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Laurie Doxtator starts each morning with affirmations.

“It’s OK to say no,” she thinks to herself while breathing in and breathing out, slowly grounding herself. 

“I’m proud of me waking up sober today.” 

“It’s a good day to start a new day.” 

The exercise plays an important role in keeping Doxtator clean from the drugs and alcohol that long controlled her life. She has built the routine through hard work, perseverance and the support of people around her — helping her stay alive. All the while she practices what she preaches to others seeking recovery: “Do this for you.” 

Doxtator, 61, grew up on the Oneida Reservation and spent time in California before returning to Wisconsin, enduring trauma along the way, including losing multiple family members. 

Three years ago, Doxtator realized she’d been using substances for 50 years, including drinking since age 8. “I realized it ain’t giving me nothing in life,” Doxtator said. “It ain’t gonna bring my children back, it ain’t gonna bring my mom back.”

She moved into a 30-day rehabilitation program but knew she needed more structure and time to heal. That led her to Amanda’s House, a sober living home in Green Bay for women and their children that allows them to stay as long as they need.

Doxtator spent most mornings at Amanda’s House in the craft room with her friend and fellow resident Ashley Bryan, carefully creating Diamond Dotz art pieces. 

Doxtator saw many people come and go during more than three years at the home, and she’s grateful to have felt their support. Bryan jokingly calls her “the OG” — a nod to Doxtator’s long tenure there.

Others call her “grandma” while asking how she’s doing. Doxtator enjoys the nickname, which prompts her to wonder what life would have looked like as a grandmother had her late sons raised children.

Jewelry on Doxtator’s hands and the tattoos spanning her arms tell pieces of her life’s story.

One ring belonged to her late mother, whose birth date is tattooed below a red rose on her upper right arm, which she calls her “memorial arm.” Doxtator still deals with the grief from losing her parents and regrets that she hadn’t sobered up when her mom was still living.

Another ring belonged to her older brother, Duane, who died this year on Mother’s Day. Below the rose of their mother, the tattooed words ROCK & ROLL memorialize Duane’s love of music.  

More scripted names and dates honor the children Doxtator lost — one in an accidental drowning and one to alcoholism. 

The turtle tattoos on Doxtator’s arm nod to her Oneida Nation membership and her family’s Turtle Clan history. 

Her newest tattoo, a hummingbird, represents the community she’s found at the Recovery Nest, part of the Oneida Comprehensive Health Division, which offers holistic healing and growth for those seeking recovery. Six other women joined her in getting that tattoo.

Even in sobriety, Doxtator struggles with the weight of her past trauma. 

She planned to die by suicide in July. But Bryan found out about it and intervened, prompting Amanda’s House Executive Director Paula Jolly to send Doxtator to Iris Place, the National Alliance on Mental Illness Fox Valley’s peer-run crisis center in Appleton, where she recovered. 

“I came out and they could tell the whole difference in me,” Doxtator said. “I needed that break.”

Trauma that unfolds early in someone’s life can affect them decades later — even when they don’t vividly remember, Jolly explained, citing research by psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk.  

Doxtator’s visit to Iris Place reinforced the importance of daily routines and surrounding herself with supportive people.

She keeps a list of everybody in her life who might help her in different ways, organizing them by categories, such as “emotional support.” She keeps the numbers for a crisis center and her recovery coaches saved in her phone. At Bryan’s suggestion, Doxtator downloaded Snapchat, where women from Amanda’s House send funny selfies to each other. 

When other Amanda’s House residents leave for work, Doxtator spends time with her brother, Earl “Nuck” Elm, or visits the Recovery Nest. 

Doxtator spent much of last summer sewing a ribboned vest and beading a turtle pendant for this year’s KUNHI-YO’ “I’m Healthy” conference, sponsored by Oneida Behavioral Health’s Tribal Opioid Response Team. There, Doxtator was invited to walk in an August fashion show featuring people who attend the Recovery Nest. 

Ahead of the show, Doxtator was up at 4 a.m. due to her nerves. Bryan, who works as a hair stylist, was curling Doxtator’s hair in the Amanda’s House craft room. 

“Oh, you look so pretty,” Bryan exclaimed after finishing. 

“Oh no, Ashley no,” Doxtator said apprehensively. 

“You’re gonna be OK.”

“You sure?”

“You’re brave. You’ve done a lot harder things in your life. This is gonna be fun and you’re gonna enjoy yourself,” Bryan said before the pair hugged and said goodbye. 

Surrounded by friends and family, Doxtator heard cheering, clapping and a whistle as she walked into the show. Wearing her handmade outfit and her biggest smile, she waved to the crowd. 

