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• Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

• At Camp Reunite, children spend a week at a traditional summer camp, with access to outdoors activities and trauma-informed programming. Two days out of the week, campers spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents.

• The program is accessible only to children of those incarcerated at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine prisons, but the camp is discussing an expansion to Racine Correctional Institution.  

• Stigma surrounding incarceration and transportation barriers have limited growth of the camp.

The thunk of a plastic bat followed each pitch and question Tasha H. lobbed toward her 14-year-old son. She cheered after each hit as she tracked down the whiffle ball and prepared her next throw. 

“Maybe baseball next year?” 

No, he responded before hitting the ball over his mom’s head. He plans to try out for varsity football instead.

“You’re getting a lot better than you give yourself credit for,” Tasha told him.

Standing in a patch of green grass in late June, working to extract more than one-word answers from her son, Tasha looked like a typical mom of a soon-to-be high schooler. But as the ball landed on the wrong side of a chain rope fence, it was clear they were not standing in a backyard or baseball field. 

“I can’t go get that,” she said. 

The fence stood only about 2 feet high. But Tasha could not cross it or the much taller, barbed fence bordering Taycheedah Correctional Institution in Fond du Lac — not for at least another year. 

The brief batting practice was part of Camp Reunite, a program for children with incarcerated parents. Before camp, Tasha had not seen her son in the year since she was arrested for crimes she committed related to a drug relapse.

WPR and Wisconsin Watch are withholding the last names of parents or kids included in the story at the request of Camp Reunite to protect the campers’ privacy.

One of the first things Tasha noticed about her son was that he’s taller than her now. 

“Then he spoke and it was like a man, and I was appalled,” Tasha said. “I know that sounds crazy, but I just want to be there as much as I can, even though I’m in here.”

They both needed the visit, she said. 

Maintaining relationships between children and incarcerated parents helps mitigate the negative impacts of the separation, experts say. Family visits have been shown to reduce recidivism. 

Camp Reunite allows children to spend a week at a traditional summer camp where they can hike, canoe and participate in trauma-informed programming like art therapy. Two days out of the week, campers get to spend an entire day with their incarcerated parents in a more relaxed setting than typical visits.

Despite the camp’s success for parents and their kids, it remains unique to Wisconsin and has operated in just two prisons this summer: the women’s prison at Taycheedah and Kettle Moraine, a nearby men’s facility.

Public opinion is the camp’s biggest obstacle, said Chloe Blish, the camp’s mental wellness director. Prison and camp staff described hearing and reading concerns over the perception that the program is a safety risk — and that it rewards incarcerated parents. 

Past media coverage of the camp has prompted online backlash against named parents — personal attacks that older campers can read and absorb, Blish said.

She wishes skeptics could experience a day at Camp Reunite, she said. “It’s electric.”

Tasha and her son started their reunion playing the board game Sorry!

“I miss you,” she said before moving her pawn 10 spaces and asking if he signed up to attend the winter camp. 

He nodded before knocking her piece back to the start, softly telling his mom “sorry.”

Between turns and debates about the rules, she asked about school, football, friends, food at camp and where he got his shoes. He reminded her that she bought them for him. She told him he needed to clean them with an old toothbrush, which led to a short lecture about how often he should replace his toothbrush. 

He asked her why she didn’t spend extra money to get Nikes with her prison uniform, a gray T-shirt and teal scrub pants. They joked about her all-white Reebok sneakers.

“I’m glad you came,” she said. “It’s been a long time, huh?”

Not like other camps

When Taycheedah social worker Rachel Fryda-Gehde heard officials were trying to host a camp at the prison, her first reaction was: “Nobody’s ever going to entertain such a crazy idea.”

This summer, she helped run the prison’s eighth season. 

She and other camp leaders plan to present on the program’s success at national conferences this fall, she said. They want to see the camp grow, but there are barriers, including public perception.

The nonprofit Hometown Heroes runs the camp in coordination with the Wisconsin Department of Corrections.

Camp Hometown Heroes started as a summer camp for children whose parents died after serving in the military. The camp paid to fly Blish and her sister from California to Wisconsin during summers when they were teenagers.

She still loves Hometown Heroes, but Camp Reunite has more impact, she said.

“There’s a lot of camps for gold star kids, that’s easy support,” Blish said. Things are different at Camp Reunite.

