Jennifer Brewer, a retired teacher who moved to Ruidoso, New Mexico, in 2017 seeking the tranquility of a mountain town, now finds herself perpetually on edge, her nights punctuated by the anxious sound of the Rio Ruidoso. What once drew her to this picturesque community—a gentle creek—has, in recent years, transformed into a relentless source of fear and disruption. Following devastating twin wildfires in the summer of 2024 that scorched the surrounding pine forests, subsequent monsoon rains unleashed torrents of mud and debris. These flows, funneled down the barren hillsides, overwhelmed the riverbanks, forcing Brewer to evacuate as thick, silty sludge engulfed her patio. The following year brought an even more terrifying deluge: the Rio Ruidoso swelled into a twenty-foot wall of brown water, tearing entire houses from their foundations and tragically claiming three lives.

Though Brewer’s cabin miraculously survived, the structure across from hers was found lodged in a tree, a stark testament to the flood’s destructive power. For months, she navigated the labyrinthine bureaucracy of disaster relief, simultaneously undertaking arduous on-site repairs—shoveling mud, battling mold with bleach, and constructing a six-foot flood wall—only to witness her efforts undone by subsequent inundations. This cycle of destruction and desperate rebuilding is projected to continue for years, until the scarred earth fully recovers and new vegetation can once again anchor the soil on the slopes. Now, with every rainfall, Brewer’s nights are spent in a state of heightened alert, listening intently to the rising water.

"This morning, I heard it at 3:30," Brewer recounted, her voice weary. "I laid there listening and thought, you know what? You’re not going back to sleep." Eventually, armed with a flashlight, she ventured out to survey the swollen, fast-moving river, alternating between the distraction of television and anxious checks on the water’s progress before finally succumbing to a fitful doze. "That’s not a way to live," she lamented, the phrase heavy with exhaustion. "That’s just crazy."

However, Brewer’s vigil may soon end, offering a glimmer of hope that her sleepless nights are numbered. Just a week prior to her interview, she became one of the initial beneficiaries of a novel program designed to provide a pathway out of the escalating flood risk for Ruidoso residents.

In the spring of 2026, with crucial support from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, Lincoln County initiated an emergency buyout program. This voluntary initiative aims to purchase hundreds of properties situated in high-risk flood zones, particularly those rendered more vulnerable by the recent wildfires. Administered by the USDA’s Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS), the program offers homeowners pre-fire market values for their properties. Upon acquisition, the structures are either demolished or relocated, with the land permanently designated as open space. Lincoln County has secured approval for up to $220 million in buyout funds, with the NRCS contributing 75% of the total costs.

"What we’re kind of betting on is that as we get some of these bought, we can manage this floodway and prevent further damage," Lincoln County Manager Jason Burns explained in March. "My hope is that as these floods continue, as we know they’re going to, that it’s not a dire emergency."

Brewer wasted no time in applying upon learning of the program. Following an appraisal and a series of environmental and cultural assessments, she received an offer in September that significantly exceeded her expectations for her property’s post-flood market value. With the sale finalized and her move-out date rapidly approaching, Brewer described an "overwhelming relief."

"Climate change is here," she stated with conviction. "I’m just tired of being worried."

Brewer acknowledged feeling exceptionally fortunate. County officials had identified over a thousand properties at risk in and around Ruidoso the previous spring, and public meetings concerning the buyout program were consistently well-attended. More than 350 homeowners have submitted applications, with over 260 deemed eligible. However, the county’s ability to fully access the federal grant hinges on securing state matching funds. To date, only the initial tranche of funding, approximately $100 million, has been received. Burns estimates this amount will cover roughly 130 properties, and by mid-September, the county had extended four offers. While optimistic about securing the remaining funds during the next legislative session, he informed state lawmakers in June that the county would need to make "strategic decisions on which properties will be of the most benefit."