Stephanie Skenandore, Doxtator’s lifelong friend and recovery coach, recorded a video on her phone from the side of the room after walking in the show herself. Skenandore, who has been in recovery for 33 years and shares the same recovery date with Doxtator, said she was proud of Doxtator for seeking her support when Duane died earlier this year. 

People in recovery often unhealthily dwell on their past mistakes — flaws that others can’t see, Skenandore said, connecting that process to the fashion show. It’s like focusing on a sewing imperfection that only the sewer will see.  

Recovery takes practice and creativity, she added. “There is no one specific way, and there is no perfect way.” 

When people like Doxtator first show up to Recovery Nest, Skenandore helps them set goals by asking them questions like, “How do you see a life looking into the future without the drugs and the alcohol? How do you want that to look for yourself?” 

She discourages people from viewing themselves as failures and helps them navigate life differently. 

Skenandore said Doxtator’s handmade vest and pendant illustrated her creativity. 

After the fashion show, event organizers played a prerecorded video in which Doxtator shared her life story. Doxtator watched at a conference room table with her brother. When Doxtator appeared on screen, she picked up a napkin to wipe away her tears. A woman clapped at the mention of Doxtator’s years of sobriety before walking over to give her a hug.

“I came from nothing and built a community,” Doxtator said after the video ended. “It wasn’t easy.” 

Doxtator moved out of Amanda’s House on Oct. 17. Nuck and her cousin helped take her boxes to a storage unit. 

Doxtator’s long hair was now cut shorter than it had ever been. “I’m going on a new journey out in the world, so I want to have a new style look,” Doxtator said. 

“When you start looking at it from the time she came to the time now, she’s grown so much,” Jolly said. “I don’t want her to leave but it’s time. We’re technically holding her back. It’s time for her to move on.” 

Doxtator said she’s in awe of her own progress but knows that leaving won’t be easy. The old forces of addiction lurk outside of the support of Amanda’s House and will try to draw her back in. 

She said she’s determined to avoid returning to drugs and alcohol — and becoming the “same old Laurie: stealing, lying.”  

“If I go back out, I know I’m gonna die, there’s no choice in the matter,” she said.

As she approached her back-to-back dates of her move and her three-year sobriety anniversary, Doxtator started researching Gamblers Anonymous meetings. 

“It’s hard for me right now, that’s one of my downfalls right now, gambling,” Doxtator said. “I used to be real bad before, but I know that I can (get through) it again.” 

As her recovery progresses, Doxtator has grown more comfortable in sharing her story, with the hope of helping others, including during a recent Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. When a newcomer visited, “we told her to keep coming back,” Doxtator said. “It works if you work it. We said we’re proud of you for coming in.” 

Jolly offered Doxtator a standing invitation to return to Amanda’s House to share her story with the next group of residents.  

In the meantime, saying goodbye was hard, Doxtator said. She has yet to unpack a pile of boxes at her brother’s house, where she hasn’t yet slept much. 

There’s so much to get used to. She knows it will take time. But she tells herself she’ll succeed as long as she keeps working on herself, remembering that every day is a new day. 

Need help for yourself or a loved one? 

If you are looking for local information on substance use, call 211 or reach the Wisconsin Addiction Recovery Helpline at 833-944-4673. Additional information is available at 211’s addiction helplife or findtreatment.gov.

If you or someone you know is experiencing a mental health crisis: call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 988 or contact a Wisconsin county crisis line.

‘I came from nothing and built a community’: After years of healing, woman takes next step in sobriety 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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• Pulaski High School students have kept their community informed through the Pulaski News for more than 80 years.

• As local news has dwindled nationwide, the Pulaski News has become a fixture in the community.

• The publication’s niche is positive news on community members, but some wish it included independent, critical coverage. One thing it’s missing is coverage of village board meetings, for example. 

• Educators say students learn soft skills, like how to communicate with others, through their work on the paper.

“The most important sentence in any article is the first one. If it doesn’t introduce the reader to proceed to the second sentence, your article is dead.”

Three weeks into the school year at Pulaski High School, six teenagers sit around a cluster of desks, listening intently as journalism instructor Amy Tubbs taught them the mechanics of writing a news story. 

While Tubbs knows it might sound harsh, the task of hooking readers carries weight for the students. For more than eight decades, Pulaski High School’s student newspaper has been the community’s newspaper of record, as the only news outlet consistently covering the rural village. 

As local news has dwindled across the country, Pulaski News has become a fixture of the community, a tool to prepare students for the workforce and the last official source keeping residents informed about hyperlocal happenings. 

