Kathy Morgan stands in the middle of the road in front of seven small cabins on Haines Street in Port Townsend. She whistles loudly in the wind and rain to get the attention of residents.

Slowly, men, women and a teen or two gravitate front and center. Once everyone is assembled, Morgan tells them about how important an annual count of the homeless is in Jefferson County, how important it is to tell their stories so people understand who they are, where they are headed and how the housing they are in now is helping them get there.

Morgan is the housing services director for Olympic Community Action Programs (OlyCAP). She manages the Haines Street cabins, better known as just “the cabins.”

She's inviting them to share their stories because she is proud of all of them, proud that they are taking steps to move out of homelessness into a better life. Most are in therapy courts – drug, mental and family court – and all are in substance abuse out-patient care.

But first, a group photo, she says. So the group huddles together in the rain with Morgan front and sort of center.

Technically, all of the residents at the Haines Street cabins are homeless and all 37 of them counted in this year's Point in Time count.

THE CABINS

Owned and managed by OlyCAP, the rustic cabins on Haines Street are 70 years old, and were originally moved to Port Townsend from a military base in Tacoma, where they had served as barracks for soldiers, Morgan said.

The shelters had been strictly used as family-only shelters until five years ago, when Morgan realized she could house as many as 37 people. She also switched it to “clean and sober” housing to help people who had been accepted into therapeutic drug court, an option for people facing jail because of addiction issues that have led to criminal behavior.

“The reason I switched it is because, this way, it gives more families and individuals a path for becoming sober and really working to improve their lives, not go back to jail, get their families back,” Morgan says.

“I don't kick anybody out who is doing all the right things. When you are in drug court, it takes an enormous amount of time to go to meetings. To hold down a job is almost impossible. This is the only way they can improve their lives,” Morgan says of everyone needing a place to go after jail, after court, and to avoid returning to an unsafe environment, where people might inadvertently invite them to reoffend or use drugs.

Because of past criminal behavior, many housing doors are closed. “So they are allowed to stay here and clean things up and work with different agencies to try to open some of those doors.”

THE FAMILY

Inside a small cabin where a monitor lives, the first people invited inside to tell their story are all from Port Townsend and are all related: Austin Thacker, 28; his girlfriend, Chandra Yackulic, 22; Rhonda Hos, 46; and Hos’ daughter Karma Hos, 15. Thacker and Yackulic have a 3-month-old daughter together and are looking forward to moving out on their own. Karma is looking forward to them moving out, too, and says so.

Everyone is invited to say how they got to Haines Street cabins, what caused them to be here.

Rhonda goes first.

“Two years ago, I got into drug court and went to treatment for a year, and I just came back in August and was put in the cabins because I have no place to go, and it's clean and sober living and there's a support network,” Rhonda Hos says.

“When I went to Safe Harbor to talk to Ford [Kessler] about drug court, I had a place to go, but it wasn't clean and sober, so he requested that I ask Kathy if I could get into the cabins,” Thacker says.

“We didn't get into trouble together, but I went to jail and I sat in jail for a little bit. I didn't have a clean and sober [place] or anywhere to go, so Kathy got me into the cabins, and I got accepted into drug court,” says Yackulic.

“I was in foster care, and I kept running and I got arrested and put in juvie, and the only reason I could go back to my mom is because Kathy said I could live down here and be with my mom,” says Karma Hos.

So where do they all want to be in a year?

“We definitely want to move into our own place. We've talked about saving money to buy a house. I just started my own business. I know that being here, being able to have this opportunity has made it to where other doors can open up,” says Thacker. “Five years ago, I would never have thought I could even work again. I was so lost in drugs. I never thought I'd be a person to own a house, own my own car, have a family.… At least for me and Chandra, we get to dream today.”

“This place gives you hope. Most of us came from using drugs and not having anybody trust us,” Thacker says.

Housing makes it possible to stay clean. When you don't have a roof over your head, you're always packing your stuff with you because you have nowhere to go, says Yackulic.

While Yackulic and Thacker want to move out on their own, Rhonda Hos is hoping to stay for another year. Morgan said if Hos isn't ready to move in a year, maybe she can become a monitor, like Bob, who has been there for a few years now. Karma Hos, on the other hand, is looking to get a dog and maybe join Job Corps. She has not done well in the schools in Jefferson County.

What do they want people to know about what it's like to be homeless?

“We're not all bad people, but life definitely took its toll on some of us,” says Thacker. “We're trying our damnedest to get out of whatever we were in. We're not trying to suck on society. Most of the time, when you are using drugs, it feels like you don't have a choice."

“Don't judge a book by its cover,” says Rhonda Hos. “People can change.”

