ST. ALBANS — Dan Moss scrambled down a narrow dirt path behind the church, a breeze picking up around him as he made his way toward a clearing in the trees.
Six decades of life have taken Moss to factories in Franklin County, a U.S. military base in Germany and more apartments and couches than he can count. For several days in June, life brought him here, to an encampment in the woods outside St. Albans.
It’s a city he wonders if he’ll ever call home again.
Moss came to the campsite that day to clear space for his tent amid piles of branches, clothes and garbage. As he prepared to move his life outdoors, he worried about how his dog and two cats, whom he considered his only family, would fare in the company of strangers.
Moss couldn’t say what the next few days, weeks, or months of his life would look like — and it was the nagging uncertainty that frustrated him the most.
“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said. “It just seems like it’s never-ending, the shit coming at me.”
After facing a no-cause eviction in May, Moss — like thousands of Vermonters — has had little success finding new housing. After his stint at the encampment, he moved into a local homeless shelter, called Tim’s House, where he’s been staying since late June.
Moss has struggled for years with chronic pain in his back and his knees. He works the occasional odd job but mostly relies on about $1,950 a month in disability benefits from Social Security and the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs.
In Vermont’s white-hot housing market, that isn’t much. Many of the rentals he’s come across run for more than $2,000 a month. He’s eligible for programs that pay a portion of his housing costs, he said, but maintains that’s not much help if he can’t find a place.
Among policymakers in Montpelier, there is tri-partisan consensus that the state faces a housing crisis in which Vermonters are contending with skyrocketing costs and a severe shortage of safe, quality housing stock. Federal data shows the average rent for a one-bedroom apartment in St. Albans is about $1,238 today — up from $1,080 five years ago and $896 in 2012.
At the same time, the number of ‘no cause’ evictions in the state has also increased in recent years, according to data from Vermont Legal Aid. ‘No cause’ evictions — which allow landlords to bypass going to court — surged in number and now account for a majority of all of Vermont’s evictions last year.
An effort to ban the maneuver in Burlington was rejected by Republican Gov. Phil Scott when he vetoed a city charter change earlier this year. Supporters of requiring ‘just cause’ evictions say they plan to continue pushing for the reform at both the municipal and statewide levels.
Still, Moss has little confidence in a system he feels has left him behind and, not for the first time, without a home.
Packing up
When movers pulled up to Moss’ one-bedroom, one-bathroom Rugg Street apartment in mid-May, the afternoon air was heavy and Moss was feeling the weight of his situation.
At first, the 58-year-old scrambled to get his belongings ready for transit, putting his mattress in a plastic cover, disassembling his bed frame and boxing up the books and dusty trinkets lining his shelves. Eventually, though, he settled into a chair that would soon go into a trailer, his face framed by wire glasses, a thick salt-and-pepper beard and hair tied into a ponytail.
He was surrounded by decades of belongings: his U.S. Army division’s flag from the 1980s; souvenirs from his travels around Europe while on deployment; a piece of art he fashioned out of old motorcycle posters and a custom wood frame.
According to Moss, Pathways Vermont, a Winooski-based social services organization, offered him intermittent help paying a portion of his $900 rent. The organization also hired and paid for the movers, Moss said.
Moss had lived in the apartment for about three years, and in the St. Albans area for most of his life. Growing up, his father worked as the mechanic for a local bowling alley and ran a repair shop for motors and lawnmowers in the family’s garage.
“Ever since I was a kid, I was doing woodworking,” Moss recalled. “We had a lathe in our basement.”
Once he turned 18, Moss decided to join the military after finding local job options to be lacking. “I didn’t want to be stuck in the back of a bowling alley,” he said.
Moss served as a mechanic in the 101st Airborne Division, and was deployed to Germany for two years. He’s keen to converse about history and current events, noting he once pitched a “St. Albans history” column to the local newspaper but never heard back from an editor.
Back in Vermont, Moss continued to work in construction, helping build local factories including the Ben & Jerry’s manufacturing facility in nearby St. Albans Town. He also worked on the sites of multiple housing developments in the area, he said.
“Hence, my body is pretty well wrecked. My knees are wrecked. My back is wrecked,” he said. “Fortunately,” he added with a chuckle, “my mind is kind of working.”