As communities across the American West grapple with the escalating threat of climate-related disasters, buyout programs represent a rare opportunity to safeguard both human populations and valuable land resources. For rural communities, which often possess limited resources to navigate complex bureaucratic processes, simply gaining approval for such a program constitutes a significant achievement. "Around the country, there’s a waiting list of people who want to be bought out, and there just isn’t funding," noted A.R. Siders, who researches buyouts at the University of Delaware’s Disaster Research Center. The critical questions then become: how does a community, amidst a population of survivors, determine who receives a fresh start, and how can the process be implemented with maximum fairness?

The federal buyout system, while offering a lifeline, contains inherent limitations. NRCS regulations stipulate that buyout recipients must be U.S. citizens, possess clear title to their property, and have permanent access to it. This criterion automatically excludes many of the most vulnerable populations following a disaster, such as renters and non-citizens, including legal residents. Furthermore, the process can become complicated for multigenerational or multi-family households. Unlike FEMA’s buyout program, which can prioritize lower-value homes through cost-benefit analyses, potentially leading to wealthier homeowners receiving assistance to remain while low-income neighborhoods are cleared, Lincoln County’s approach diverges. County Manager Burns indicated that home value would not be a determining factor in their program. Instead, it operates on a first-come, first-served basis, with a priority placed on properties that have sustained significant damage. "What we’re going to do is try to take the highest risk first," he stated.

Among the properties most severely impacted by the floods in Ruidoso are several mobile home and RV parks. The three individuals who perished in the July 2025 flood—two children and an adult—were camping at an RV park when the waters surged. Swiftwater rescues were conducted the following week at a nearby mobile home park as the river swelled again, saving multiple residents. A spokesperson for the Village of Ruidoso confirmed that the state has since declared both that park and another adjacent one uninhabitable, with dozens of trailers red-tagged and residents given deadlines to relocate. However, residents at other parks continue to occupy flood-affected trailers. Burns confirmed that several park owners have applied for buyouts, though as of mid-September, none had yet received an offer.

Despite the disproportionate flood risk faced by mobile homes nationwide, the federal buyout system was not designed with their unique circumstances in mind. While park residents own their homes, they rent the land on which these homes are situated, meaning only the park owners are eligible for buyouts. This places residents in a precarious position: they face either forced displacement or the prospect of being trapped without an exit strategy, as many mobile homes are difficult and costly to relocate. Andrew Rumbach, who researches housing and disaster recovery at the Urban Institute, observes that mobile home owners are "really kind of disadvantaged within the decision-making process," often left in limbo.

This predicament resonates with Cristina Obregón. In 2024, flooding compromised the cinder blocks supporting her trailer at Cherokee Mobile Village in Ruidoso. She spent six months in a hotel before returning home, only to evacuate approximately fifteen times the following year. "Every single time it rained from that point forward, I had anxiety to the point where I was physically shaking," she recalled. Upon attending a meeting about the buyout program, Obregón discovered she was ineligible to apply. While she might qualify for relocation assistance if her park owners accept a buyout, enabling her to afford moving her trailer, this decision rests entirely with them. "Unless they say yes," she stated, "there’s really nothing the buyout can do."

Buyouts can present a difficult proposition for park owners. Federal programs compensate solely for the land itself, not for lost rental income or the value of the business operation. Moreover, mobile home parks are often classified as commercial properties rather than residential, potentially leading to offers based on post-disaster property values. A spokesperson for Endeavor Communities, the owner of Cherokee Mobile Village, declined to comment on the buyout program.

Burns indicated that New Mexico offers state disaster aid programs better tailored to support Ruidoso’s mobile home residents. Elsewhere, communities impacted by flooding have adopted innovative strategies to prioritize park residents in buyouts, seeking less restrictive funding sources to facilitate their relocation to newer, safer housing. Rumbach suggests that a more equitable buyout system would necessitate viewing mobile home parks primarily as housing, rather than commercial enterprises. Mobile homes constitute 15% of New Mexico’s housing stock and represent the nation’s largest source of affordable housing. He emphasizes that a successful buyout hinges on "recognizing that residents need to have a voice."