“If you don't reach out, you can't get help,” adds Thacker.

TWO SINGLE MEN

Dean Short, 27, was born in Port Townsend, and James Williams, 29, was born in Aberdeen, but has spent most of his adult life in Jefferson County and on the Olympic Peninsula.

“My story is a long history of drug abuse. It had gotten to a pretty low point, to where I was pretty much doing whatever I could to get the drugs I wanted,” says Short. “It led me to criminal charges that landed me in drug court, and I didn't have a place to go. Kathy was there [in court] and said I could come down here, and I was really grateful. Without a place, I could not have stayed clean.

“A lot of the progress I've made is because I have a safe place. The people who live down here are clean and sober, and we help each other out. We push each other on the road to get better,” Short says.

Since moving into a cabin on Haines Street, Short has become active in inpatient treatment programs, where he speaks and encourages others – “paying it forward,” he calls it.

“A lot of homeless problems around this area is drug related,” Short says.

Williams, a member of the Quinault tribe, grew up on the reservation.

“I started drinking and smoking pot at 6 down on the reservation. It was ’cause my allowance made it so that a friend's dad could drink regularly. He'd get us drunk so he could get our allowance. And I got into legal trouble in Ocean Shores in sixth grade that brought me up here. I lived in Quilcene and Brinnon until I graduated,” says Williams.

Williams, who has two children, says he “picked up an assault charge,” as he calls it, after separating from the mother of his children.

“I spent my son's seventh birthday in jail, and I decided to make a change if I wanted to be part of their lives, and that's when I got into drug court. That's the biggest blessing I had,” he says.

Williams spent the first week after being accepted into drug court down in Brinnon. He says if he had spent the first weekend in Brinnon, “I probably wouldn't have made it. I probably would have run, but I was able to stay up here. I would have rather been on the floor here than in Brinnon, because I know I would have got high and run.”

Williams outgrew all of his “addition clothes” within 30 days, gained more than 60 pounds and now, less than a year after starting drug court, expects to be able to see his kids soon.

“I got lucky knowing people. I got my paperwork pushed ahead … I have friends in high places,” he says.

So where do the men want to be in a year?

“I want to be clean and in school and have a healthy relationship with my children,” says Williams.

“I'm looking for my own place right now. I plan on going back to school to be a dive tech, so hopefully, I'll be a dive tech. And I'm getting ready to get custody of my son. It's huge. It's awesome,” says Short.

What would they tell others?

“You know, it's hard work to get back on your feet, but I recommend anyone who is having a hard time, ask for help. Sometimes the hardest part is asking for help,” says Short.

“A lot of people give up. If I could tell someone, all the tools you need to get out of the gutter are there. It's not like you have to work for it. You have to ask for it. You have to ask that first question and then everything falls into place,” says Williams.

Morgan chimes in:

“The cabins are home to everyone here. It's a shelter, but we don't run it like a shelter. They all go to treatment together and do things together. They are in and out of each other's cabins. They babysit each other's kids,” says Morgan.

“We group people together by how I think they are going to get along,” Morgan says. It's rare for people not to get along.

“Some people are not ready to be clean. It has nothing to do with personality. Some people are given the opportunity, but aren't quite ready. They end up leaving or being asked to leave because they are actively using. It's imperative that it's clean and sober down here for everybody,” says Morgan, drawing out “every” for emphasis.

Short admits there were a few times he came down to the cabins and it just didn't click. He had to leave.

“Then I got tired of going to jail. I got tired of not having family. I got tired of not having friends I could trust. I got tired of not having a place to stay, no money. All these things came down on me, and then I got a taste of what it's like [to have a safe place],” Short says.

Morgan asks how many days they have been clean.

“Two hundred sixty-four days,” says Williams.

“Three hundred sixty-nine, I believe,” says Short.

Does Morgan test them for drug use?

“I don't find out that way. I find out because the people who live here offer it up. They call them out.”

“It's body language,” says Williams. “We can tell. It's blatantly obvious the way their eyes are dilated, the way they talk.”

The men also say that while there have been small drug court graduations in the past year or so, there are several large graduations planned in the next few months.

And they plan to be among the graduates.

TWO SINGLE WOMEN

After the men go their separate ways, two 30-something women come in. They talk because Morgan tells them they have good stories. But one of them calls a few days later and is concerned about her name being used in the newspaper. One wants custody of her son and some of the information she's shared might mess that up, she said. The other is a legal alien who can't afford to get a felony and just doesn't want to take any more chances with authorities.

So we'll call them Nancy and Marie.

Nancy grew up in Kitsap County and had her first child at 17. The father of her child committed suicide, and she was alone, drinking too much.

