By Colton Kemp, Northfield News August 18, 2026 Charlotte Toft struts the runway wearing one…
Rice County ALICE highlights financial struggles of working households
By Colton Kemp, Northfield News
Sep 12, 2024
Last year on Christmas, Faribault resident, mother and substitute teacher, Jada Affantranger, was hospitalized for what was believed to be a stroke while her husband was working an overnight shift. While at home to change clothes, he checked the mail by happenstance.
“He goes ‘Jada, we just found out we get $5 from food stamps,’” she remembered. “I go ‘You must have read that wrong. That doesn’t even get us a gallon of milk. What’s the point in printing it up?’ When I get home, he shows it to me, and I’m like ‘OK, you didn’t read it wrong, but maybe it’s printed wrong. At least $50 would be help.’ But no, when I checked the balance on the card: $5.”
Many families like the Affantrangers don’t make enough to feel financially stable, but make too much to qualify for financial-assistance programs, usually meaning they’re above the federal poverty level. The households in this gap are referred to as ALICE (Asset Limited, Income Constrained, Employed), meaning their income is above the poverty line but below the cost of living within the county where they live.
At 10 a.m. Tuesday, the United Ways of Minnesota unveiled the 2024 report, “ALICE in Minnesota: A Study of Financial Hardship,” and launched the Minnesota website (www.UnitedForALICE.org/Minnesota) with a treasure trove of data from statewide overviews to individual communities within Rice County. The 2024 report is based on 2022 data from ALICE research and the American Community Survey.
“The Consumer Price Index tells us that things are getting better for consumers,” said Rice County United Way Executive Director Elizabeth Child. “But it uses 200 indicators, while the ALICE Survival Budget is calculated using only essential items like food, housing and day care. It gives a more accurate view of costs impacting those with lower or middle incomes.”
Also in the report, ALICE calculated a “household survival budget” for every county in Minnesota. It might be worth noting the report says, in Rice County, rent and utilities cost $690 for a single adult and $986 for a family of four.
According to the report, $27,888 annually or $13.94 hourly is the minimum amount needed to support the survival budget for a single adult in Rice County. $82,824 annually or $41.41 hourly is needed to support the survival budget for a family of four.
What does it take?
The report doesn’t only identify what it takes for someone to afford the basics; it identifies how many households actually can afford those basics. Approximately 26% of Minnesota households fall below the ALICE threshold, or make less than it costs to live and work. Some 27% of Rice County households fall below the threshold.
Around 20-30% of households in most rural parts of the county are below the ALICE threshold. In Faribault, 53% of households make under the threshold. In Morristown, 45% of households. In Northfield, 38%. Lonsdale, 29%.
Racial disparities are pronounced in Rice County’s working households.
Of the 19,000 or so white households, 32% make an income below the ALICE threshold. For the 1,500 or so Hispanic households, 60% make below the threshold. For about 1,000 Black households, 67% make below the threshold. Half of Asian households make below the threshold.
Disparities are notable between other demographics as well. The income of over 80% of single mothers falls below the cost of living, while over 60% of single fathers make less than the cost of living.
“$82,000 was a lot of money when I was growing up,” said Child. “So to think that’s not enough is surprising. It’s also telling you that, in order to have that survival budget, if you have kids, you pretty much have to have a two-income household. I mean, the old fashioned, ‘somebody gets to stay at home with the kids,’ that’s almost unrealistic these days.”
Scraping by
For the Affantranger family, and thousands of families like them across Rice County, a report wasn’t needed to know how dire the economic situation has become.
It was about 2016 or ‘17 that things started getting bad for the Affantranger matriarch, when her sister died by suicide, her abusive husband was arrested and both the shops she worked at permanently closed.
While most her kids are grown and out of the house, she and her husband still support three kids and a grandkid. She said groceries still cost $200 a week for the family.
The Community Action Center of Faribault has become a valued resource for them, since the no-questions-asked model allows those making above certain income thresholds to still use the food shelf and get other necessities.
“This is great because they just want to help,” Affantranger said. “We love the help.”
But even with nonprofits like Community Action Center or St. Vincent de Paul in Faribault, they’re stretched thin. Food stamps and unemployment during her medical troubles came out to, at most, $305 a week.
When she applies for assistance, she’s told their household income is too high.
“I’m like ‘How can it be too high? I can barely afford gas to get to work,’” she said.
Her husband’s vehicle recently broke down, and they’re down to just one car.
“He’s afraid that part he needs is $1,300,” she said. “We have like $100 and bills to pay.”
Not on par
There are other blindspots, when it comes to federal assistance.
Juana Pérez and her son, Alex Mijares, both are working to provide for their family. The family lives in Northfield. Their interviews were conducted in Spanish, but have been translated into English for publication.
Pérez is a single mother with three sons, and sells skincare products at the local community market to make ends meet after losing her job four months ago. She is an active member of her local church.
She lives without a Social Security number. When applying for financial assistance at her bank, she was told she didn’t make enough — meaning she would qualify — but didn’t have the right paperwork to make it happen.
“This made me feel frustrated and very small,” she said. “Because I’m in a country wherein I’m contributing with my work. Whether you have a Social Security number or not, you have to pay rent, electricity and more that you need to survive in this country.”
She relies on help from her sons, who are forced to work as well. Mijares mentioned his brother serves in the military, so they don’t have access to the third income right now.
“My previous employer gave raises but they weren’t really on par with the economy, which is one of the main reasons why I ended up looking for a different job,” he said. “But even then, it can be difficult sometimes to keep up. But we make it work one way or another.”
While Peréz isn’t working a full-time job at the moment, everyday expenses don’t quit coming in and going up, especially the cost of sports programs for the kids.
One emergency
Those below the ALICE threshold can be described as living paycheck to paycheck, like Nathan Mathiason was when he worked at Casey’s General Store in Medford.
Playing shows with his old rock band, Heaven’s Gate, he’d developed a substance-abuse disorder, which he said landed him in jail for a DWI. He lost his license because of the case, leaving him with just a bicycle.
When he asked for help from a family member, who was fed up with his antics, he violated a restraining order. He lost his job after missing work. He already was hardly able to pay rent, he said.
“I basically had to take a tent and go down the woods,” he said. “Getting a job, that ain’t the problem. Problem is: How do I clean myself? Where do I get soap? Where do I get shampoo?”
He now lives in a tent community somewhere in the woods of rural Faribault with other people living in tents. He washes himself in a park fountain, he said.
“There’s no real program to get you out of your tent and back into a stable living situation where you can shower and then go get a job,” he said. “If you’re not on drugs, a recovery program can’t answer. I mean, I tried. It was hard for me to sit in a group and talk about using when I haven’t done it in so long.”
A transportation issue, legal issue or any number of other emergencies could be all it takes to put almost 6,500 households throughout Rice County in a similar situation, according to the ALICE report.
“I’ve never had to live like this before,” Mathiason said. “This has been the hardest summer in my life. I’ll be honest with you: I contemplate jumping off a f—ing bridge. I want it to end. I want to stop. I keep waking up and there’s no answer. I don’t know what to do.”
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