After more than a decade working in municipal cleanup and property rehabilitation across Central Texas, I’ve handled situations that require a steady hand, patience, and a deep respect for the people involved. Whenever someone contacts me about homeless encampment removal Austin, I approach the job differently than a standard junk removal project. These sites aren’t just piles of debris—they’re places where people lived, improvised systems of shelter, and left behind evidence of survival, not neglect.
The First Encampment I Ever Cleared
My first encampment cleanup was under an overpass near East Riverside. I remember walking into the site before sunrise, the light just starting to hit the edges of tents, shopping carts, and makeshift bedding. What struck me wasn’t the clutter but the silence. It felt like stepping into someone’s story after they’d already left the page.
That morning, I learned quickly how important it is to approach the job with empathy. Even though our task was to clear the area, the belongings scattered around weren’t meaningless—they were pieces of someone’s everyday life. I started sorting carefully, setting aside anything personal or intact where outreach teams could retrieve it.
That experience changed the way I work. I stopped seeing these cleanouts as pure “removal” and started treating them as transitions.
Health and Safety: The Part Most People Don’t See
Encampment sites often contain items you’d never encounter in a typical hauling job. I’ve found needles tucked into tarps, propane canisters buried under clothing, and sharp metal fragments hidden in soil. Once, while working behind a warehouse off Ben White, we uncovered a fire pit made from broken cinder blocks and scrap wood. The whole area was unstable, and a careless step could have easily caused a fracture.
Because of hazards like these, I always walk a site twice before moving anything—first to understand the layout, then to identify potential risks. There’s a rhythm I’ve developed over the years: slow steps, eyes scanning ground level, gloves on before touching even the most ordinary objects.
People often assume these jobs are just about hauling trash. In reality, health precautions drive every decision.
Working With Property Owners and City Partners
One property manager on the north side once told me she felt guilty calling for help because she didn’t want to seem insensitive. I understood what she meant. Encampments bring complicated feelings, and most owners genuinely want to handle the situation respectfully.
I’ve learned to slow the conversation down. Instead of jumping straight into logistics, I ask questions:
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Has outreach already connected with the individuals who lived here?
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Has law enforcement provided clearance for entry?
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Are you dealing with recurring camps or a one-time situation?
In one case near the greenbelt, outreach teams visited for several days before anyone touched a single item. When we finally started clearing the site, we knew everyone had been offered services and relocation support. That coordination matters.
The Most Challenging Encampment I Ever Tackled
A few years ago, I worked on a cleanup behind a retail strip where an encampment had grown far larger than anyone realized. What looked like three tents from the road turned out to be an interconnected maze of structures made from plywood, pallets, and tarps.
Inside, we found everything from mattresses to half-broken furniture to a surprisingly elaborate cooking setup. Navigating it safely required dismantling the space piece by piece, almost like undoing a puzzle someone built without any intention of taking it apart.
It took two full days, and every hour reinforced the importance of approaching these jobs with patience. Rushing would have put my team at risk and disrespected the space we were clearing.
What I’ve Learned After Hundreds of Encampment Cleanups
Over the years, a few truths have become clear to me.
First: You cannot treat these sites like ordinary debris fields. They require experience, sensitivity, and strict safety practices.
Second: Respect matters. Even when a camp is abandoned, the things left behind still belonged to someone navigating a difficult chapter of life.
Third: Property owners feel overwhelmed more often than frustrated. What they usually want most is assurance that the cleanup will be handled responsibly.
One business owner in South Austin told me she’d avoided calling anyone for months because she didn’t want the process to feel harsh or dehumanizing. After we finished, she walked the area with me and said she felt relieved—not because the space looked clean, but because she felt it had been handled with dignity.