“When I did drugs, I didn't drink, so I decided that was a better idea,” says Nancy, now 35. She spent several years couch surfing, with her brother and sister taking in her and her son.

Early on, she started dancing – and not ballet – to make money.

“Someone was letting me stay at their house for $100 a night. Three days later, he had my stuff on the porch. He wanted me to come back to do sexual favors with him to stay there, so I couldn't stay there any longer,” Nancy says. “And then I went to work and I was fired, because I wouldn't sleep with the people at work because I was dancing, and I guess that's what they ultimately expected.

“I was homeless from then on. I got taken advantage of by a couple different people ... but I wouldn't just, you know, do whatever anybody wanted to do for whatever. If I had to stay out in the streets at night because I wouldn't sleep with someone, I would, all the time. I got pretty used to that.”

Nancy doesn't explain whether or not she was arrested or how it happened, but somehow she got into rehab and learned about shelters and one in particular, Serenity House.

“I had been homeless and homeless and homeless, and a guy picked me up in Bremerton and let me stay in a little cabin in Port Townsend, and then he dropped me off at The Boiler Room and told me there were a lot of resources there. I ended up going to the Legion Hall. I had been at the Legion and had some questionable behavior.”

Morgan intervenes and says that Nancy had a medical diagnosis that was being treated at the time and that she kept telling people she was allergic and couldn't function. Finally, someone heard her. Her medications were changed. “And she's a whole new person. She has a job and she's doing remarkable,” says Morgan.

Nancy hopes to be in her own place a year from now, though she may want to get a car first.

“She never used to smile,” Morgan says. Nancy smiles.

What does she want people to know?

“You never know what's going on with someone. A lot of the homeless people I've met around here are really nice.”

And then there is Marie, who was born in Europe and raised in South America. She then came to California with her parents, who divorced. At 10, Marie ended up moving with her mother from California to Brinnon, which was a culture shock.

“When I was 13, 14, I started hanging with the wrong crowd, doing drugs. It was like the easy ‘in’ with everybody.… I got myself into quite a bit of trouble. Gradually, I left home at 16. I was getting grounded.”

It was in Brinnon that she hung around with a lot of friends and learned how to manufacture methamphetamine.

“It's not something I enjoy admitting, but it's part of my story. That got me some funding. I was able to get a little apartment and make it to my senior year [at Chimacum High School],” she says.

Told by school officials that she needed to attend one more year to graduate, she decided to leave, and continued to get into trouble, including getting a criminal trespass charge with a friend. That put her on probation for two years and during pretrial monitoring, she says, “I was not able to produce a clean UA [urinary analysis].”

Marie has been in a number of shelters: in Edmonds, Port Orchard, Everett and now Port Townsend.

Marie also has been a high-functioning addict, working for medical centers from Sequim to Seattle.

In Port Townsend about a decade ago, she met a man who was going through treatment at Grey Wolf Ranch in Port Townsend. The two married, and he got a job in Canada, and then in Texas, where he now earns a six-digit salary, Marie says.

Instead of staying with her husband, something that Marie says makes her unhappy to think about, she returned to Washington from Texas, bringing another man with her. “It was a super-bad relationship,” she says.

Marie did earn her high school diploma in 2002 and was able to get a medical assistant license, but then bumped into someone she'd known from Port Hadlock, who was taking a lot of medication.

That man ended up dying at her apartment.

“It was a super-traumatic experience, and in maybe two weeks, I'd lost my boyfriend, my job, and my landlord also wanted to terminate my lease,” she says. That was in 2014.

Marie then made the mistake of staying with a friend in Quilcene and partying one night. Little did she know that a neighbor had called police because of criminal activity on his property.

“That morning, I went out to my car and said, 'Oh yes, I still have drugs in my car.” Literally, I just pulled them out of the drawer, when, there's Officer Newman. I'm a quarter of a mile up a dirt road, and there he is asking me, ‘What's in your hand?’

“I received my possession of meth and I'm a permanent resident alien. I cannot get felonies or I will be deported.”

When she was first accepted into drug court, she was placed in a different shelter, which was not a clean and sober shelter, she says.

A year from now?

Like all of the others, Marie does not want to be homeless.

“I'd like a secure home base, but at the same time, I'm all about traveling from that home base. I'm seeing everything in a new light,” Marie says of how the cabins are giving her hope to move forward.

“This is just an intersection in their lives. They are all helping each other out to get to the next place,” says Morgan.

“They are our friends and neighbors. Something happened and they took a wrong turn somewhere. This gives them an opportunity to turn their lives around.

“They all say, ‘If it wasn't for the cabins, it wouldn't have worked out,’” Morgan says.