Nomadland: Surviving America in the Twenty-First Century

“How does a hardworking sixty-four-year-old woman end up without a house or a permanent place to stay, relying on unpredictable low-wage work to survive? Living in a mile-high alpine wilderness, with intermittent snow and maybe mountain lions, in a tiny trailer, scrubbing toilets at the mercy of employers who, on a whim, could cut her hours or even fire her? What did the future look like for someone like that?” 

These questions provide the central tensions Bruder seeks to reconcile throughout the book. Linda’s story gives the book its stakes and narrative arc. Both Bruder and the reader become invested in Linda’s well-being as well as her dream to build her own Earthship.

“Linda wondered, not for the first time, how anybody could afford to grow old.” 

Linda’s story is one that is not wholly unique, particularly for many formerly middle-class and working-class Americans. The question of who can retire is one that is tied up in the history of American social safety nets, the disappearance of pensions, and the evaporation of many Americans’ savings during the Great Recession. Retirement, once considered something to rely upon, is no longer an option for many van dwellers like Linda, forcing them to seek alternative work and housing off the grid.

“Linda knew she couldn’t wait. She wasn’t getting any younger, and creating her new home would require a reasonable level of physical fitness. Accumulating the resources would take time, too. But if she could pull it off, the project would be more than just a funky place to retire. The Earthship was her shot at posterity, a monument that might stand for a century or more.” 

Linda is forced to consider how she might be able to retire, or at least make a permanent home for herself, outside of the typical financial or residential ideals. Her age and anxiety about leaving something to her family add urgency to her desire to buy land and build an Earthship. Her desire and quest to find a permanent home to build and settle act as the central plot of the book, with the rest of Bruder’s reporting and researching fleshing out the background and context of Linda’s life as a workamper.

“Workampers are modern mobile travelers who take temporary jobs around the U.S., in exchange for a free campsite—usually power, water, and sewer connection—and perhaps a stipend. You may think workamping is a modern phenomenon, but we come from a long, long tradition.” 

The “workamper,” is a new kind of seasonal laborer who is often paid low-wages with few protections or benefits. Many workampers are people like Linda who are struggling financially and living out of RVs or mobile homes. Bruder herself will become a workamper temporarily at the end of Part 2, as she lives out of her van Halen as she works at CamperForce and the annual sugar beet harvest.

“There’s no clear count of how many people live nomadically in America. Full-time travelers are a demographer’s nightmare.” 

Bruder notes this to make clear to the reader just how difficult it is to pinpoint nomads and van dwellers and how prevalent this community truly is. This is especially significant when considering the historic and economic implications of the jobless recovery post-2008 Recession. As Bob Wells notes later on in the book, it is likely that more and more people will grow interested in van dwelling and checking off of the grid given the growing wealth gap, lack of social safety net, and dissolution of the middle class.

“The Apperleys weren’t only the foreclosure victims I found in the ranks of Amazon’s CamperForce. I spoke with dozens of workers in Nevada, Kansas, and Kentucky. Tales of money trouble were rampant. Sometimes I felt like I was wandering around post-recession refugee camps, places of last resort where Americans got shipped if the so-called “jobless recovery” had exiled them from the traditional workforce. At other moments, it felt like I was talking to prison inmates. It was tempting to cut through the pleasantries and ask, ‘What are you in for?’” 

Bruder’s time getting to know the Apperleys stands in for the many other subjects she has spoken to who have declared bankruptcy or lost their houses due to foreclosure. She notes that the rhetoric around these stories in particular is similar to ones used when referring to criminals or the prison system. Our language around these subjects implies that the person did something wrong or ought to be ashamed. 

“Workampers are plug-and-play labor, the epitome of convenience for employers in search of seasonal staffing. They appear where and when they are needed. They bring their own homes, transforming trailer parks into ephemeral company towns that empty out once the jobs are gone. They aren’t around long enough to unionize. On jobs that are physically difficult, many are too tired even to socialize after their shifts.” 

