Rural homelessness and the fight to do ‘more with less’

NORTHERN WISCONSIN – Last winter, Eric Zieroth learned that multiple layers and a down blanket were the best way to keep warm while living in his car in far northwestern Wisconsin.
For over a year, he and his then-20-year-old daughter Christina Hubbell regularly parked in a corner spot at a public boat landing a mile outside Shell Lake, where they had spent most of their lives.
Now, because they are homeless, they have been ostracized for showering, parking and sleeping in public places.
Washburn County has no homeless shelters. Hubbell’s job at a dollar store keeps them from relocating to a shelter in another county.
They are on a waitlist for a low-income housing unit.
Zieroth is awaiting a surgery that will allow him to get back to work.
If it weren’t for his daughter, the former mechanic said he might consider committing a crime and getting booked into jail instead of spending another winter in the vehicle.
“There’s no way I could do it again,” Zieroth said. “I had to figure out something else this year.”
In rural Wisconsin, homelessness is often hidden behind a veil of individuals and families who are couch surfing and sleeping in their vehicles.
Resources are few and far between, shelters are always full, and funding can be a significant challenge.
After falling for years, the state’s estimated homeless population has been rising since 2021, surpassing 5,000 in 2024 for the first time since 2017.
In the 69 counties outside Milwaukee, Dane and Racine, the homeless population increased from 2,938 individuals in 2023 to 3,201 in 2024 — and that’s likely an undercount.
Those living in cars are often missed, and those sleeping on couches don’t count because they’re “housed,” said Jenny Fasula, executive director of Wisconsin’s Foundation for Rural Housing.
Despite accounting for over 60% of the state’s homeless population in 2023, these mostly rural counties collectively contain just 23% of the state’s supportive housing units, according to the Wisconsin Policy Forum.
Experts say such long-term housing support with on-site services is the best way to address chronic homelessness. But providing the option is an expensive, labor-intensive task for small, rural providers with limited funding.
Rural shelter providers across the state identified several solutions to the problem: Cutting out county governments as the middleman for state reimbursements, increasing the availability of new rental units, consolidating multiple definitions of homelessness, more consistent and proportional state funding and assistance with case management are just a few.

Federal funding and HUD
Since 2009, HUD — the main federal agency that handles homelessness — has targeted permanent supportive housing programs with long-term, sustainable services like case management for federal funding.
The national shift from temporary housing programs reflects a widely adopted “housing first” approach — that the security of a permanent shelter is the first, necessary step before people can address the root causes of their homelessness.
While permanent housing programs effectively lowered Wisconsin’s homeless population in both rural and urban areas before the pandemic, the shift hasn’t been easy for rural shelters that are strapped for resources.
“As a shelter, when you have 50 people, it’s impossible to have the funding to hire case managers that are really involved and able to really assist people,” said Michael Hall, a former Waupaca County shelter worker and director of Impact Wisconsin — a nonprofit providing housing and recovery services in a six-county rural region.
Restrictions on federal funding and multiple definitions of homelessness are another barrier for rural homeless providers, said Millie Rounsville, CEO of Northwest Wisconsin Community Services Agency.
The federal McKinney-Vento Homeless Assistance Act defines homelessness specifically for youth as minor children who “lack a fixed, regular, and adequate nighttime residence.”
But HUD defines homelessness in multiple categories including: 1) an individual or family who is immediately homeless and without shelter and 2) those at imminent risk of homelessness.
Homeless children and families in the rural region surrounding Superior tend to be doubled up in some kind of housing, Rounsville said.
While they often meet the McKinney-Vento definition of homeless, they are considered category two homeless under HUD’s definitions.
But in order to qualify for HUD-funded Rapid Rehousing programs, individuals must fall under category one.
“The funding needs to be flexible,” Rounsville said. “We can’t assume that every community across the country has the same need.”

It’s a housing issue
Rural Wisconsin is lacking affordable, habitable homes.
Providers in Rusk County, Taylor County, Bayfield County and Waupaca County said without low-income options, they often can’t get people into permanent housing.
“As fast as units open up, they get filled,” said Kimberly Fitzgerald, interim director of the Rusk County Lighthouse shelter. “In Ladysmith specifically, there are next to no rental units. So even if somebody did get approved for the housing program, where are we going to put them?”
Rural areas are also home to the state’s aging housing stock, which can mean higher energy bills.
“People stereotype them to think ‘Oh, we have these programs because people don’t know how to manage their money.’ It’s not that,” Fasula said. “These are folks that come in that just have a crisis. … They don’t have anything to fall back on. Any little hiccup is a big impact for them financially.”
While working to eventually afford an apartment in Shell Lake, Hubbell is making $13.50 an hour at the Dollar General, but only scheduled to work 20 hours a week. The living wage calculation for one adult in Washburn County is $19.45 an hour working 40 hours a week, according to the MIT living wage calculator.