After about two hours of work at Moss’ apartment, there was little left other than the brown couch he would sleep on during his final week. Standing in his largely empty living room, Moss expressed frustration at having to spend money on a storage unit — which costs $100 a month, he said — rather than new housing.
Later Moss realized he’d forgotten to keep certain small items with him, such as toenail clippers and other toiletries. It made the days leading up to his eviction all the more difficult.
“Things that I wish I paid more attention to,” he said. “I’ve had to go out and spend a bunch of money on things that I’ve got in storage.”
‘The whole system’s a tragedy’
Vermont law allows for termination of a tenancy for no cause. Just cause eviction policies in place elsewhere in the country often limit the grounds on which a landlord can evict a tenant — typically for nonpayment of rent, damaging a unit or violating a lease in some other way.
Advocates say such policies promote residential stability and mean that reaching the end of a lease term is not a sufficient reason to terminate a tenancy.
Moss’ former landlord on Rugg Street, Greg Brodeur, said that on advice of his lawyer he decided to evict Moss for “no cause” because doing so would avoid a potentially lengthy legal process. Brodeuer said he informed Moss of the eviction in August 2021.
In fact, though, he said Moss had violated the building’s lease agreement in multiple ways, including making noise that bothered other tenants and growing and smoking marijuana without the landlord’s permission.
Moss acknowledged that he violated his lease but said he believed it was wrong to evict him when the housing market across Vermont is so challenging for renters and buyers. He felt he was being pushed out so Brodeur could renovate the apartment and, ultimately, charge more.
Brodeur contended that he gave Moss months of advance notice and called the situation “an unfortunate way of doing business,” but he said he felt he was doing what he had to do to protect the other people living in the building.
The landlord said he expects to raise the rent after a renovation, but only “a little bit.” He knew it would be difficult for Moss to find new housing after being evicted, he said, but believed Moss could get the help he needed from organizations such as Pathways Vermont.
“The whole system’s a tragedy because there’s not enough housing,” Brodeur said.
While Moss said he could afford his rent with help from Pathways, many Vermonters cannot.
In 2019, Vermont Legal Aid analyzed evictions filed in court and found that roughly 70% of all evictions were for nonpayment. The median arrear was just $2,000. The nonprofit argued at the time that by investing a mere $800,000 a year in back-rent support, Vermont could cut evictions by half.
Only a year later, the nonprofit’s call was answered in an unexpected way. In response to Covid-19, Congress directed previously unheard amounts of money to rental assistance — hundreds of millions of which flowed to the state.
The federally funded Vermont Emergency Rental Assistance Program has reported doling out more than $144 million to renters in need since the program began in April 2021.
Evictions did, indeed, decline — but not nearly as much as Vermont Legal Aid had hoped. Pre-pandemic, there were about 1,700 court-filed evictions in a single year. That number has declined by only about 500, the nonprofit estimates.
In August, the Scott administration abruptly announced the program was out of money and would quickly ramp down, which advocates said would further strain the state’s housing crisis. Late last month, the administration said it had found an additional $20 million that would enable the program to continue operating for certain low-income Vermonters into next spring — though officials emphasized that the new money still wouldn’t be nearly enough to pay out assistance at prior rates.
Meanwhile, there is evidence that informal — and illegal — mechanisms for pushing renters out are on the rise. Legal Aid reported to lawmakers in January that tenants calling for help with lockouts and landlord utility shut-offs doubled in 2021 from the previous two years.
And the use of ‘no cause’ eviction has dramatically increased. In 2016, just 18% of evictions fell into this category. In 2021, more than half did.
“We’re finding that landlords, in fact, still want to get rid of the tenants — kind of regardless of the payment status,” said Devon Ayers, a paralegal at Vermont Legal Aid. “We were really surprised by that shift.”
With home values surging, landlords are eager to cash out, either by raising rents or selling their property. And ‘no cause’ evictions are the easiest way to get rid of tenants, advocates say. Because landlords do not need to state a reason for getting rid of their tenant, they also have no burden of proof.
Evictions for no cause “allow landlords to be judge, jury and executioner,” said Tom Proctor, an organizer for Rights & Democracy who led the effort to get a Burlington charter change banning the practice in the city approved at the Statehouse.
Vermont law prohibits landlords from discriminating or retaliating against a tenant. A landlord, for example, can’t legally evict a renter for reporting a habitability issue to code enforcement.