Workamping jobs are often positions that are temporary or seasonal, with little to no benefits or protections for workers. Bruder calls them “plug-and-play” because it does not matter to the company who is working or even what their skills are—these workers are hired purely for convenience and profit. Workamping flexibility may be appealing to some, but it also means that there are few opportunities to advocate for change, unionize, climb the ladder, or grow invested in one’s workplace. This stands in contrast to the company town of decades past, which allowed for places to grow and flourish over generations as companies invested in local families and communities. Instead, van dwellers end up finding their own “vanily” of other workampers who can support them and help them find new opportunities.

“Many of the workers I met in the Amazon camps were part of a demographic that has grown with alarming speed: downwardly mobile older Americans.” 

This “demographic” of workampers is one that is difficult to determine, as Bruder mentions earlier when citing the lack of numbers pertaining to American nomads. However, she is able to get a better grasp of who these nomads are, and what their financial circumstances might be, by visiting CamperForce workers and the RV parks where they are staying. In many ways, this group of workampers are an illustrative example of this trend and can be seen as a case study of what these American are doing to get by. Bruder later infiltrates these ranks herself when she is accepted to work for CamperForce.

“‘At one time there was a social contract that if you played by the rules (went to school, got a job, and worked hard) everything would be fine,’ [Bob Wells] told readers, ‘That’s no longer true today. You can do everything right, just the way society wants you to do it, and still end up broke, alone, and homeless.’ By moving into vans and other vehicles, he suggested, people could be conscientious objectors to the system that had failed them. They could be reborn into lives of freedom and adventure.” 

Wells, an influential blogger and organizer within the van dwelling community, sees living as a nomad as a smart way to live the way one may want to without falling prey to the false promises of the American dream. Bruder points out just how aware Wells has been that the American dream of working hard and taking care of one’s family have ceased to be true. His view—that van dwellers are also conscientious objectors—is one that gives a philosophical twist to the idea of being homeless. Many nomads Bruder speaks to enjoy the idea that they are opting into a liberating movement rather than being forced out of middle class and traditional housing as well as careers.

“To mainstream Americans, this kind of transience may suggest a modern-day version of The Grapes of Wrath. But it’s worth noting a critical distinction. For the nomadic Dust Bowl-era refugees who were once snubbed as ‘Okies,’ self-worth meant keeping alive the embers of one precious hope: that someday the status quo would return, moving them back into traditional housing, restoring at least an iota of stability.” 

Throughout the book, Bruder compares Linda and her fellow nomads to the wandering “Okies” that came out of the Great Depression nearly a century earlier. The biggest difference between the Okies and the nomads, however, is the amount of hope they have that their lives with improve. Okies were able to envision rebuilding their lives and homes that had been destroyed, yet these nomads cannot envision that path. Given the proliferation of workamping positions and the ever-increasing wealth gap, nomads find themselves having to think more about short-term answers to long-term issues that are not likely to change during their lifetime.

“Inevitably the online conversations between kindred wanderers spilled into real-world gatherings. As the nomads met over campfires in forests and deserts around the country, they began to form the kind of improved clans that the novelist Armistead Maupin called ‘logical’—rather than ‘biological’—family. A few even called it a ‘vanily.’” 

Given the wandering nature of the nomads, many first learned about the van dwelling movement and found others like them online. This ability to connect with one another is another major difference between the Okies during the Great Depression versus people like Linda today. This also opens up space for older Americans to create their own chosen “vanily,” a play on the word “family,” especially for those who don’t have any kin or who don’t want their family to see just how desperate their situation has become. Humans have relied upon family units to survive and share resources, but a “vanily” is a new take on the idea of the family unit. Bruder also emphasizes the idea of a “logical” family not solely because it is witty, but because it implies that these kinds of gathering are necessary for survival even if no one is blood-related.