She and other camp leaders often work in the kitchen, filling in to wash dishes during Camp Reunite. During Hometown Heroes, that’s never necessary, because so many community members volunteer to help, she said. 

Hometown Heroes, an exponentially larger operation, also receives more individual donations because of people who have a passion for helping veterans and military families, wrote Liz Braatz, the camp’s director of development. 

She has heard the stigma around supporting people in prison, she wrote in an email. But discussing the camp as a way to help children affected by trauma “has made all the difference” in reshaping perceptions, she said. 

Outside of camp, the organization provides campers with new clothing, school supplies and hygiene products. 

“It does not matter who your God is or who you vote for, if your passion is helping these kids,” Braatz wrote. 

The camp is in conversation with Racine Correctional Institution and now has plans to expand its program next summer. 

The Wisconsin Department of Corrections would welcome Camp Reunite in additional facilities, spokesperson Beth Hardtke said. 

Barriers stifle attendance 

The camp faces additional obstacles in expanding its service. 

This summer’s camp at Taycheedah was far from capacity. There were enough camp staff for more than 100 kids, Blish said. But just over a dozen families showed up. 

“We started out with a lot more,” Fryda-Gehde said. 

There are two major requirements for moms to join the camp: no sex crime convictions and no major conduct issues in the six months leading up to camp. This year’s attendance shrank after women were placed into segregation cells after breaking prison rules.

Prison social workers spend months with the moms to prepare for camp. Moms create posters to decorate their campers’ bunk beds, while prison staff set up activity stations like a beauty parlor and photo booth in the visiting room.

But the biggest reason for lower attendance: getting some caregivers on board. 

Some kids might not be ready to visit with their incarcerated parents, Blish said. Other times, caretakers are hesitant to allow them in a prison or struggle to get them there. 

Women are more likely than men to be the primary caretakers for their children at the time of arrest. That often leads to major life disruptions for campers visiting the women’s prison who are more likely to live with foster placements or more distant relatives. 

Even caretakers comfortable with the camp might struggle to get there. Many families lack cars, Blish said. The camp tries to arrange rides for as many kids as possible, but it can’t always pick up kids who live farther away. 

‘You’re here to have fun’

Nyzaiah and his three younger siblings live with their grandparents in Milwaukee. Camp was the first time they’ve made the more than hourlong drive to visit their mom since she was incarcerated. 

“I was trying not to cry because I don’t like really showing my emotions to people, but I did drop a tear,” he said. “Me and my mom are really close.”

They talk on the phone around four times a week, but seeing her in person felt different, he said. 

Most of his classmates get picked up by their parents. Only his close friends know why his grandparents pick him up each day.

“At home, I’m big brother. I gotta do everything and make sure it’s good. I don’t like to bring a lot of stress on my grandma,” the 13-year-old said. 

But at camp, his brothers and sister are in separate cabins. 

“The counselors told me, ‘You’re here to have fun. Don’t worry about your siblings. We’ve got them,’” he said. 

Glitter, braids and tearful goodbyes 

Moms aren’t the only ones asking questions at camp. 

“You’ve got a TV?” asked Deloise L.’s 11-year-old son.

“Of course,” she answered. The morning before camp she woke up early from excitement and watched the morning news while she waited. 

Deloise’s children are staying with her sister who brings them for somewhat regular visits throughout the year. But camp is different.

“I love this,” she said. 

During a normal visit, her family is under the supervision of correctional officers, and her movement is more limited. At camp, most of the prison staff present are social workers. Moms walk from activity to activity without asking permission, including to the camp’s crowded “salon.”

Deloise clipped hot pink braids into her teenage daughter’s hair and applied glittery makeup over her eyes. Her son picked out a fake mustache.

As counselors warned that there were 10 minutes left until they would bus back to camp, kids scrambled to get close to their moms. Even the knowledge that they would be back later that week failed to stop the tears.

“When you got to separate from them, that’s when it gets bad,” Deloise said, wiping her eyes with a tissue. “It just gets bad when you want to be around your kids.”

This is her family’s second camp. They plan to attend one more summer camp before her release in 2026.

“I’m learning from my mistakes,” she said. “They won’t have to worry about this again.”

‘I did drop a tear’: Camp Reunite helps kids connect with their incarcerated parents is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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• Wisconsin’s state budget doesn’t include $24 million that Gov. Tony Evers proposed to address homelessness in the state.

