Transitional shelter proposed by Homeless Action Sonoma

The empty lot at 18820 Sonoma Highway, wedged between Baker & Cook and a sweat-equity development, has been purchased for $965,000 by the nonprofit agency Homeless Action Sonoma, which has submitted plans to Permit Sonoma for construction of a $6 million transitional homeless facility on the site.

The yet-to-be-named project will include 10 single rooms, 18 short-term apartments, and a restaurant with a teaching kitchen facing the busy commercial corridor of Highway 12. Plans have yet to be finalized, pending county approval.

“We had our first meeting with the county and they like our proposal,” said Annie Falandes, 69, a local homeless advocate who is spearheading the project. “We needed to put down $25,000 (on the property) to get the grant writer going and try to get some of the county money.”

To hit their target, Falandes and a cadre of other volunteers staged an enormous garage sale on June 12 and 13. “We had hundreds of people come by and made $30K,” Falandes said. “The best part of the whole thing was we had an informational booth and our board of directors was there and the architect was there and a local company making small shelters was there. We got more information out to the community that way than we could have hoped. We were able to explain what a transitional facility is as opposed to a shelter. It was so beautiful that people sat down and talked.”

A transitional facility, Falandes explained, is a place where people go when they’re truly ready to get off the streets. It’s not a soup kitchen, though the residents are fed, and it’s not an overnight shelter, though they are sheltered, too. During the first stage of the facility’s planned protocols, residents will simply rest and recover. “They get 28 days just to get their head together and get a place to sleep with nobody bothering them,” Falandes said.

Homelessness, Falandes said, is a nerve-jangling experience. The stress and uncertainty fractures the brain. “They can’t think. Their brains don’t work. They need time to get their head to settle,” she said.

The need to recover from the stress of living outdoors is why all residents will start off in one of the facility’s ten single rooms. The rooms will share a bathroom and a communal kitchen, as wholly independent living might overwhelm clients at first. “They need to re-learn how to live in a house,” Falandes said.

When residents are stable after 28 sheltered days, they’ll transition to one of the short-term apartments. There, each resident will have their own bathroom and kitchen, and the expectation that they’ll start practicing self-reliance. “We get the situation under control, move you to an apartment, and help you begin to make money. Through this time you’re getting financial advice, a forced savings program, all the services you need, and then you graduate,” Falandes said.

Acknowledging that some homeless clients cannot be reasonably expected to return to work, Falandes said her team will help those individuals get paperwork together to qualify for government services and housing. “We’re trying to end homelessness in Sonoma Valley,” she said.

Homelessness across the country exploded 30 years ago when then-President Ronald Reagan cut funding for public housing by half. In California, where a then-Governor Reagan had closed most state-run mental institutions in the 1970s, homelessness grew exponentially. By 2020, 161,548 homeless individuals called the Golden State home, and many North Bay municipalities now find themselves hosting sprawling tent cities.

However, mental illness is not necessarily at the root of all homelessness, Falandes said. Nor is drug and alcohol addiction, as many presume. Sometimes, she said, misfortune precipitates an individual’s slide, and the collateral fallout can lead to self-sabotage.

But Kathy King, who for many years has helmed the Valley’s original local homeless advocacy group, Sonoma Overnight Support, has encountered many clients with drug and alcohol issues, and in fact has refused funding that required her to turn a blind eye.

“Some county money that we (were offered) said you had to take people with substance abuse issues, and our board said no. If you have a clean and sober shelter, you don’t allow drugs, period. People at SOS got one pass, but the second time (clients failed a drug test), we exited them from the program. Let me tell you, we exited a lot of people.”

Asked whether a 28-person transitional homeless services shelter would likely be welcomed with open arms by Springs residents, King had relevant experience on which to reflect. “When we tried to put our overnight shelter in place for four months at a local church (on Watmaugh), there was enormous pushback from neighbors and the community,” she said.

But Falandes and her team remain undaunted. The absence of an overnight shelter in the Valley contributed to the death of four homeless individuals last year, she said, and she’s counting on the largesse of a generous community. “This community raised $4 million for Pets Lifeline. Can we not raise $6 million for people? I find it appalling that we will not let a dog sleep on the street, but we will let women and children,” she said.

Falandes talks the talk and walks the walk, too. For months, she’s allowed three homeless individuals to live in her house, celebrating each as they found their footing. “It was like taking in feral cats,” she said. “They wanted to take all their meals and sit outside. One of them told me he had never sat at a table and had dinner. Never. They didn’t know why there were two sheets on the bed.” Falandes gently repatriated her new family into societal standards and norms, with the prospect of their eventual launch her reward.

Each Sunday Falandes and other advocates host a barbecue with their homeless friends, which they plan, cook and eat together. “There is tremendous distrust in both the housed and unhoused communities, and we can’t address homelessness until we integrate the two. We’ll have a neighborhood meeting and explain what we’re doing when we get closer to closing escrow. There’s not going to be homeless people coming in and out randomly.”

Asked to comment on the somewhat sudden appearance of a second homeless advocacy group in the Valley, Sonoma Mayor Madolyn Agrimonti — who was homeless herself as a child — had concerns. “I’m afraid this may be smoke and mirrors,” Agrimonti said. Having spent the bulk of her career as a professional fundraiser, Agrimonti is eager to see Homeless Action Sonoma’s longterm financial plan. “Show me the money,” she said.

But the nonprofit is in its nascent stages, and therefore its paper trail is running a bit thin. Meanwhile, Falandes wants to help humanize the homeless, to force others to see each individual as unique. “They’re not scary people. They’re just people. I volunteered at another homeless facility and I didn’t like the way they treated the people. It was demeaning. These people aren’t some kind of alien subspecies. These are people who’ve fallen on hard times.”

If Annie Falandes has anything to say, those times—at least for the homeless in Sonoma Valley—may be a-changing, and soon.

Contact Kate Williams at kate.williams@sonomanews.com