State funding
In the state’s 2023-25 biennial budget, the Legislature rejected Gov. Tony Evers’ recommendations to spend some $24 million on emergency shelter and housing grants, homeless case management services and rental assistance for unhoused veterans.
The Legislature also nixed $250 million Evers proposed for affordable workforce housing and home rehabilitation grants.
The state funds two main grants for homeless shelters and housing annually.
The State Shelter Subsidy Grant (SSSG) receives around $1.6 million per year, and the Housing Assistance Program receives $900,000.
But for small shelters like Taylor House — the only homeless shelter in rural Taylor County — the funding is “pennies,” said Adam Schnabel, the shelter’s vice president.
The facility has a continuous waitlist.
The north central Wisconsin shelter with a 17-person capacity received $10,000 from SSSG this year, Schnabel said.
That’s around $588 per person. But four emergency shelters in Milwaukee with a combined capacity of around 392 received $400,000 from the $1.6 million grant total — $1,020 per person.
The state’s Recovery Voucher Grant Program awarded $760,000 to grantees in 2024 to provide housing to those experiencing homelessness and struggling with opioid use disorders.
Half of these funds went to three providers in Dane, Milwaukee and Waukesha counties.
Another state resource is the Homeless Case Management Services (HCMS) grant program, which distributes up to 10 $50,000 grants per year to shelters and programs that meet eligibility requirements.
While helpful, these pots of money quickly run out, and many of them don’t cover operating costs or wages.

Small shelters face county-level hurdles
Some shelter workers and advocates say in rural Wisconsin, homelessness is addressed only to the extent that their local governments and administrations are willing to acknowledge the issue and get involved.
Providers in several rural counties noted that there aren’t any shelters that are owned or operated by local governments.
Washburn County Social Services can only direct homeless residents to the Lakeland Family Resource Center.
Hall and Schnabel said local governments need to be more involved in their work, whether that be providing a county employee to serve as a shelter director, or simply making better use of their limited resources.
Schnabel added that small shelters often cannot pay their directors a decent wage, resulting in frequent staff turnover.
Taylor House has had four directors in the last 18 months, he said. The inconsistency leaves “a bad taste” in the mouth of those reviewing their grant applications.
Some counties are much more willing than others to utilize Comprehensive Community Services (CCS) — a state program aimed at addressing substance abuse and mental health needs.
The program allows counties to contract employees and case managers who provide services such as skills development and peer support.
The county can bill those expenses back to the state through BadgerCare.
But some county officials are unwilling to engage in the program, Hall said.
He added that allowing local shelters that serve those covered under BadgerCare to bill the state directly for these services instead of relying on the county to initiate it “would solve the problem tomorrow.”
Hall also noted that county governments can use their opioid settlement funds to provide housing and shelter to those with eligible needs, yet some have instead spent it on other things.
Waupaca County, for example, told Wisconsin Watch it has spent nearly $100,000 in opioid settlement funds on awareness campaigns, training, a counselor position and equipment that helps local police quickly identify narcotics.
Another challenge is that some small communities reject homeless shelters, assuming they will bring negative footprints.
The small city of Clintonville approved an ordinance last winter enforcing a 60-day limit on local hotel stays in a six-month period, citing drug concerns, disorderly conduct and disturbances.
Many homeless individuals in the area are put up in those hotels.
“We’re trying to figure out, what are we going to do with those 50 people this winter when the police departments come through and say they have to get out,” Hall said.

Shunned by their community
While still homeless, Zieroth and Hubbell were fortunate enough to find a temporary place to stay as the weather gets colder — a small room in the unfinished basement of an acquaintance who didn’t want to see them living out of their car.
They insist on paying the homeowners $50 a week — all they can afford — for letting them stay in the basement.
Zieroth uses his skills as a mechanic to fix things around the property, and Hubbell picks items up for them at the Dollar General whenever she can.
Once healed, he wants to get back to work and acquire a property of his own, but his first priority is his daughter.
After getting on her feet, Hubbell hopes to go to cosmetology school in Rice Lake.
“She has her whole life ahead of her and experience has taught me that some real bad beginnings get really good endings, and she deserves a good one,” Zieroth said.