Through routine practice with writing, interviewing, photography and media literacy, the teenagers secure skills that prepare them for life after high school. Students say working for the paper helps them feel closer to their northeast Wisconsin community. 

“I joined last year because I really love writing, and I saw this as an opportunity to get to do that,” sophomore Dellah Hall said. “I’m now able to write not just for school and grades, but this is for the community.”

Along the way, the paper has secured a level of community buy-in that might feel foreign to some news organizations today, as trust in news declines. Students nurture this by regularly sharing feel-good stories.

For example, freshman Neville Nguyen is writing a profile on a well-known “legend of Pulaski”: an 84-year-old woman who runs the local McDonald’s drive-through every morning. Nguyen’s article is going to be published in the Pulaski News’ Thanksgiving edition, an annual feature that highlights someone who has something for which to be thankful. 

“Its own kind of niche … That’s not necessarily something that a bigger paper is going to pick up … There’s definitely very much a hometown kind of feel to it,” Tubbs said. 

‘Pulaski needs a newspaper’

Roughly 20 miles outside of Green Bay, the village of Pulaski sits amid an expanse of farmland. The modest 3,700-person town straddles Brown, Oconto and Shawano counties. 

The area has a turbulent history with local news. Residents saw a flurry of different papers stumbling to provide the headlines before Pulaski High School took the reins in the 1940s.

During the 1920s, residents relied on the Pulaski Herald. Archives of the Herald are sparse, but they show it ceased publication by the 1930s, when a resident launched the Pulaski Tri-Copa. In 1939, the Tri-Copa abruptly announced it would be rebranding, ambiguously citing “skirmishes” over the previous year.

“We don’t care to divulge what we have up our sleeve at this time,” the Tri-Copa’s farewell edition read. “It will be more pleasant to surprise you, but take our word for it, you are going to get more paper for your money.”

Two months later, the paper restarted as the Tri County News. It ran for three years before folding due to financial issues brought on by the Great Depression. 

Leaders at Pulaski High School saw an opportunity for their student newspaper, which was roughly four years old, to fill the gap left by the Tri County’s closure. Ahead of the 1942-43 school year, the paper debuted a new title: The Pulaski News. 

“Pulaski needs a newspaper,” the first edition read. “To fill that need; to provide a means of informing the parents and community on the progress of the school; to provide the community proper channels for information, news, and advertising; and give students experience in journalism the Pulaski Board of Education authorized the publishing of a newspaper.”

When Pulaski News began publishing, it was tabloid-sized. A team of students handled the enterprise’s business aspects, including selling ads across the community. 

Today, 83 years’ worth of newspapers — including those early editions — live on a classroom shelf in dozens of hardcover books. In its current iteration, the paper is lengthier and printed in color, but the model remains largely the same.

Although Pulaski’s students fit within a nationwide demographic that consumes much of their news online, the writers still find appeal in the print product’s legacy. Senior Madelyn Rybak said that while she reads the majority of her news online on her phone, writing for Pulaski News makes her want to consume more print stories. Her parents subscribe to the Green Bay Press-Gazette’s print edition, which she reads.

“I like the feeling of holding the newspaper,” Rybak said. “It kind of feels like I’m more connected to the stories… instead of just being behind my phone.” 

A ‘valuable service’

At the front of the Pulaski News’ classroom, a calendar governing the paper is posted on the whiteboard: Students turn in stories one week before the paper is sent to press every other Tuesday. It’s printed on Wednesdays and delivered on Thursdays. The school mails roughly 1,000 copies to subscribers, who pay $30 or $35 annually. Eight local businesses sell another 100 copies for $1 each.

Each semester, roughly a dozen students work on the paper for class credit. Course enrollment is fueled largely by word-of-mouth between friends or parents encouraging their teenagers to follow in their footsteps. In the summer, students vie for five part-time positions that pay $11 per hour. 

The operation has felt increasingly crucial as Pulaski feels the national trend of thinning local news coverage. 

Nearby papers once covered Pulaski more closely than they do today. Now, regional news outlets sometimes drop in for flashier stories, such as crime issues, but there’s no source of consistent information about local events beyond what the students publish.  

“You’ve seen other local papers close and their communities really don’t have anything,” said Bob Van Enkenvoort, the school district’s communications coordinator and the paper’s editor. “So the district sees this as a valuable community service.” 

Though the students fill a hyperlocal information gap, relying on a school-sponsored paper means the town still lacks independent, critical coverage — like an increasing number of places across the U.S. 

“It doesn’t really have a good feel for political issues in town, so the community is not all that well served, as far as coverage of local village issues like the village board meetings or growth in the village, so that’s sort of a negative,” said Steve Peplinski, a local resident creating a digital archive of Pulaski’s newspapers for the village’s museum. Peplinski wrote for Pulaski News himself when he was in high school. 