But it still happens, Ayers argues, and ‘no cause’ evictions provide cover for landlords who know how hard it will be for tenants to prove their case in court.
“Often we can be successful sometimes in delaying (no cause eviction) cases, but actually defeating them is next to impossible,” Ayers said. And that’s if tenants have a lawyer. In three-quarters of all court eviction proceedings, they don’t, according to Legal Aid’s 2019 report.
Turning up empty
Moss’s eviction this year was not his first. He said he has “never been able to maintain stable housing” and has experienced homelessness before. He can’t recall exactly how many places — likely dozens — he’s lived or crashed over the years.
He has been searching for housing since last fall with no success. His Pathways Vermont case worker has at times been helpful, he said, but the worker often seems so overburdened that, in general, Moss doesn’t feel supported.
“It takes a toll on him too,” Moss said. “Unfortunately, I’m the one that pays the price for it because he’s not here to help me.” (Following multiple requests for comment, a Pathways Vermont spokesperson said the organization cannot answer questions about individuals it works with.)
Moss’ latest search comes at a time of incredible strain on the market. Vermont has one of the lowest rental vacancy rates in the country, and renters in Franklin County have increasingly faced competition for units from workers in Chittenden County, as well as people looking to rent vacation houses near Lake Champlain, according to Jess Graff, executive director of the nonprofit Franklin-Grand Isle Community Action.
Franklin and Grand Isle counties have a combined population of more than 56,000 people. They saw the second- and third-highest rates of growth in the state, behind Chittenden, from 2010 to 2020, according to the most recent U.S. Census.
“Because the housing market is so limited,” Graff said in an interview, “it can absolutely lead to cases where people are evicted — or their lease is not renewed — and they are not able to find another place and end up homeless.”
Beyond sheer costs, Moss has faced several other complications, including transportation. He has not had a driver’s license for about a decade due to multiple charges of driving under the influence. Instead, he gets around St. Albans largely on his electric bicycle, limiting how far he can travel. Moss hopes to be able to stay in the place where he has roots.
“The only people I know in this world are in this community,” Moss said, sitting in early May at a small kitchen table that’s now in storage. “I stand my best chances here.”
Another challenge: He struggles to use electronic devices such as computers and smartphones, making it difficult to view online postings. When it comes to finding new housing, “I’ve missed out on opportunities,” he said.
For months, Moss’ housing search was limited to places that would accept pets, which he said ruled out a number of otherwise viable options.
“I don’t have any kids. These are my kids,” Moss said in mid-May at the Rugg Street apartment, sitting in the kitchen as his collie mix, Schatzi, trotted by.
Pushing for changes
Aided by unprecedented levels of pandemic-era federal aid, Vermont’s Republican governor and Democratic Legislature have agreed to make historic investments in housing. In the most recent legislative session alone, Scott and lawmakers directed $135 million toward building new housing or rehabilitating vacant or code-violating rental units.
At the same time, though, efforts to improve tenant protections have nearly all fallen by the wayside.
Almost two-thirds of all Burlington voters in 2021 approved a charter change that would have required evictions in the city to be for just cause. But municipal charter changes must get the OK from Montpelier, and while lawmakers greenlit the measure, Scott vetoed it. (By just a single vote, House lawmakers failed to override the governor’s veto.)
In an effort to dodge another gubernatorial veto, lawmakers also scrapped a rental registry that would have required most landlords to list their properties in a centralized, state-run database. (Lawmakers did create a state office that will inspect housing if tenants file a complaint, but advocates argue it will be little used by tenants rightfully fearful of retaliation.)
Proctor, of Rights & Democracy, said advocates will be back next year. They’re exploring whether to encourage other municipalities to take up ‘no cause’ charter changes — or to push lawmakers to create a statewide ban.
Evictions without cause hurt marginalized Vermonters the most, he said. But as use of the tool rises, its impact will also increasingly be felt among the ranks of the middle class.
Even a sitting state representative, Proctor noted, recently experienced such an eviction.
Earlier this year, Rep. Kelly Pajala, I-Londonderry, testified before her own colleagues in the Vermont House about how she and her sons had effectively become homeless for months after receiving a ‘no cause’ eviction last year.
