About two years ago, the Tulsa resident found herself disabled, unemployed and headed toward the homeless shelters, something she wants to avoid at all costs.

“The shelters are always crowded, and it’s too much for me. I wasn’t happy there,” she said. “I have PTSD from childhood abuse, and it’s just too much. I like my freedom; I like space.”

Karnes recently wrote a letter to the editor about the city’s housing plan, particularly regarding people who are homeless. Her first line drew me in: “I’m homeless. This is the fifth time but have always picked myself back up by finding work.”

She described her life working blue-collar, largely labor, jobs. But at age 60, those were getting harder to do, and she ended up injured. After losing her last job, she applied for Social Security Income disability benefits, but the process was longer than expected.

Seeing her income vanish, savings dwindle and retirement cashed out, she took her last $4,000 and bought a old Sand Springs school bus. She painted over the district name and tore out the seats to turn it into a makeshift, bare-bones home with the hope of finishing it later.

The reason for the letter to the editor was to weigh in on the plan because she wasn’t able to attend a public meeting about it.

“I would love to attend, but this bus is very difficult to park,” she wrote. “I have great ideas — cost effective ways homeless people can monitor themselves safely. There are possible ways to help them pick back up. There are lots of empty lots and empty buildings in disrepair or closed down that the city could utilize for future possibilities.”

The letter compelled photojournalist Mike Simons and me to meet with Karnes and see a slice of her daily life.

When we met, Karnes was parking her bus at the back side of a closed grocery store north of Interstate 244. This was her home base during the fall and winter months. Some homeless people camp close, and quite a few pass through walking from a nearby neighborhood. The typical person driving by wouldn’t notice.

Her bus door catches a bit, taking a trick to open and close. She put a bed in the back, along with a portable toilet and propane heater. Separated by a sheet, in the front behind the driver’s seat, are a table, refrigerator, chair and bookshelf. A friend installed solar panels for power, but they aren’t working.

With all her personal items, it’s a tight fit. She has no television, no radio, no internet. She has a cellphone for communication, but connectivity isn’t consistent.

Her time is spent creating art and reading; newspapers are among her daily literary habit. She stays up on politics, highlighting in the paper the names of elected leaders whom she plans to contact about issues.

Karnes shares the space with her loyal, sweet and elderly pit bull named Brat, a puppy, Pepper, and a rescued white cat called Ghost. The pets are her constant companions and like family; they give her purpose and keep the loneliness at bay.

“I bought the bus because I knew I couldn’t stay in my rent house any longer. I heard the horror stories of how long it took to get disability. I felt like it was my only option,” she said. “The journey so far has been harder than I thought it would be.”

Karnes stays aware of the people around her. When she arrived at the spot, a homeless veteran had been living in a camper, but he has since moved on. Several others have claimed spots with belongings built up like hills.

“I’ve seen a lot, and there are different reasons why we become homeless. A few choose this life, but some have mental health problems, and there are scared runaways,” she said. “There is a bit of a shady side, and these people know how to work the system and are lazy. One thing I’ve noticed: Most homeless will look out for each other when needed.”

She recalls how a teenage girl showed up among others at a camp near her bus. An older homeless man familiar to others put her in contact with some women, who took her to a shelter. The girl ended up on a bus back home to Texas.

Karnes is bothered by what she sees as abusing benefits systems, such as the sales of prescription drugs and overt drug use. But she describe how each person’s situation is different.

Among her ideas she’d like the city to consider is setting aside an area for homeless people to camp. She says it would be helpful for people who have pets, don’t like shelter rules or get claustrophobic from the crowds. Another suggestion is to create mobile housing, like her bus.

No one has tried to break into her bus or been violent toward her. She’s been watching a couple who have been escalating in violence, particularly at night as they get drunk or high.

“The yelling is really getting to me,” she said.

A recent danger is preteens and teenagers from the neighborhood picking fights with those camped out. One teenager recently pulled a gun on a homeless man.

“What’s really scaring me are these kids — some look as young as 10 — coming through here,” she said.

Driving can be challenging because of a weight imbalance. She runs errands only once or twice a week to avoid driving, typically going to a Dollar General store and the post office.

Without power, she is limited on food, sticking to nonperishable items. During the winter, she was able to keep some prepackaged frozen food.

“I’m sure missing home-cooked meals,” she said. “It would be nice to keep milk and stuff for salads. I try eating salads when I can.”

Karnes is originally from Pennsylvania, having grown up on a middle-class farm with horses. She had a difficult relationship with her mother and adoptive father and was molested by a neighbor for many years. This abuse has had lifelong trauma, including episodic depression.

After graduating from high school in 1982, she moved to Mena, Arkansas, to live with family members. She made her way to Tulsa not long after that but has also lived in Texas off and on through the years.

She has been common-law married once and has three grown children. Her daughters (ages 37 and 35) live in Florida, and her son (31) is incarcerated. One of her daughters helped her tear out the bus seats to make it habitable.

Health care has become a challenge. Her injuries got worse while she was on private insurance, and she was unable to pay the $100 copay per visit for steroid injections, so she stopped getting the treatments. She’s quitting smoking to improve her health and depends on the Tobacco Settlement Endowment Fund’s free programs to do that.

Bathing is hard because she can’t find public showers. Some RV rest stops have denied her use due to her bus’ not having power or water. She takes regular sponge baths and washes her hair just outside her bus. It’s been months since she took a regular shower. Hauling water and having privacy to take care of her hygiene remains challenging.

Karnes was recently approved for Social Security Income disability, and a tax refund is expected to pay off a recent debt. With this change in income, she plans to drive her bus and pets to a permanent spot in the Broken Bow or Idabel area.

It comes at a good time, she said. The warmer temperatures are attracting more people with addictions to her area. Some are unpredictable, but police officers and a security guard at the adjacent private property stop by to check on her.

About a week ago, she was told to move along; her bus is no longer allowed in that lot. So, until a permanent place is found, she’s driving from lot to lot.

“My dream goal is finding an acre of land at the edge of town, right at the tree line and bordering a small stream or creek. I know that’s pretty specific,” she said. “This is to be my final home. It’s important to me to get back to the country where I’m happy. I want to give my pets a yard, have a garden and maybe even get some chickens — a place to bird watch and get back to my artwork.

“This is my dream. Finding the right piece of land and finishing the bus to achieve that will be a challenge. Hopefully, by the grace of God and really good luck, I’ll succeed and finally settle down. I’m ready.”