While the school district’s administration doesn’t decide what Pulaski News covers — “I’ve never really had anyone say ‘you can’t do this’ or ‘you can do this.’ That’s my decision,” Van Enkenvoort said — the staff generally doesn’t wade into hard news. 

Outside of the routine sports, local events and school news, the staff has carved out a niche creating more “positive stories”: They profile interesting community members and spotlight Pulaski alumni doing good deeds. 

While some might have trepidation when it comes to speaking with journalists, that “hometown” feel of the paper has resulted in a deep trust among local residents. 

“It’s well known in the community,” Van Enkenvoort said. “People understand what the mission is, so I think they are willing to work with the students.”

Though Pulaski News is district-funded, the paper isn’t immune to the turbulence plaguing journalism today. The subscriber base skews older, and every obituary that publishes is a possible patron, Van Enkenvoort said. 

Securing soft skills

The first time Morgan Stewart, a 15-year-old sophomore, picked up the phone to call a subject for her story, she was so terrified that she shook. But over time, those nerves dissipated, and she’s found herself growing into more of a “people person.”

“I think I want to pursue doing journalism,” Stewart said. “I didn’t have much of a plan coming into high school, but after doing this … (Van Enkenvoort) has helped me a lot to find what I love most about Pulaski News, and it’s opened my eyes a lot to the future and what it holds for me.”

There’s always a learning curve at the start of a semester. Students are typically scared to make cold calls. They sometimes try to text community members, only to realize they’re messaging a landline. For their first class assignment, students write profiles about one another to practice asking good questions. 

With a few notable exceptions, many students who participate in the Pulaski News aren’t planning to go into the journalism field. But through the routine — and sometimes uncomfortable — work, they learn many “soft skills,” or traits that allow them to communicate and work well with others, Tubbs and Van Enkenvoort said. 

“We tend to try to get them away from their phones and talk to people face-to-face, so they get used to talking to adults and having to think on their feet and have conversations, which will help them when they’re interviewing for colleges or interviewing for jobs,” Van Enkenvoort said. “A lot of them are just not that comfortable with it at the start, but they get better and they feel more comfortable once they do.”

On paper, the experience allows Pulaski students to complete a class that the state considers “post-secondary preparation,” or training for life after high school. In the 2023-24 school year, 39% of Pulaski High School students participated in a “work-based learning program” like Pulaski News, far above the state average of 9%.

Connecting students to community

While stories on sports games and district updates are commonplace in Pulaski News,  students also devise the creative stories that fill the paper. In the process, many become more closely engrained in their community. 

Rybak is from Hobart, a roughly 20-minute drive from Pulaski, so she isn’t as familiar with the area as some of her classmates. Working for the paper has helped change that. When there’s pressure to come up with a story pitch, she finds herself scouring the internet and local organizations’ websites for events.

“We encourage the students to try to come up with story ideas for two reasons,” Van Enkenvoort said. “We need everybody’s eyes and ears out in the community. But also, if they come up with a story and they’re excited about it, they typically do a really good job on it.”

At the end of the year, Tubbs asks students to share their favorite stories. Without fail, it’s always the ones centering community members. 

That’s true for Rybak, whose standout story last year was a front-page feature on Pulaski’s summer school program. She interviewed four teachers, the program director and students who attended classes. 

“Our summer school doesn’t really get recognition, even though there’s a lot that goes into it,” Rybak said. “I kind of liked the feeling that I was shining a light on the people who do a lot of work in our community.”

“(The paper) makes me more aware of what’s going on in the community,” she said. “Through interviewing people who I would literally never talk to otherwise, it just helps me get to know the people there that I wouldn’t have known.”

Miranda Dunlap reports on pathways to success in northeast Wisconsin, working in partnership with Open Campus.

Meet the teens keeping this northeast Wisconsin village from becoming a news desert 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 Watch reporters joined more than 60 volunteers in Brown County’s summer point-in-time count last month — a one-night snapshot of the number of people experiencing homelessness in communities across the United States, including Wisconsin.

• Some volunteers had experienced homelessness themselves. 

• The volunteers officially counted 179 people experiencing homelessness. That’s seen as an undercount because volunteers do not count people who are sleeping or unable to respond to surveys. And some people don’t want to be found.

At  4:31 a.m. the first slivers of light peeked through dark clouds over Green Bay’s waters. 

Along the edge of Point Comfort in the town of Scott, a pair of volunteers surveyed the landscape for people experiencing homelessness as the summer “point-in-time” (PIT) count wound down in Brown County. 

