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Shawna Thibodeau of Shawna’s Outreach prepares to hand out supplies to unhoused people in Ottawa's ByWard Market on Dec. 21.Dave Chan/The Globe and Mail

It’s a December Saturday morning so cold even gloved fingers go numb after 10 minutes, and Shawna Thibodeau is handing out bags filled with socks, pocket warmers and protein bars to the people spending their holidays on Ottawa’s streets.

“How about a free breakfast?” she asks, offering gift cards to a nearby café in the downtown core. “Would you like some cigarettes, too? Or sage for smudging?”

“Thank you, this makes a big difference,” says a young woman with a ripped coat and cloudy, blue eyes who’s cuddling a human-sized, stuffed teddy bear in the crook of her left arm. She doesn’t have a boyfriend, she explains, so the bear is both comfort and warmth.

“She’s on crack already,” Ms. Thibodeau whispers sadly when the woman walks on. Stand back when anyone is using, she advises. “Even the smoke can be dangerous.”

The most pressing danger this winter, however, will be freezing on the streets in one of the coldest capital cities in the world. Some of the people whom Ms. Thibodeau encounters are wearing tattered sneakers with no socks or just sandals. A man shivering in the doorway of a music store asks her for gloves, his bare hands red and stiff.

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Shawna Thibodeau of Shawna’s Outreach hands out supplies to an unhoused person trying to stay warm under an air vent on Dec. 21, 2024 in Ottawa.Dave Chan/The Globe and Mail

One of her regulars, known by the street name Iroquois, has layers of blankets draped over his head like a nun’s habit. He explains that the hand warmers are blessings on bone-chilling nights because you can tuck them into your shirt, sleeves and pant legs before finding somewhere to sleep.

They greet Ms. Thibodeau warmly, often by name. She gives out bags, no questions asked. “My only goal is to get them through the day,” she says. Their stories belong to them.

The 53-year-old has been doing this since 2021, usually with her husband, Patrick, an IT specialist who insists on following by car for safety, though she’s never had a serious issue.

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Her reasons for spending her weekend mornings – and Christmas Days – walking the ByWard Market are personal. Ms. Thibodeau, who is on permanent disability for mental-health issues, knows how it feels to have nowhere to go: Years ago, she sought refuge in a women’s shelter after fleeing an abusive marriage. In 2008, she arrived in Ottawa to start over and found a way to give back.

Shawna’s Outreach is her own invention, unattached to any organization and not registered as a charity. She loathes bureaucratic rules or paperwork, she explains, and her independence meant she continued through the pandemic lockdown when other service agencies had to close.

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Shawna Thibodeau of Shawna’s Outreach prepares to hand out supplies to unhoused people on Rideau street on Dec. 21, 2024 in Ottawa.Dave Chan/The Globe and Mail

Last year, her work was recognized by the Redblacks football team. This year, she’s distributed more than 2,200 bags, not counting 500 stockings stuffed for Christmas morning. “I can’t fix the system,” she says. “But I rest easy knowing I did what I could.”

Ottawa residents give her gloves and hats, cash and gift cards. Businesses donate food and candy, including a one-time donation of 13,000 lollipops, and occasionally North Face parkas and Ugg boots. (This is why she says to never judge someone on the street with a name-brand jacket.)

This Saturday, she’s giving out cheesecake brownies wrapped in cellophane, a free – and popular – contribution from a local bakery. Cigarettes are currency, so they also go quickly. But no matter what she brings, Ms. Thibodeau says, the most essential winter item is always socks.

“Breakfast in bed!” she’ll joke, handing a bag to a hand that’s emerged from a tent. Sassy humour and red wine help her cope with the misery she sees. A month ago, she encountered a young woman sleeping in a porta potty for safety. Ms. Thibodeau gave her a stack of gift cards so the woman could nap at a table at a nearby Tim Hortons. “Just buy a coffee every time they wake you up,” she told her, “and they won’t kick you out.”

Outside the Rideau Centre, a mall soon to be crowded with shoppers, Ms. Thibodeau stops to talk to Joanne Edgar and Leo Ell, friends who spent the night under damp sleeping bags by The Bay’s fire doors. When the department store opens, Ms. Edgar, 50, explains, they will move their gear to the curb for the day and hope the police don’t hassle them.

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Mr. Ell, 49, stands beside a five-foot stack of at least a hundred Tim Hortons cups; he’s put a hole in the bottom of each one so that any coins tossed his way will fall down to the last cup and can’t easily be stolen. But the people who might have a loonie or two often stroll past as if he’s not even there. “It makes me feel like a ghost,” he says. A kind-hearted “hello” would be nice.

At the Salvation Army, Ms. Thibodeau spots Charles Cade, 63, a veteran she met nearly a decade ago, sitting on a street corner without shoes. Mr. Cade is in a broken-down wheelchair, wearing a sweatshirt and clearly cold – but still ready with one-liners to make Ms. Thibodeau laugh. He calls her “the cat’s meow,” teasing that he wants to steal her away. She covertly passes him a large stash of cigarettes. “Just for you,” she says.

Turning serious, Mr. Cade confesses he’s considering a medically assisted death. “I’m too old for this life,” he’s decided. Ms. Thibodeau begs him to reconsider, then seeing his resolute expression, asks if she can be with him at the end so he’s not alone. He dodges the question and wheels back inside. “We’ll see you next Saturday,” Ms. Thibodeau calls after him. Back in the car, with her husband, she cries, then wipes her tears and goes out again.

The morning ends outside the shelter at the Shepherds of Good Hope, the trunk now empty. As Ms. Thibodeau’s car pulls away, a woman sitting on the curb beside a tent and a mat woven from milk bags has already removed her shoes to put the new, dry socks on her bare feet.

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