“In a more serious conversation with a reader, [Bob Wells] wrote, ‘I think you are right, many, many more people are going to be forced into a much simpler life. My goal is to help them make the transition as easily as they can and hopefully eventually find joy in it, just like so many of us have.”

Wells is an integral leader within the van dwelling community, and he takes the ever-widening wealth gap in America very seriously. He makes it clear in this quote that he knows the number of homeless and unhoused Americans will continue to grow, and sees his website as a means to help them transition and find liberation within an alternative means of living and working. By cultivating a community, Wells has created spaces both online and in-person where people can share their experiences and buoy newcomers in need of a fresh start. Wells’ response to his reader’s comment is one backed up by much of Bruder’s own research and reporting as well.

“Laura Graham, a CamperForce member who worked as a picker in the Coffeyville, Kansas, warehouse, told me each time she scanned a product, a countdown began on her screen. It indicated how many seconds she had to reach the next item, as if she’d graduated to the next level in a video game.” 

This quote is one example of the many ways that Amazon CamperForce dehumanizes their workampers through procedures influenced by “takt,” or production efficiency. Bruder subtly hints at this dehumanization and the “gamification” of warehouse labor by likening the scanners to a video game level. 

“‘You see all your friends who get their bachelor’s degree and higher and they can’t get a job. So I just don’t see a reason to go back even though I love learning. Just the money part of it, going into debt […] the idea of it scares me so bad, I don’t want to.” 

This passage is borne out of Bruder’s conversations with young millennial couple Jen and Ash. Both women are disillusioned after being told over and over that being college-educated would help them get ahead; they dropped out of college and still struggle with serious student loan debt. In this quote, they explain why they both decided not to finish their bachelor’s degrees. Bruder posits this as a kind of foreshadowing, one that amplifies Bob Wells’ predictions that more and more people will find themselves unhoused and at the whims of the workamper economy. Without a means to start a meaningful career with fair pay and conditions, Jen and Ash opt out of the American dream entirely, far younger than most nomads.

“Most folks who stay in Quartzsite don’t bother with the RV parks, though. Instead, they gather on the local equivalent of a low-rent district—the public lands just outside town—like pioneers swarming the site of a latter-day gold rush.” 

Bruder summons imagery of the old American West and pioneers to describe the community of van dwellers that orbit Quartzsite. Given her work as a journalist and researcher, Bruder’s pioneer motif is meant to tie contemporary events with the economic and social forces that have influenced today’s nomads. It also harkens back to the pioneers who initially settled and colonized the American West, seeking both liberation and adventure.

“Like Bill, [Iris] was fascinated by the blurring of class lines. That’s no small thing against the backdrop of modern America, where income-segregated neighborhoods are on the rise, isolating—and insulating—the wealthy from the poor. Quartzsite isn’t like that. ‘It’s anybody’s yard,’ Iris explained, ‘Whatever you have, you’re welcome.’” 

Many of the subjects Bruder speaks to in Nomadland enjoy being a part of the van dwelling community because of everyone’s generosity, sharing of resources, and willingness to help each other. The nomad community includes people from all walks of life, and class lines blur together due to financial struggle and a shared decision to live out of a vehicle. By opting out of the traditional American capitalist ideal, many nomads end up creating communal spaces and experiences in order to ensure that anyone and everyone who needs help can access it.

“Mike told me that transient old folks flock to Quartzsite because it’s a ‘low-income retirement town’ and ‘a cheap place to hide.’ Hide from what? I asked. His answers: shame, poverty, cold weather. In the desert, he explained, ‘they don’t have to worry about freezing out. They tell their kids they’re doing fine.’” 

Although Linda and other nomads like to put a cheerful spin on Quartzsite and events like RTR, many gather in the small Arizona town in order to escape the worrying eyes of family members, the shame of poverty, and find others like themselves. Unlike places like Palm Springs or Florida which have a wealthy or upper-middle-class “snowbird” retirement population, Quartzsite has become a place where nomads can meet up and ride out the winter together without spending a lot of money. Bruder is interested in what the future of would-be-retirees like Linda will be, and for many, congregating in this small town has become a form of retirement community for those who can’t afford it.