• At the same time, the Trump administration is looking to pull back on resources that address housing, including consolidating a grant for permanent housing solutions into one that can only be used to provide up to two years of temporary housing.

• Rural service providers are looking to philanthropic sources and others across the state to address the growing homeless population in their local communities.

At a recent gathering of social service organizations in Brown County, participants contended with a double gut punch to their efforts to reverse Wisconsin’s recent rise in rural homelessness: almost no new support in the state budget and federal funding cuts.

The Brown County Homeless and Housing Coalition, which focuses its efforts not only on the urban growth around Green Bay but also on the rural towns along the outskirts of the county, consists of at least 45 partner and supporting member organizations — representing the vast complexity of the issue they’re attempting to fix.

Gov. Tony Evers’ budget proposal gave them reason for hope. It included over $24 million of new funding to address homelessness.

The funding would have increased support for programs, including the Housing Assistance Program that provides support services for those experiencing homelessness and the State Shelter Subsidy Grant Program that funds shelter operations. 

But after the Republican-controlled budget committee cut Evers’ proposal, organizations were left with the same state resources they had last year, despite increasing homelessness across the state and looming cuts in federal support.

Joint Finance Committee co-chairs Rep. Mark Born, R-Beaver Dam, and Sen. Howard Marklein, R-Spring Green, who both represent mostly rural districts in Wisconsin, did not reply to multiple requests for comment.

Sen. Romaine Robert Quinn, R-Birchwood, a JFC member who represents the rural northwestern corner of Wisconsin, including the city of Shell Lake where Wisconsin Watch reported on a father and daughter experiencing homelessness, declined an interview request. Sen. Eric Wimberger, R-Oconto, who represents the western part of Brown County, did not reply to multiple requests for comment.

Federal cuts coming for homeless services

President Donald Trump’s proposed federal budget reductions would cut funding for key programs administered by the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development (HUD), including grants that many local organizations depend on to provide housing and supportive services. 

The Trump administration’s efforts to reduce federal funding began with a Jan. 27 executive order that temporarily paused many federal grants and financial assistance programs — including those supporting homelessness services — causing immediate disruptions for organizations like RAYS Youth Services in Green Bay.

Josh Benti, program coordinator for RAYS and homeless initiative project director for the Brown County coalition, recalled how his organization’s basic services were abruptly halted, leaving it unable to support a child in need.

Benti’s organization provides services designed to promote stability and independence for youth up to age 24. They include placement in licensed foster homes, similar to emergency shelter stays.

Shortly after Trump signed the order in January, Benti received a text from his boss saying the organization could no longer move forward with placing a child in a host home. He had to inform the child it was uncertain whether the program would be funded. 

Even after federal funds were reinstated weeks later, disbursement delays further affected how employees were paid. Benti’s role, originally salaried, was switched to hourly so that he and his colleagues could maintain their positions.

Benti explained that because RAYS’ federal funds are matched by private grants, the organization’s development staff has begun applying for grants across the state. The organization seeks to expand its services and collaborate with statewide partners to become “too big to fail.” 

“We can’t do it all by ourselves,” Benti said. “We need those funds to take care of those pieces we do every day.”  

Trump’s big bill brought new limitations to RAYS through changes to social safety net programs, such as provisions introducing new work requirements for Medicaid and the Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program, which limited eligibility and access of certain recipients. 

These policy shifts have raised additional concerns about the potential losses to critical areas of the organization, especially Medicaid. Reductions to the federal health care program for low-income people threaten a large portion of Foundations Health and Wholeness, a nonprofit that provides mental health care to uninsured and underinsured individuals, many of whom rely on Medicaid as a source of health coverage.

Carrie Poser, executive director of Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care — a nonprofit committed to ending homelessness — pointed out that Medicaid cuts, along with restrictions on food stamps, won’t only affect people experiencing homelessness directly. 

“It will impact those living in poverty who are maybe just … a paycheck away from becoming homeless, and now you’ve just hit them with the potential of losing their health insurance, or losing access to food,” Poser said.

The organization manages a variety of federal grants, including funding for Coordinated Entry Systems that prioritize housing resources based on need, as well as a large federal Rapid Re-housing project of more than $5 million focused on domestic violence survivors.