One was Cody Oberhuber, a county economic support specialist. He has missed just one count since January 2022, initially working as part of his former job at the anti-poverty agency Newcap, Inc. His passion for talking to the people behind the numbers prompted him to return this year as a volunteer after switching jobs. 

“It gives you a fresh perspective of being boots on the ground talking to these individuals, you’re kind of looking at the humanity side of things,” Oberhuber said. “That’s what drives me, that’s my mission.”

Oberhuber joined 66 other volunteers between 11:30 p.m. to nearly 6 a.m. beginning on July 23, hitting spots where the group previously encountered people experiencing homelessness. 

The PIT count serves as a one-night snapshot of the number of people experiencing homelessness in communities across the United States, including Wisconsin. Wisconsin Watch in January followed the annual winter count in Jefferson County — examining why the data recorded in the process underestimate the true levels of homelessness in communities, especially rural ones. The  U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development mandates such winter counts. 

Wisconsin Balance of State Continuum of Care, which covers all 69 counties in Wisconsin besides Milwaukee, Dane and Racine, requires each county to also count during the summer, when the tally is typically far higher than winter, when freezing weather pushes more people to shelters.

The majority of Brown County volunteers most years work with direct housing providers or other housing-related programs, according to Meaghan Gleason, Newcap’s funder expert and the Brown County PIT count lead. 

But this year, almost half of volunteers had no association with housing providers, a record number of unaffiliated folks. Thirteen volunteers shared that they previously experienced homelessness in their life. That’s a point of pride for Gleason.

To address the problem of homelessness, she said, “we need to include the people who know what that experience is.”

The Brown County volunteers broke into groups to cover more ground. In the county’s northwest corner, a group searched for people sleeping in cars in the rural village of Pulaski. In the county’s urban center, volunteers counted people camping in Green Bay’s downtown parks. 

PIT counts often happen at night, when people settle into the places they sleep, Oberhuber said. This approach, he explained, prevents volunteers from simply assuming where someone stays. 

Volunteers usually see the most unsheltered people on downtown Green Bay’s east side, and that was the case this year. Several people sheltered in open spaces and under hooded structures, often surrounded by their belongings: bikes, coolers, wheelchairs, bags and blankets. Some slept on church steps or on park benches. Bugs swarmed in the humidity following recent rain.

A volunteer asked a man where he had gone earlier to stay dry. 

“Nowhere,” he replied. “I’m wet. I’m still wet.”

Others asked volunteers for food or dry tarps. Volunteers handed out gift cards and asked people to take a brief survey to shed light on what resources might help.

The surveys included questions such as: Have you served in the active duty or other armed forces of the U.S.? Are you fleeing or attempting to flee domestic violence, dating violence or stalking? Have you ever been in the foster care system? Is this the first time you’ve been homeless?

Some people answered questions they were comfortable with. Others thanked the volunteers and declined to participate.

“I’m going through enough as it is,” one person told the volunteers.

When people are found sleeping, decline to participate in the survey or are in locations volunteers can’t safely access, their presence is documented through observation forms. Although the official count tally excludes those observations, they paint a broader picture of the unhoused landscape. Outreach workers sometimes later follow up to verify their status and connect them with services. 

Brown County’s official tally this year: 179 people experiencing homelessness. That included 100 single individuals and 25 households with children. The official unsheltered count has increased each year since at least 2022, when 89 people were counted in July.

Northwest of Brown County, Newcap’s Northeast Coalition counts unsheltered people in mostly rural Florence, Marinette, Menominee, Oconto and Shawano counties. The summer count recorded 36 people. 

“That may not sound like much,” Gleason later wrote in an email. “But it is the highest count I have seen out of the last eight counts.”

In Brown County, volunteers tallied zero people in the rural areas Wisconsin Watch observed. But Oberhuber knows people are experiencing homelessness in communities like Pulaski, based on previous counts and conversations with police. Those people might not want to be found, Oberhuber said. They might intentionally set up camp outside of town or in the woods, where PIT count volunteers won’t look.

“That’s the difficulty with the rural count,” Oberhuber said. “There’s people out there, we just struggle to find them.”

Gleason said a “happy accident” prompted her to work in housing services after having volunteered at a shelter in college. She wouldn’t give up her position as the PIT count lead for Brown County even if someone told her to. 

She knows it’s impossible to count every person. But that’s what drives her to improve each count. Yes, homelessness is increasing, she said. 

“But if we can also increase our efficiency and our ability to capture that data and connect with those people, then that’s the best we can do in that moment.”

Homelessness is increasing in Brown County. These volunteers traded a night’s sleep to document the challenge 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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• 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.