Carbondale
The icy headwaters of the Roaring Fork River tumble from high on the Continental Divide. Following the western watershed past the stately second homes of Aspen and the economic backbone of Basalt and Carbondale, the Roaring Fork becomes one with the Colorado River in Glenwood Springs. Her journey takes her past mansions and modulars, cabins and condos, ranches and rooms that rent by the day. Be it modest or majestic, home is where we lay our heads.
But home for some is their car, their tent, or a sleeping bag under the bridge, even in the frostbitten month of March.
Within this relatively upscale valley, there exists a subculture known in every part of the world – that of the homeless. How does one exist without a home in the long, cold winter of the Colorado high country?
According to a report relased by the state last week, there were at least 16,203 homeless people living in Colorado as of last August, when a 24-hour statewide survey was taken. Some of these faceless numbers belong to real people living close to my own backyard.
On this snowy, windy day, I follow the river’s road to visit the Drop-In Center of Feed My Sheep Ministry in Glenwood Springs. The warmth is in the welcome, the smell of breakfast, and the faces of those who know they are in a safe place. Having finally found a permanent home for her people in the basement of an old Catholic Church, founder Karolyn Spencer smiles with the joy that comes from finding one’s purpose for living. She and the Friday morning volunteers invite me in for coffee and banana bread.
Nellie was up at 5:30 a.m. in her Carbondale home to cook for the guests. Gerry loves people, and he comes by to embrace these folks, to make them feel like part of the community.
This morning, the joint is jumping as the clients are on their way out to work and donations of food and clothing are on their way in. The Drop-In Center gives the homeless breakfast, a place to do laundry, make phone calls, check their email, take showers, and a multitude of other services.
The camaraderie and companionship I witness contradict the stereotypes I’ve imagined when I think “homeless shelter.”
I ask Spencer what I’ve always wondered: Why would the homeless spend their winters in the cold? The answer revealed my appalling ignorance.
These are the homegrown homeless. Most of them have family here in the valley – children, parents, ex-spouses; the valley is their home. Most of them work. Some of them made unfortunate choices, but many of them were just one paycheck away from disaster – a serious illness, a debilitating accident, losing their jobs.
With the average price of a one-bedroom rental going for roughly a thousand dollars, even HUD housing vouchers of $750 won’t get them into an apartment that requires first and last month’s rent and a deposit. So they spend their money on camping equipment and propane to keep warm. They take pride in their ability to survive the elements, and most are careful stewards of the surrounding forests. Of course, some have dependency problems, but Spencer insists that the percentage of alcoholics among the clients is consistent with the general population of the valley.
She should know. These are her people.
Feed My Sheep is far from the only source of assistance to the homeless of the Roaring Fork Valley; however, the Drop-In Center at Feed My Sheep is the heartbeat of a real community. It’s the home of a real family. And their hearts opened wide to me the morning I visited, saying, “Come, have a cup of coffee,” at the kitchen table.
The time came to bundle up and head back up valley in the cold. The river never ceases its run to the sea, past mansions and modulars, cabins and condos, and I drive against the current this time towards my own modest abode. I give thanks for the opportunity to see my neighbors in a different light, and for my own shelter from the storm.
Rachel Ophoff (rachelophoff@yahoo.com) is a writer, Christian speaker and a partner in business with her husband, Kevin.
