Heather Fluke used to tell homeless people to move along as part of her job.

Working for the city of Salem’s parks department at the time, Fluke, now 47, wondered why the people she cleared out of parks until 2016 didn’t just go get jobs.

She’s had a change of heart since then. Now homeless herself after suffering injuries, lost jobs and scuttled plans, Fluke has come “full circle,” spending most nights this winter at Redmond’s Winter Shelter after returning to Central Oregon this fall.

“You just don’t understand until you’re in it, and I didn’t,” Fluke told The Bulletin last week as evening temperatures approached freezing. “I don’t know if I can put it into words yet because I’m just in the middle of it. It’s humbling.”

Fluke is from Salem, but this year isn’t her first in Redmond. She lived in the city two decades ago for a few years, she said.

Prior to becoming homeless, Fluke had a job, a house and a plan — but over time, those things fell away one by one.

After she worked for the city of Salem and just before the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic, Fluke had a job in merchandising for Home Depot. It was a good job: She traveled for work, and she could afford a new truck and to rent a house.

But when a novel coronavirus turned the world upside down, it touched her life, too. Travelling to Home Depots across the region was suddenly much more difficult and retail sales were suddenly much less common.

“I didn’t know what was going to happen, and I ended up losing a good job,” Fluke remembered. “Merchandising was not important after that because of COVID, and they wouldn’t travel and everything was shut down.”

Fluke had a lot of physical issues she wanted to heal, so she took time away from working for much of 2021 with the help of expanded unemployment benefits.

When those expired in September, she made a new plan, this time to take her talents and abilities to Arizona with a friend.

But once again, her plans changed when the friend she planned to go with “flipped a switch,” and the move was off.

So, Fluke took to the road. She spent days and nights “wrestling” with herself at a rest area on U.S. Highway 97 overlooking the Crooked River, trying to figure out how to keep trying. She wanted to be a “giver,” but it felt like every door she tested — jobs, family, friends — closed.

Then, the cold came.

In early November, she drove to Redmond, reading about the warming shelter online and making it her temporary respite.

“I just know that I’m supposed to be here, even if I don’t know where I’m going,” Fluke said. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s better than I could do on my own right now.”

Now, she goes to the shelter early each night, offering to sweep or otherwise help prepare for the two dozen guests that sleep there each night.

Fluke wants to work — she did another short spell at Home Depot, but a prior meniscus injury she didn’t get physical therapy for made it a challenge to stand for hours at a time.

“My knee wasn’t ready for me to be on my legs for four hours. So I switched gears just to focus on getting healthy and building up my legs so that I can do something — what, I’m not sure,” Fluke said. “I have goals of doing something, but I go to therapy three days a week right now, until I can feel like I can keep up a job, especially because a lot of jobs here are on your feet.”

Wanting to hold a job while being homeless forced Fluke to overcome the common misconception that those experiencing homelessness don’t have a desire to work. She’s also learned about the invisible struggles many face and the mental health services needed to overcome them.

“When you’re working and you have everything you need, you don’t realize how much of this is people are fighting their demons on a daily basis,” Fluke said. “You can’t just give them a tent and a blanket and say, ‘go there.’”