and that they had 24 hours to leave or face the consequences, including a $500 fine. Enola and Ned argued their case ("We've been looking for a place since November, and he's had a stroke!") but apparently that's not the municipality's problem. "Just doing our job."
Later that day, a couple of cops stopped by to let them know that they had a few days' grace, but that the decree stood. They have to move on.
The county has only one emergency shelter whose capacity has been reduced by covid restrictions. All along, Enola and Ned have been burning off data minutes on their phones looking for a house, an apartment, a room, a garden shed with running water... anything. Since Thursday, Enola (the more mobile of the two) has knocked on some doors, asking to look at some places. Sorry, it's taken. They have enough Disability income to pay rent. There's just too much competition.
As things stand right now, they have a couple of possibilities:
1. When they call in the morning, the shelter might say they have two beds available.
2. A friend (whose tumbledown house is home to 5 adults, 3 dogs, 2 cats, and a fish, and whose garage is the storage space for all of Enola's and Ned's possessions) might call to let them know that one of the other two people tenting in his backyard has left, and they can set up theirs for a nominal fee.
3. They pack up their stuff and head for a spot along a local creek where people in the same position have set up in the past. And which is a selective blind-spot for the authorities. Unless there's a complaint.
4. They pack up their stuff and start walking. Just walking. Until they find... someplace.
This afternoon I made a final visit to the beach camp. They offered me a seat and a cup of water. The same water I'd brought them last time I was there, from the tap on the south side of the church.
Enola was taking a break from cleaning up the area. Some other tenters had left behind a bit of a mess, so she'd picked up the garbage and bagged it, and arranged the recyclables in a pile. "There's no place to put it, but at least when they come, they'll know we didn't leave a mess."
We talked for a while about their frustrations. "How come they don't open the churches? Nobody's there except for one day a week." "That school's been sitting there empty for what, 7 or 8 years. How come..." "Why can't we just stay here? We're not bothering anybody." "People keep coming here, telling us what they're going to do for us... it's all just promises. Nothing ever happens." "I'm gonna miss this place..."
They asked me to pass a message on to a couple of people from the church, and gave me some ice packs to return to a foodbank co-worker.
I hope I'm a good guest, but I have nothing to offer. I just sipped my warm water out of a travel mug (surreptitiously rescuing a tiny red ant from its surprise swim) and listened. I told them that if they knew where they were going, they could call me and I'd drive.
Wait and see.
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