Editor’s note: This is the second part of a series that explores the housing crisis affecting Port Townsend and Jefferson County.

This is a story about people who don't always meet the definition of unhoused. Their names won't be found on shelter logs or in official housing data but they are vulnerable. Experts say across Jefferson County, a growing number of working-class people, retired citizens and young adults are finding themselves cost-burdened — living in RVs, shared spaces, garages or built-out trailers.

The underlying shifts in market conditions include rising rents and a shrinking supply of affordable homes as well as rising costs in everything from utilities to groceries. Even solidly middle class residents are feeling the pinch. As the city and county prepare to adopt updated comprehensive plans, they face a daunting challenge: How do you plan for a population that is both hard to see and in some cases might not even enter into statistics?

"We don't have a housing department in Jefferson County," said County Commissioner Greg Brotherton. "We participate in the annual point-in-time count, but we often struggle to find folks that are marginally housed, or couch-surfing or living in RVs."

Advocates say these cases typically fly beneath the radar, as many fall outside traditional homeless counts. While the county tracks homelessness each year, they say the numbers greatly underestimate how many people are living with housing instabilities.

"What's happening is more people are becoming insecure at a higher income level," said Viki Sonntag, a member of the Port Townsend Planning Commission. "That cost-burden is rising steeply. We're seeing people who actually live in homes becoming cost-burdened too."

According to the Housing Solutions Network, Jefferson County has lost an estimated 600 to 750 rental units since 2012. And nearly half of local renters are cost-burdened, meaning they spend more than 30% of their income on housing, according to the U.S. Census Bureau's 2022 American Community Survey.

Rae Faverty works at the shelter beneath the American Legion in Port Townsend. Until very recently, when she was off the clock, she made her van her home, along with her three dogs. She lost her housing during COVID, and what began as a necessity evolved into a functional and mobile minimalist lifestyle. Today, she helps others navigate the same housing instability she continues to face.

"Instead of living paycheck-to-paycheck, you're living day-to-day," she said. "You start budgeting like, 'Okay, I can get two gallons of water, a can of food for the dogs.' It's just the basics, every single day."

Faverty works the overnight shift at the shelter where she once received services. Her role as someone providing support while still navigating her own housing insecurity provides insider perspective.

"It puts me in a place of total empathy and compassion to where maybe if I hadn't been experiencing some of these things, I might not understand some of these people or relate to their behavior," she said. "But I do now. I can see what desperation can do to a person. I've felt within what desperation can do."

Faverty sees a familiar pattern with people she meets at the shelter: "Some sort of life emergency happens. Vehicle breaks down. There's some sort of emergency medical thing. They go into debt, use everything they have to pay for that, and then never recover," she said.

Gregg Colburn, an associate professor at the University of Washington and co-author of “Homelessness is a Housing Problem,” said the population facing housing insecurity is often misunderstood — and miscounted.

"Whenever we publish numbers, it's important to clarify that this is our best estimate, and the reality is, it's an undercount, and it's an undercount potentially significantly," he said. "You don't have a full appreciation for the scale of the crisis and therefore don't scale your policy responses appropriately."

Port Townsend Mayor David Faber did not mince words when describing the consequences of inaction.

“To my mind, Port Townsend's ongoing housing crisis is, without reservation, the single most urgent and horrifying issue facing us. It's an existential threat,” he said. “Addressing it is a moral imperative, but the available solutions are deeply complicated, require compromise, and are imperfect. The longer this situation persists, the more people find themselves unhoused, living in their car, and sleeping on their friends' couches. It's horrible.”

Sontag, with the planning commission, said the cost burden is no longer only reflected in the lower-income communities; it now affects people well above the poverty line.

According to the Jefferson County Comprehensive Plan, about 34% of unincorporated renter households are cost-burdened, while the number rises to nearly half in Port Townsend. The cost of rent often exceeds what households earning 80% of the area median income (AMI) can afford. For a single-person household earning $39,400 annually, the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development guidelines cap affordable rent at about $1,350 per month. Market rates in Port Townsend often top $1,800, if a rental is available at all.

Faverty has experienced these challenges firsthand and was left with few options to obtain permanent housing. She noted that many people opt for alternative shelter methods due to the lack of housing.

"If you make over $2,000 a month, you don't qualify for low-income housing," she said. "But then you still can't afford the rent. So, people get creative. They buy trailers. They build out vans."

While these options demonstrate resourcefulness, they can come with considerable risk. From a logistical point of view, these individuals facing housing insecurities also face challenges securing legal parking and finding access to basic human needs, such as showers and restrooms, and live with constant concern of harassment and law enforcement.    

Brotherton acknowledged that environmental regulations have noble intentions, but they can be a barrier to those in need of a safe space to live.

"Sometimes our permits in the rural areas get… not draconian, but we're really protective of the environment," he said. "But what that does is push rural marginalized residents out of the system."

Meanwhile, those seeking help encounter long waitlists, eligibility hurdles or a lack of capacity. "We're seeing rents at $1,500 a month or more, and it's really putting folks earning up to 80% AMI under pressure," Brotherton said. “When someone loses a house, it’s like a game of chutes and ladders. And they just keep going down and down and down. And it’s really hard to get out.”

Faverty believes one of the biggest hurdles is being unseen, and how that invisibility only fuels stigma—and inaction.

"Everyone that is alive deserves to have a place to live, regardless of if they make money or not," she said. "Housing is a human right."

That belief keeps Faverty motivated, inspiring herself each night she clocks in.

"Me asking for help is strength, not weakness," she said. "Me putting myself out there and letting the world know what I need is brave and scary for me to do."
She added: "I hope that people can look at people like that. When someone's asking for help, see it as brave that they're willing to make their needs met, even though they might face rejection. Maybe no one will hear them, maybe nobody will care, but they're still voicing their needs."

She now lives in a tiny home offered by Bayside Housing, an arrangement that marks a new phase in her path toward stability. For Faverty, it’s a foundation she can build on while continuing to support others facing the same uncertainties.