Trump calls for shift from permanent to temporary housing

Trump’s budget proposal could eliminate federal funding for the Continuum of Care program, funneling those resources into state grants for up to two years of housing assistance. The shift would eliminate Permanent Supportive Housing, which is geared toward homeless individuals with disabilities. Under current law, those temporary housing grants can’t be used for permanent housing.

Trump’s budget also would zero out the funding for the Housing Opportunities for Persons with AIDS program.

“The top-line takeaway is that rural and suburban communities are going to suffer the most loss,” said Mary Frances Kenion, chief equity officer at the National Alliance to End Homelessness.

About 48% of Wisconsin’s permanent supportive housing is currently funded through Continuum of Care dollars. Areas served by the outstate organization rely on federal funding for roughly 41% of their homelessness services budget.

The outstate organization also receives Housing Assistance Program grants, which it subgrants to organizations aiming to address specific gaps in their communities and offers them support that may not be available through federal funding.

Without added state support, the organization can’t expand its efforts to end homelessness, though it can maintain current levels. Currently, Housing Assistance Program funds support half a dozen projects outside Milwaukee, Dane and Racine counties, a limited reach that additional funding would have broadened for the organization.

Additionally, more state funding for shelter operations could have helped shelters pay more staff and reopen after many closed during the COVID-19 pandemic, Poser said.

Now, as the demand for shelter continues to rise, other service providers also face limited resources to expand their services.

The shelter funds provide support to the Northwest Wisconsin Community Services Agency for operating its shelters. However, CEO Millie Rounsville said the funding has remained flat for years, despite growing demand for services.

“As you’re trying to create additional projects … there’s no additional resources to be able to support those and actually would take away resources from other communities because the pot is the same size and the programs are expanding, which means that there’s less money to go around, and no new money to address any of the increase in the unsheltered,” Rounsville said.

With no increases in funding, expanding programs or launching new initiatives to meet rising homelessness has become increasingly difficult.

As several housing assistance organizations face limitations to state and federal funding to maintain many of their day-to-day programs and services, Kenion urges them to take stock of existing resources and make contingency plans.

Kenion advised communities to map out what services they currently offer, whether that’s through permanent supportive housing or homelessness programs, and to clearly understand where their funding may come from. She added that rural communities, in particular, should begin having difficult conversations about their funding landscape and work to broaden partnerships such as those with faith-based groups, clinics, small businesses, victim service providers and philanthropies.

Rural areas face challenges accessing support

Don Cramer, a researcher for the Wisconsin Policy Forum, points to some of the difficulty rural areas might face in obtaining funding to address homelessness. 

In rural parts of the state, limited staff capacity could mean that local agencies miss out on some of the state and federal funding opportunities that their urban counterparts are able to obtain. Cramer suggested that larger cities with high homeless populations, like Milwaukee, typically have more staff and time to dedicate to pursuing grants, while smaller counties, even those with higher homeless populations, often don’t have the employees who focus their time exclusively on applying for these funds.

Cramer also pointed out that rural communities often struggle not only to secure funding, but to capture the scope of homelessness in their areas, making it even harder to recognize and address the issue.

As Wisconsin Watch previously reported following the winter “point in time” count, one of two annual nights in the year that portray the number of people experiencing homelessness across the country, the state’s mostly rural homeless population reached 3,201 last year, its highest number since 2017.

The reported number of homeless students in Wisconsin last year reached its highest number since 2019, with 20,195 students experiencing homelessness, according to a report by the Wisconsin Policy Forum. Last year was the third consecutive year the number of reported homeless students has increased after hitting its lowest level in 2021 during the pandemic. 

The sheer difference in the number of students experiencing homelessness and individuals experiencing homelessness further highlights how the methodology for quantifying homelessness across the state, which is used to determine a community’s level of need, “doesn’t make sense for those who don’t know the differences in the methodologies,” Cramer said. 

The standards of counting between Wisconsin’s Department of Public Instruction (DPI), which would count a student who may be sleeping on a relative’s couch in its homeless count, and HUD, which wouldn’t, illustrate the strict guidelines that likely don’t come close to representing the full picture of homelessness in the state. 

“When you think of the (homeless counts), many assume those are undercounts,” Cramer said. “But I think the students would be pretty accurate — because schools are working with a majority of the state’s student population, and kindergartners aren’t hiding that information.”

