The Encampments

My friend Amy and I were distributing blankets and warm clothes to people camped under an overpass ahead of the snowstorm forecast to hit Austin. It was already well below freezing and windy.

A young, blond woman walked toward us, crying. She wore a thin black hoodie and jeans.

“Would you like a blanket?”

“He might.” She cocked her head in the direction of a tent behind her.

“A coat?”

She nodded and came towards where Amy and I were unloading donations from my car. The woman picked out a black knit hat, a coat with a fur-lined hood, a mask, and a pair of red gloves. She started to leave and then turned back.

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Saturday, February 13th.”

“Thank you.” The young woman walked away along the feeder road, still crying.

“Coats? Blankets?” We had to shout to be heard above the rumble of cars and trucks overhead.

A zipping sound and a then a middle-aged shirtless man spoke to us through a tent flap nearby. “Please. And a hat for her.” A woman sat behind him in the tent. She was about my age and wore an oversized t-shirt with overlapping red hearts splashed across the front. I realized I was looking into their bedroom. I offered the woman a bag of hats. “Pick one.” She chose a fuzzy pink beanie. I held out another hat — a green crocheted one that I thought would match her eyes. I wanted her to have so many hats.

Closer to Burnet Road , we came upon a kind of compound — twenty or more tents joined together and encircled in places by an exterior wall of plastic sheeting. Stacks of car tires, lawn chairs, bicycles, and shopping carts ringed the tents, giving the encampment a fortified quality.

Plastic orchids were arranged in a bucket near an opening in the tarps from which a woman emerged. She wore expertly applied make-up above a disposable mask. A small muscular dog pulled at a leash in her hand. Did she want any blankets? We held out a puffy comforter. She nodded. “The head guy just left. Put it down there.” Then she disappeared back inside. I wondered if she would not have accepted the comforter — or even spoken to us — if the “head guy” were still there.

The encampment under highway 183 was nearly deserted because anyone who had any resources at all had sought shelter elsewhere. We still had lots of donations, so we headed toward a large encampment on the median between lanes of traffic on East Riverside.

This encampment had no protection from the elements — no overpass wall to break the wind or roof to keep out freezing rain or snow. Discarded clothing, bits of plastic, bottles, cans, mate-less shoes, masks, food packages, and syringes littered the icy grass, along with about a dozen tents. Some were factory-made, and some were makeshift constructions of tarp lashed to poles or stretched over shopping carts from the large HEB across the street.

Huddling in one of these improvised shelters, we met three men, a woman, and a sturdy pit bull. There was a small fire smoking inside the shelter and everyone’s skin was smudged with soot. The youngest man had long dark hair and wore black Nike sweatpants and what looked like a pajama top decorated with dancing skeletons. He asked only for a hat. I could not see what the woman inside the tent wore but her arm when she reached out was bare. She picked a fleece and a fur-lined coat with a hood. A man with almond-shaped green eyes and a sprinkling of freckles took two blankets and two masks — one for himself and one for the woman.

From a nearby tent, a whistle sounded loudly and repeatedly. The group laughed and one of the men said, “She’s been having fun with herself over there all day.” Everyone laughed again — an inside joke. Amy and I decided to see if the person whistling needed help.

“Are you okay? Do you need a blanket? Hello?”

We were about to leave when an older woman poked her head out of the tent. Her face was red and blotched with cold, and she looked astonished to see us. As if we had just landed there on the median in a spaceship. We gave her our last blanket, some sweaters, a coat, scarves, and a hat. “Can I have that bag?” She pointed to a thick, black plastic trash bag and Amy handed it to her.

As we walked away, the woman waved and blew us kisses, the thin walls of her tent snapping in the wind.