Cynthia Hunt is the gatekeeper. She buzzes people in and greets them with a smile before going back to her duties counseling former drug addicts.

Hunt works within a tiny world of pastel cottages, picnic tables, and little green trees. This odd place is known fondly to residents as Quinn Cottages, named after is founder Francis Quinn. It doesn’t look at all like a place where former alcohol and drug abusers go for a new start. If anything, it’s remarkably similar to walking off the streets of Sacramento suburbia and directly into the set of a Disney film.

“People come here with nothing more than the clothes on their back,” says Hunt. “But they leave here with so much more.”

There are 60 small housing units in the Quinn community. An extra tall iron garden gate surrounds the establishment, keeping each cottage safe enough to leave doors unlocked and bicycles unattended. Residents live here for free or for a small percent of their income.

Each resident knows everyone else by first name. And everyone has a story.

Timothy Burke, 51, was a resident of Quinn Cottages for twenty-two months before taking on a managerial job in the facility. He spent years on the streets, estranged from his family, without shelter and without hope. While living on the streets, a mentor from New Start reached out to him.

“I started behaving like a normal person again. I found God, and I wouldn’t trade this for much of anything in the world.” says Burke, as he scans the surrounding cottages and beams with pride.

His story is just one of thousands. The first Quinn Cottage was built on the lawn of Sacramento City Hall in 1994, and in 1999 the ribbon was cut at the entrance of the current community. The goal was to provide shelter to the homeless, along with other means of support. Not everyone who comes here for sanctuary has abused drugs or alcohol, though. Victims of domestic violence are common residents, and families who have lost their homes to fire and flooding have also sought out Quinn Cottages until they could afford new permanent housing. However, the majority of the people are the victims of poverty, getting involved with illegal substances, prostitution, or suffering from mental health problems. The one thing they all have in common is their homelessness.

“It’s an interesting journey to take.” Virginia Saunders, 49, said about living in the community. She’s also a former Quinn Cottage resident and now works for community as well. “It’s like being 18 and starting fresh again.”

But the future of Quinn Cottages is about to be threatened. Timothy Burke gave a speech to the City Council on Wednesday May 13th, trying to convince them to continue funding the program.

“The problem is that we’ve got an eighteen million dollar shortfall this year.” Burke says. “We’ve got shelters on both sides of us closing, and we’re only now celebrating our tenth anniversary.”

The numbers are grim. Volunteers of America funds a shelter that can hold 60 people every night. The A Street shelter also has 60 beds, and the winter shelter has 172 beds. Aid-In-Kind Shelter on Bannon Street has 62 beds open to those who have no where else to go. All of them are about to close because of budget cuts.

There is good reason to keep Quinn Cottages alive. In just a decade, they have achieved a success rate of over 80%. That means that four of every five people who come into the program will eventually lead successful independent lives, owning their own homes, completing their education and holding down a steady job, and not relapsing back into drug or alcohol abuse. Year after year they have improved their facilities and met every goal presented to City Counsel. This has ensured their annual funding— until now. Volunteers and staff are all worried, but they try, for the sake of their residents, to keep on the bright side.

“Giving back to others [is what motivates me],” Saunders says, pointing to a wall filled to capacity with pictures. People smile, posing for the camera. Dust has collected on some and colors have faded with time. Multiple empty pin holes penetrate them, as if they had all been pulled off her cork wall at some time or another, to be observed at close range for a moment, and then held up to her bulletin board and jabbed with another tack. She points at a few memorable faces, listing off tidbits of their stories.

“He was actually straight from [juvenile hall] when he first showed up here,” Saunders says, pointing at one. “And she went on to work for the state.” she says about another.

Their faces show the effects of their lives on the streets; lined with the stress of a hard life, but lit up with smiles of a brighter future to come. The residents passing by her window have the same look of determination, but there are many more homeless people outside the community who have yet to be helped— people whose stories have yet to be told.

Cynthia Hunt sees these people everyday as she admits, or refuses to admit, those who seek admission at her gates. On this day, she has left her office for a few minutes to visit with Saunders, and has forgotten for a moment about the front entrance.

“Will anyone let us in?!” a woman asked as Hunt passed by the locked gate on her way out of Saunders office.

“I will.” She said humbly, going to buzz in yet another resident.

You can donate to Quinn Cottages by singing onto their website and clicking on the Donate Tab at the top of the page.