After renting the same condo for seven years, Pajala told her colleagues, her landlord decided to sell and gave her 90 days to vacate. Often pausing to cry, she told fellow lawmakers how her family had lived in an unheated camp until it became too cold and then later turned to couch-surfing at friends’ homes.
After months of relentless searching, Pajala found a new home. But she said she knew of countless people who weren’t so lucky.
Children are leaving the local school district, she said, because their parents are getting evicted or can’t pay skyrocketing rents. And community members would stop her at the grocery store and at the bank to tell her their stories.
“The ‘just cause’ provisions in this charter change are needed. I hope this is the beginning of a state conversation about this issue,” she said.
In limbo
Recognizing the need for more housing in the region, the St. Albans-based Northwest Regional Planning Commission is taking up a study this year of the region’s housing inventory. Barry Lampke, who is spearheading the project, said its goal is to encourage the development of a wide array of housing.
“When I say create more homes, I mean not only construct new homes, but also potentially improve existing homes so that they can be available for all income levels, and all all parts of the population,” Lampke said.
The planning commission also is working with towns in Franklin County, including St. Albans Town (which surrounds the city), to make changes to their zoning bylaws that encourage new, more dense housing development.
Some changes could include making it easier to build accessory dwelling units, or setting aside more land for multi-family housing, according to Catherine Dimitruk, the Northwest Regional Planning Commission’s executive director.
Meanwhile, according to Graff, at a given point in time, there are about 200 people — in some 130 households — who are experiencing homelessness in Franklin and Grand Isle counties. Those figures include people living in motels through the state’s general assistance housing program, she said, and are very likely an undercount.
Statewide, the number of Vermonters living in shelters or on the streets increased 7% this year from a year prior — 2,591 people to 2,780 — according to a May report from the Vermont Coalition to End Homelessness.
This summer, Moss became one of them.
After leaving his apartment at the end of May, he crashed with a friend in St. Albans for several nights. He then decided to get a room in a nearby hotel and had enough money saved up to pay for 10 nights there. Once those nights were up, he said, he had nowhere to turn but the encampment, where he had already set up his tent.
The homeless camp had several shelters, including Moss’ tent, set up close to one another in a clearing at the base of the hill. Back in the trees, another man was living in a small compound surrounded by razor wire fencing and multiple “no trespassing” signs.
Moss spent about a week at the camp, he said, but soon “couldn’t deal with it anymore,” in part because sleeping on the ground was taking a toll on his body. His tent was only about four feet high, which meant he often had to bend over, which hurt his back.
The eviction also led to a more personal loss. He lost track of Roscoe and Menew, his two cats. And Moss said he believes all of his traveling around this summer, and then living outside, made an existing painful condition in his 14-year-old dog Schatzi’s hip worse.
Her condition got so bad, Moss said, that he had to have her put down.
Standing in his room at the shelter in early July, Moss pulled a small container holding Schatzi’s cremated remains out of his backpack. A sticker on the bottom of the container read, “loving member of the Moss family.”
Starting to tear up, Moss said losing Schatzi was too difficult for him to talk about.
He eventually heard that a bed at Tim’s House had opened up and decided to take it. The shelter — about a mile away from the hospital where Moss was born — has congregate bedrooms, shared bathrooms and a large kitchen space. It is the only homeless shelter serving Franklin and Grand Isle counties.
As a policy, Tim’s House has no limit on how long people can stay there. Moss said he has no plans to leave right now, unless he is able to secure new housing.
Throughout the summer and early fall, Moss continued searching for new housing. He recalled several promising leads but said that either other renters moved more quickly than he could, or he never heard back from the landlords in the first place.
“I’m not crazy about it, you know. Cohabitating with a bunch of strangers isn’t my first choice,” he said. “But I have to do what I have to do.”
Moss spent many of his days this summer with another person, Chelsea Nelson, who is also experiencing homelessness in St. Albans. Since Nelson does not have a bed of her own, Moss has spent a number of nights outside with her, too.
Sitting in the gazebo in St. Albans’ Taylor Park in July, with rain coming down around them, Moss was musing about life. He mentioned his military service, and how he has become disabled. “You’ve got all the boxes checked,” Nelson said.
Moss nodded with strong agreement.
“You shouldn’t be in this situation.”
Lola Duffort and Glenn Russell contributed reporting.
Correction: A previous version of this story mischaracterized communications with a Pathways Vermont spokesperson.