‘We need to take into account our increasing need’

Katie Van Groll sees this issue firsthand through her work as the director of Home Base, an arm of the Boys and Girls Club of the Fox Valley that specifically works with youth up to age 21 who are experiencing challenges related to housing insecurity. 

Van Groll added that the difference between the HUD and DPI counts contributes to a systemic misunderstanding of what homelessness looks like for young people. For example, couch surfing is much more common in young people experiencing homelessness than it is for adults, but because the HUD count doesn’t include that frequent circumstance, the difference between being sheltered and being homeless “almost gets forgotten,” Van Groll said. 

“What that does is it makes them ineligible for other funding and other resources because they don’t meet the HUD definition until they are literally on the street, and that’s what we’re trying to avoid,” Van Groll said. “The sooner that we can intervene, the quicker we can disrupt that cycle and change those generational experiences of homelessness.”

While the number of youth experiencing homelessness in the state continues to rise, Evers’ budget proposal to increase funding for the Runaway and Homeless Youth program, which already operates on a difficult-to-obtain regional lottery system that Home Base competes for each year alongside other youth-oriented programs, was denied an increase in funding. 

Only one program serving runaway and homeless youth per region receives funding by the state, which in itself “is a disservice,” Van Groll said. “Right now, we’re lucky in that we are in a current federal grant so we are not looking at reapplying to the (state) funding that was just released, but we expect that other programs may not be in the same situation.” 

“Many people are going to be like, ‘well, what are you complaining about? You’re not losing any money,’” Van Groll said. “But you kind of are because we need to take into account the state of our economy, we need to take into account our increasing need, we need to take into account the fact that losing those decreases likely impacts those programs just like it does ours, which means it continues to be largely competitive across the state, inhibiting some programs from accessing those fundings.”

Meaghan Gleason, who leads the Brown County count, announced during the Brown County coalition meeting on July 9 that the current number of volunteers signed up for the summer homeless count is lower than the last two counts. She asked attendees to contribute in any way they can. 

“I would encourage you to contact your friends, family, community members, board members, funders — anyone who may be interested in going out and helping and seeing the work that we do in action,” Gleason said. 

In a phone interview on July 16, Gleason said that after reaching out to the coalition for more volunteers, involvement for the July 23-24 overnight summer count in Brown County will now see the highest number of volunteers she’s directed since taking on the role two years ago.

Homeless advocates added that there’s been an increase in encampments, with people experiencing homelessness moving deeper into the woods as the summer goes on. 

Amid the wet and hot season lately, Peter Silski, Green Bay homeless outreach case coordinator, explained that many of the people he encounters have no other choice than to build simple tents and shelters. 

Through conversations with people experiencing homelessness and connecting them with local, grassroots programs, Silski said the goal is “to empower individuals to become self-sufficient, but we want to make sure we’re there for them for as long as they need us.”

Wisconsin Watch reporter Margaret Shreiner contributed to this report.

‘We can’t do it all by ourselves’: As rural homelessness grows in Wisconsin, Republicans balk at boosting support is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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About this video

The Local Food Purchase Assistance program, or LFPA, was a federal program that awarded states two-year grants to help small farmers invest in their local food systems while growing their businesses. 

The Trump administration gutted the program in March, just as farmers started placing seed orders. The timing particularly affected livestock farmers who often need to commit to the size of their herd and harvest over a year in advance. 

Wisconsin Watch staff writer Bennet Goldstein spent weeks talking with producers affected by the loss of LFPA, including Jess D’Souza, a pork farmer in Dane County. During one of several visits to her farm, he and photojournalist Patricio Crooker watched meat processors harvest her pigs to fully appreciate how food travels from farm to plate.

On a separate visit to the farm, Joe Timmerman photographed Jess and her herd of Gloucestershire Old Spots pigs, documenting many beautiful moments on the piece of agricultural land that she purchased nearly a decade ago and eventually named Wonderfarm. 

Collectively, the images tell a story of life, death and resilience on a small farm – but  some viewers may find some of the images in the video uncomfortable or even emotionally upsetting. Our decision to include them was the result of many discussions that touch on long-standing debates in newsrooms about when it is justified to publish or showcase disquieting images related to death, injury or violence. 

Some of the questions raised in these discussions don’t have simple answers. For instance, Bennet wonders whether our desire to outsource meat production to others —  and hide the bloody parts of that business — contributes to the characterization of these photos as being in poor taste or emotionally disturbing.

