The festive spirit can be in short supply on the streets but many who find themselves homeless still go out of their way to make it a special time

Brandie Osborne, 44, Seattle

In seven years of being homeless, I’ve never had my own Christmas tree. Before I got this one I’d been saying to my boyfriend, “It sucks, I just don’t feel in the holiday spirit.” I grew up with my grandparents and everything was always decorated to the nines. Our tree looked like Martha Stewart’s, a real showpiece. My daughter was brought up the same way, with lots of presents and a big Christmas dinner.

I haven’t had any of that stuff for a long time. I became homeless because my fiance at the time got injured at work and we didn’t have any savings. Slowly but surely we couldn’t pay our bills and everything concaved on us. I sent my daughter to live with a friend of the family, but my fiance and I ended up living in our car before it got repossessed. I actually had a lot of sentimental Christmas ornaments handed down but could no longer afford storage and lost them along with most of my belongings.

This Christmas I just really wanted something to make me feel good and make other people smile. Then the other day I was walking back from the laundromat with a neighbor, pushing my grocery cart full of clothes, and I saw this tree leaning up against a building with a big sign that said, “Free live tree”. I straightaway picked it up, put it over my shoulders and carried it home.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest A Christmas tree at Brandie Osborne’s camp. Photograph: Annabel Clark/The Guardian

My boyfriend wants to just put it in a milk crate with a paper bag, but I’m going to make a proper stand for it. I have some fake Christmas presents that I’ll put under it. And if I can somehow manage to make about $10, I can get four strings of battery-operated lights to put around it. After Christmas I’ll plant it and hopefully in 40 years the Jungle will still be here and I won’t, but I’ll come back to visit and the tree will be big and tall.

Janice Mack, 62, Portland

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Janice Mack, 62, at the non-profit cafe Sisters of the Road in Portland. Photograph: Annabel Clark/The Guardian

A long time ago my dad told me that there ain’t no white man coming down the chimney bringing me anything. So my belief in Christmas is pretty different to most people’s. I do celebrate Kwanzaa, which involves doing something positive every day between Christmas and New Year. It’s more spiritual than the fictitious Santa Claus thing to me.

Bussed out: how America moves thousands of homeless people around the country Read more

I grew up in Portland but spent most of my life in Louisiana. I had my own apartment and until three years ago worked as a truck driver. For Christmas, I’d spend it with my daughters and grandkids and we’d have a meal and do presents. I came back to Portland this August as I enjoy the weather and want to retire here. I thought there would be subsidized housing for people my age, but it’s not that way. It’s so sad to me that at 62 I can’t find anywhere to rent that will accept my income. Studio apartments are going for between $1,500 and $2,400 and that’s ridiculous to me.

It’s my first time, and my first Christmas, homeless. I’m in a women’s shelter for now. Most people don’t have the Christmas spirit here; the reality of life just isn’t happy.

Mark Rodriguez, 62, Portland

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Mark Rodriguez at the office of the homeless advocacy newspaper Street Roots, which he sells in Portland. Photograph: Annabel Clark/The Guardian

I recently met someone and we fell totally, incredibly in love and decided to spend Christmas together. I’d saved some cash and the plan was to spend a couple of days in a nice room in a motel we frequent once in a while. We’d have a bathtub and take bubble baths and just be real human beings with all the amenities of life that most people take for granted. I was going to surprise him and take him on one of those riverboat cruises they do here. I was so excited.

He’s been all over the world and knows his way around. We talked about going to New York and then to London after. But he has a terrible heroin addiction.

Unfortunately our plans fell through. Typical Christmas, hey? I’m well-seasoned though and not going to let that get me down. I’m grateful for my before-Christmas gift – it feels so good to be in love with somebody. To have that rush of adrenaline. There’s nothing like it, right?

Ashley Keith, 31, Seattle

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ashley Keith, 31, and her daughters Tru, 10, and Liberty, nine, at Mary’s Place, a family shelter on Amazon property in Seattle. Photograph: Annabel Clark/The Guardian

This is my second Christmas homeless with my three kids. Last year we were staying at a friend’s house and I tried to make it the best that I could for them, just like I’m trying now. To not make it seem like we’re homeless.

We used to live at my mom’s. All the kids were raised there from birth until about a year and a half ago. But my mom kicked me out when my ex-husband and I separated. I still don’t understand why. You never think you’re going to become homeless. It was unreal, heart-wrenching. How do you explain that to kids? I just told them that we don’t have a home any more. We still have a good network of friends. If you didn’t know we were homeless, you couldn’t tell by looking.

This Christmas the four of us are in a shelter in one room. It’s tiny. I got us a 15in tree and one of the ladies from the shelter gave me some ornaments she’d made with her family.

My two girls are 10 and nine, and my son is nine. I’ve bought presents for the kids: one of those robotic ponies that walks, a drone, some Ninja Turtles and Doc McStuffins stuff. My son asked for a blanket and pillow. The kids still believe Santa’s coming. Just through our door, not the chimney, this time.

Joseph ‘Panda’ Procella, 55, Seattle

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Joseph ‘Panda’ Procella, 55, at Tent City 5 tiny houses in Seattle. Photograph: Annabel Clark/The Guardian

I’ve been homeless on and off for half my life, so how I spend Christmas depends on my circumstances. Sometimes I’ve camped outdoors, other times I’ve been in RV parks – I’ve travelled extensively looking for a community like Tent City 5. It’s a city-sanctioned camp and we have our own tiny houses while we wait for something more permanent. I’ve decorated my place with a tiny tree in the window and battery-powered lights from the dollar store.

I have disabilities and raised my two children in Texas on a social security check. It was a struggle. But we always got together with the larger family for a traditional Christmas meal with a ham poked with cloves and raisins and drizzled with honey and cinnamon. When my kids became adults, I lost our housing. That first Christmas I lived in my vehicle. My son was 19 and living nearby but he wasn’t in school or work, and I worried I hadn’t taught him how to survive, so I took him to some homeless shelters to show him what it was like. Both my children live well now.

America's homeless population rises for the first time since the Great Recession Read more

I’ve always wanted to give to others but accepted that I haven’t been able to. Little do most folks who live here know that they’re all getting a present this year. I’ve made dreamcatchers and have recycled leather clothing and furniture to make traditional Native American-style medicine bags and cellphone cases. All done with gold buckskin and hand-cut fringe.

There’s definitely a Christmas spirit in the air at the camp. Being able to walk out the door and have all our possessions be safe in our tiny houses is such a great feeling. When you’re on the street at Christmas, you don’t have that home base. You don’t have those strong family connections and those smells of food cooking and candles burning and the lights from the decorations. It can feel like it’s not worth celebrating. But for me, this little house of my own is the best gift I’ve ever received.

Do you have an experience of homelessness to share with the Guardian? Get in touch

Sign up to Chronicling Homelessness, our monthly Outside in America newsletter