SLAVE LAKE, Alta. — At the end of a side street in Slave Lake, Alta., Lynn Bowes looks at a grey job-site trailer with boarded-up windows and doors that once operated as her town's only homeless shelter.
Once housing upwards of 20 people, it now sits empty behind overgrown grass and chain-link fence in the town of nearly 7,000 people northwest of Edmonton. Town council halted operations in May to slow a perceived spike in crime that residents said stemmed from the space.
Three months later, councillors voted it be closed for good, citing continued safety concerns.
“Thank God,” Bowes said. “So many people are so happy.”
Bowes, a member of Citizens On Patrol, said residents have reported cut fences, tents on sidewalks, drug abuse, verbal threats and trespassing near schools and other private property — including an RV resort where Bowes owns a lot.
“There were people that were having stuff taken from their campers,” she said.
Those petty crimes haven’t happened as much with the shelter’s closure and increased patrols by a private security firm hired by the town, she said.
However, figures show Slave Lake's crime rate didn't change after the shelter closed, said Slave Lake RCMP Sgt. Casey Bruyns. The only notable change is a slight uptick in suspicious person calls, he said.
Several town councillors, like Steven Adams, say it’s "morally wrong" not to offer shelter.
But others, including Mayor Francesca Ward, say the town isn’t capable of running the space, citing a lack of supports for homeless people struggling with mental health and addictions.
“We went into it with the best intentions, but I'm willing to admit that it did not work,” Ward told councillors in August.
In an email, Ward said past iterations of the shelter saw groups scramble to find a space before winter. The town had hoped it could find a permanent space that was properly funded and had "regulatory stability."
In November, Slave Lake got $900,000 from the province to operate the temporary trailer year-round. With the closure, any unspent money would be returned, she said.
Bruyns, who sits on a social issues committee with the province and the town, said there’s an appetite to get homeless residents proper support, but what that looks like remains a wild card.
“I've dealt with the homeless population for the nine years I've been here,” he said. “It's a lot of the same people and (the town) is home for them."
Ward said she’s not opposed to something like an emergency winter shelter, but it should be run by another group.
Barb Courtorielle is hoping a solution comes before the snow flies.
She ran an out-of-the-cold program for five winters at the Slave Lake Native Friendship Centre, where she works as executive director. Funding issues and dwindling donations meant the program had to shut down.
With the centre's program, she said people got warm food, clean clothes and mats to sleep on. In exchange, they’d carry in groceries and donations and help weed the garden.
“I've been looking after the homeless since 2017," she said. "Never once did I feel I was going to be harmed."
Courtorielle said those who drop by the friendship centre are like family; many even call her Mom. Centre staff take time to connect with the homeless — something she felt was missing from the town's shelter space.
She sometimes volunteered at the shelter and felt it was mismanaged by overly strict staff.
There was only one shower. Food was microwaved. People were bored, she said. It forced many to make their way to the friendship centre.
“We still have them," said Courtorielle. "They've never left.”
She believes much of the town's crime is blamed on the homeless. There are one or two bad apples, she said, but most are good people.
A woman Courtorielle helped get off the streets is studying to be a carpenter. Some who were helped by the friendship centre are now donating back.
“It's nice when you have those (success) stories,” said Courtorielle.
Some aren’t so lucky. Since 2018, she said 21 homeless Slave Lakers have died, including a few who froze to death.
She said she doesn’t know what the answer is, but she hopes whatever solution comes to town will be run by people who understand how to work with the homeless.
“What's going to happen this winter?” said Courtorielle. “I'm scared to think about what's going to happen.”
This report by The Canadian Press was first published Sept. 8, 2024.
Aaron Sousa, The Canadian Press