If Obregón were eligible for the buyout, her destination remains uncertain. "I love my little trailer. If there were land, I would move it in a heartbeat," she expressed. However, "unless you own land where it’s cleared and you can put it, there’s no options." Obregón has recently moved in with her mother on the outskirts of town and is in the process of selling her trailer to a friend more willing to bear the stress of flood risk. Both Obregón’s son and her ex-partner, Ralph Gonzales, continue to reside at the park. Gonzales also desires to relocate but has struggled to find affordable housing elsewhere in Ruidoso, where numerous homes have been converted into vacation rentals for visitors from Las Cruces and West Texas. "If you work here, you really can’t afford to own a home—a big, nice house like these retired people have," Gonzales observed. "You gotta live where you can."

Disasters such as wildfires and floods frequently exacerbate existing housing shortages. Without careful planning, buyout programs can worsen this issue, as Kris Smith, who studies flood adaptation and rural communities at Headwaters Economics, points out. "When you’re talking about a buyout, that is bringing up two fundamentally massive and complex challenges: Both how do we live with flood risk, and also, how do we maintain affordability in our communities?" she stated. "Sometimes that solution can solve both of those, but often those two problems are in tension with each other."

This dilemma weighs heavily on Jason Burns. "Unfortunately, Ruidoso and Lincoln County is not a cheap place to live," he acknowledged in March. "That’s another nuance to the buyout: trying to make people as whole as possible, to keep them here." He explained that the decision to offer pre-disaster home values was partly intended to help homeowners afford to remain in the local area. Additionally, multiple new affordable housing developments are underway in Ruidoso, encompassing both workforce housing and mobile homes originally constructed for families displaced by the 2022 McBride Fire. Local officials have compelling reasons to prioritize these efforts: the relocation of hundreds of property owners can significantly impact a community’s tax base. "For rural communities in particular, it doesn’t take many people to leave to have an impact," Smith observed.

Many of the most effective buyout programs have incorporated assistance for homeowners in planning their subsequent steps. In Texas and New Jersey, established programs employ counselors who provide individualized support to buyout participants, addressing challenges such as securing debt forgiveness or identifying suitable housing options that allow them to remain close to work or school. Unfortunately, such comprehensive wrap-around assistance is not a standard component of most federal buyout programs. "We don’t have a lot of support systems about how to keep people and social fabrics together," Smith noted. In most instances, local officials lack extensive institutional knowledge, essentially guiding their communities through unprecedented transformations.

In 2021, a consortium of researchers formed the Better Buyouts Working Group, facilitating connections between communities that have already undergone buyouts and those in the process of implementing them for the first time. Participants include local officials, academics, and residents who have themselves experienced buyouts. "They want to pay it forward, so that their neighbors and whoever comes next don’t have to learn the same things that they had to from scratch," Anna Weber, a co-convener of the group, told High Country News. She hopes this collaborative approach can assist communities nationwide in navigating post-disaster recovery equitably. A key objective is to foster a broader understanding of buyouts as an integral component of long-term climate change adaptation strategies. The questions they raise about human relationships with land and with each other, she believes, are ones that "a lot of us around the country are going to need to grapple with more and more."

For buyouts to achieve lasting success, according to A.R. Siders, they must focus as much on the future as on the past. "If the plan is all about leaving, then that’s harder to build community around," she stated. "If it’s about where are we going next, what do we do with the land, what kind of community do we want to be in 50 years? That’s different."

In late September, Jennifer Brewer prepared to bid farewell to her cabin in Ruidoso, with plans to move into her family home in Santa Fe. "I’m finally to a point where I don’t cry like every day," she shared, her voice tinged with a bittersweet mix of sadness and relief, "because I love it here." She will miss the sight of elk and wild horses roaming near her window, and the festive gatherings for Ruidoso’s December Festival of Lights. She will also miss the sense of security in a small town where she felt safe leaving her door unlocked. Yet, she remains confident in her decision. "The purpose of the whole buyout is to make a healthy riverbed," she explained, "so I’m more grateful to have the opportunity to move and have gotten paid a fair amount than I am regretful." Brewer hopes the land will be managed responsibly, with ample signage to alert visitors to its potential dangers. She finds comfort in the idea that wildflowers might one day bloom where her house once stood. "It doesn’t bother me a bit for it to be all grass and trees and open," she concluded.