“‘What is it about the idea of homelessness that is so emotional?’ [LaVonne] mused. ‘Some people would consider me homeless. I don’t. I have shelter.’ At the same time, she explained, she felt guilty about putting herself in a different category, as if it might reinforce the larger social stigma.” 

LaVonne articulates the cognitive dissonance that she and other nomads feel when considering whether or not they are homeless. Here, she defines “homeless” as being without shelter, yet she also fears stigmatizing those who may not even have that. Yet despite her fear of stigmatizing others, she still feels the need to separate herself from the homeless. This plays into larger themes of denial and defining homelessness versus houselessness which comes up throughout the book.

“…America makes it hard enough for people to live nomadically, regardless of race…And in an era where unarmed African Americans are getting shot by police during traffic stops, living in a vehicle seems like an especially dangerous gambit for anyone who might become a victim of racial profiling.” 

Bruder notices the whiteness of the van dwelling community and, like other parts of the nomad experience, places it within a historic and social context as it pertains to race. In this case, she brings up the history and increasing pressure surrounding racial profiling and police brutality. Despite the myriad of challenges nomads face, they do not fear police, law enforcement, or living in a vehicle in the same way a person of color might.

“I couldn’t decide: Was this proof that humans are smarter than robots? Or was the robot patronizing me with round after round of redundant object counting—perhaps it would take the best two results out of three? After I dispatched the shelf for the third time, my shift was over.”

Throughout the book, Bruder points out the ways in which Amazon CamperForce and FC protocols dehumanize workampers, in this case by bringing in artificial intelligence and robotics. This darkly humorous passage is from Bruder’s own experience working in an Amazon warehouse as she describes the robots’ malfunctions and mistakes. However, she is so physically drained from her shift that she is unable to really think over the question of who is smarter, instead leaving at the end of her shift. Yet again, this proves to the reader just how depleted workampers can be, and how difficult it is to consider question their working conditions and advocate for change.

“That experience had been an unwelcome brush with the dreaded H word: Homeless. Most nomads avoid the label like a contagion. They are ‘houseless,’ after all. ‘Homeless’ is other people.” 

Similar to Bruder’s conversation with LaVonne earlier about why she does not call herself “homeless,” many nomads choose not to use the dreaded “h word” for fear of being stigmatized. Instead, many prefer “houseless” because they are no longer a part of traditional American housing. Yet this separation and “othering” of the homeless is oftentimes a euphemism that nomads use in order to keep up a positive facade about their situation. This also works in tandem with Bob Wells’ philosophy about liberating oneself from the confines of a rigged American class system.

“You are finally debt free and living in your forever home! No more freezing in the desert or in Kansas! No more cramped spaces. Like I always say when I hang up the phone: I love you Patti. I will miss you dearly.” 

This passage was posted by a friend to the Facebook wall of Patti DiPino after her death. Bruder includes this towards the end of the book while discussing her subjects’ plans for the future. Calling back to Bruder’s initial questions about what the future would look like for people like Linda, this comment implies that the only happy ending for her is death. This also conveys the severe impact that debt, bankruptcy, foreclosure, and lack of social safety net can have on aging people.

“In the widening gap between credits and debits hangs a question: What parts of this life are you willing to give up, so you can keep on living?” 

Bruder asks this question to harken back to the initial question she posed about the future of people like Linda who had worked hard their entire life yet have no retirement or safety net to rely upon as they age. Nomads often have to consider how long they can work and survive while their health eventually declines. By the end of the book, Bruder’s first questions have evolved into those found in this passage. She asks the reader to then consider what they themselves might do in order to survive into old age and live comfortably without the help of a social safety net.