We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of the issues and questions raised in this reporting.

As for the LFPA program’s future, Wisconsin producers hope to see funding restored in the yet-to-be-debated federal Farm Bill. 

Video: life, death and resilience at Wonderfarm is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

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Snowflakes fell last February as bundled-up women walked into a downtown Green Bay coffee shop. Inside, Third Space Green Bay was celebrating its one-year anniversary as a group that creates a gathering space for local queer, Black and Indigenous residents and other people of color.  

Soft rhythm and blues — from SZA to Solange — filled the room as the group’s three co-founders led a Sunday morning clothes-mending and craft event that promised “healing through creativity.” 

In launching Third Space, Jasmine Gordon, Ivy McGee and Sarah Titus aim to help people with a range of backgrounds feel at home in a city that’s 70% white and in a state where less than 4% of people identify as LGBTQ+.

The women met at St. Norbert College, a Catholic liberal arts institution in De Pere, just outside of Green Bay. McGee grew up in De Pere, and Titus, a native Minnesotan, moved to Green Bay in 2008. They had worked together for years as librarians at the college when Gordon, a St. Norbert alum, became the library’s community engagement coordinator in 2021. Seeing a gap to fill on campus, the women rolled out library programming that engaged LGBTQ+ students and people of color. 

Events like “The Transperience,” an art installation in partnership with the Bay Area Council on Gender Diversity and the Trans Artist Collaborative, and a farmers market featuring more than  40 Black-owned businesses prompted feedback from residents who said they had never felt so seen, loved or cared for. 

“We would have people come up to us afterwards expressing, ‘Oh my gosh, I never knew I needed this,’” Titus said. 

But St. Norbert’s climate of inclusion changed over the years, the women said. In fall 2024, for instance, the college changed its gender policy, aligning with Catholic church guidelines recognizing only two genders: male and female. While leaders said the college remained committed to supporting people of diverse backgrounds, many students and staff said the change sent a different message. 

At the same time, Gordon, McGee and Titus envisioned a larger, independent project to promote inclusion across Green Bay — beyond the confines of campus.

Leaving their jobs at a college that faced financial turmoil, they launched Third Space to realize that vision.  

“We saw an opportunity and a responsibility to separate ourselves from the institution and develop something that felt more aligned with our core values, and that was including folks from all different walks of life regardless of who they love or what color their skin is or how they identify,” McGee said. 

Sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined the term “third space” in 1989, with home being someone’s “first place” and work as a “second place.” Third spaces are where people publicly gather informally, such as coffee shops, restaurants, coworking spaces and libraries. Third Space Green Bay seeks to create places for people to “just be,” its founders said.  

Its programs are free and “open and welcoming to folks that are on the margins,” McGee said. 

Third Space isn’t the only local group serving LGBTQ+ populations. The University of Wisconsin-Green Bay’s Pride Center provides resources and holds events. But Third Space is rare in that it also intentionally serves Black and Indigenous residents, alongside other people of color. 

“When we were thinking of how we wanted this organization to exist, we were really thinking about it as a coalition,” Titus said, adding that the group is “building and intertwining” multiple communities that are often marginalized locally. 

Third Space, which filed to become a nonprofit in April 2024, has hosted more than 10 hours of community programming and raised more than $11,000 in grants and $6,700 in donations. 

Earlier this year, Third Space hosted an International Women’s Day pop-up shop that included a poetry writing workshop and a live performance from a local poet.

McGee said joining other women in that space made her feel her organization was “absolutely on the right track” and helped her imagine what it could do with a permanent location.  

The trio of founders said they are building the scaffolding for Third Space’s future. Until they secure a permanent location in downtown Green Bay, they’ll continue borrowing spaces from like-minded people in the community. 

At the February anniversary event, Essence Wilks, a Milwaukee native who recently moved to Green Bay, and Taiyana Plummer, a Green Bay native, learned about Third Space after walking into the coffee shop in search of matcha tea. Plummer said she and Wilks had just been discussing a shortage of inclusive gathering spaces in Green Bay. 

“Growing up here, especially when I was younger, it was harder to find people similar to me or spaces where I felt welcomed or heard and seen,” Plummer said. “So seeing this was very nice and made me feel very comfortable and just really excited for what’s moving forward with Third Space.”

Three women build a ‘third space’ for Green Bay residents who have felt left out is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.