They try to ‘skedaddle’ as the bulldozer is feet away

I hear her talking loudly over the bulldozer – the bulldozer that’s clearing out her home in the woods.

The photojournalist Jason and I covering the story realize what we were hoping for on the car ride over was true – the people living in this soon-to-be-gone homeless camp are there.

They’re collecting their stuff.

Their hands nearly black from dirt.

Sweating just feet away from the bulldozer.

They’re frantically grabbing everything they can so they can take it to where they’re going next – a destination they haven’t figured out yet.

We greet the two and the man waves his hand high in the air at us.

Now we’re standing a couple feet from them, asking what they’re doing, what their thoughts are about their things being scooped and placed in a dumpster.

And I’m just standing there in awe, like I was a few days ago when I first visited the camp. Nobody was there then, but you could tell it was someone’s makeshift home.

Clothes hung on coat hangers from tree limbs. Plastic bottles, mattresses, cans scattered about. Two tents nearly falling over.

I stand listening to the man and woman, trying to pull away from my emotions, away from the sadness I feel for this man and woman.

I have to get their story. A story I know people need to hear, a story I’m willing to trek through the muddy woods to get.

They’re a couple who met three years ago at bingo.

I start taking notes of what he’s saying.

I write down what they’re wearing – he’s in overalls, she’s in a sheer top and lace-like pants.

I write down their names – Mark and Sonya.

They met at bingo three years ago.

He has been homeless on and off. He has Graves’ disease, he says. He’s 60 years old.

She spent 15 years as a waitress. She had a husband who died in Afghanistan ten years ago. She has a son.

Three cops sit on the outskirts of the woods in their pick-up trucks.

They watch Mark and Sonya. They watch the bulldozer.

I walk over to them.

I’m quickly told they can’t comment.

And I think to myself – Dear, Lord please let there be a day where cops don’t think we’re the scum from the bottom of a shoe.

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I try to connect with the police. Try to show them I’m a human. Two know my family, my grandpa.

And then they’re friendly after we make the connection.

Mark and Sonya are deep into the woods now. Jason isn’t in sight.

I stand at the end of the trees waiting for him to come back, thinking I probably may never see Mark and Sonya again.

But I was wrong.

Two days later, they’d show up at The Sun News.

Follow reporter Hannah Louise Strong on Twitter @HannahLStrong

Homeless camp is like nothing I’ve seen before

“Hello. Hello. Anybody home?” my colleague Jason Lee calls into a homeless camp.

Nobody answers.

“Watch where you step,” he says to me. “There may be needles.”

The tree limbs work as hangers in a closet. Clothes hang on nearly every tree and blow in the wind. We keep thinking we’re seeing a person each time the wind makes the clothes move.

But no one is there.

Jason’s taking photos. I’m looking around.

Fresh donuts are in a box in a grocery cart. Another box is on the ground. It’s half full. Some donuts are smashed in the dirt.

There’s just absolute junk everywhere – a toilet seat, a bong, a cardboard wine box that’s been ruined by rain. I see a lamp shade, a half way set up tent, shoes.

I keep thinking – I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s just incredible.

 

Jason, a multi-media journalist, and I both agree it doesn’t feel right walking into someone’s home. Though the homes are outside and homes we aren’t traditionally used to.

We’re just off of U.S. 501 in Myrtle Beach. We hear the cars racing by these two homeless camps, which are less than one hundred yards apart.

The reason we’re here is because one of the camps caught fire just a week ago. Our editor has sent us to check out the area again, to look for more camps.

I’m hoping we will run into people who live here. I want to hear stories about how they ended up living in the woods, what brought them here, what life is like in a tent.

And I want to tell those stories. I want to tell their stories to educate others, to shine light in these woods.

But nobody’s home.

We see a sign put up by county officials soon after the fire. It says the area will be cleaned up next week.

After looking at the area, we go to a warehouse-looking building that has a few businesses inside, like a motorcycle shop and another place where engines are built.

The owner of the building, a man who builds engines and rents out the motorcycle shop, says homeless people have lived in the woods beside his shop for the last 10 years. You can throw a rock from the camps and hit his building.

I wonder – why have these camps been set up so close to these businesses?

The camp closest to the building is the one that caught fire. The metal trashcan and area that burnt is still visible.

A manager at the motorcycle shop tells us that workers were throwing buckets of water on the flames to make sure the building didn’t catch fire.

I try to figure out what the story is here after seeing all of this. There are dozens of homeless camps in Myrtle. And I’ve got a lot of questions.

I have a feeling the story is a lot bigger than just one write up on these two camps.

We hop in Jason’s SUV and head to our next stop – an apartment where a 33 year old lived who died in a car crash a few days ago.

Follow reporter Hannah Louise Strong on Twitter @HannahLStrong.