The state of the housing market in Vermont is discouraging, to put it lightly. Late-night browsing of home prices on Zillow can make Ohio look enticing. Many Vermonters can rattle off a list of friends who have left the state in search of more affordable rent. Nearly 3,500 Vermonters were unhoused in January 2024.
“In some ways, we saw this problem coming, and in other ways, this is worse than we could have ever expected,” said Maura Collins, executive director of the Vermont Housing Finance Agency, a nonprofit that underwrites affordable housing.
Vermont would have to add 41,000 new homes by 2030 — about 8,200 housing units a year — to address the state’s immense housing need, according to an assessment by the Agency of Commerce and Community Development. In 2024, communities issued building permits for only 2,654 new homes.
There are many reasons for this daunting shortage, including the state’s aging housing stock and low construction rate, and the conversion of homes and apartments to short-term rentals. Record-breaking floods in 2023 and 2024 further eroded the housing supply. Vermont is affected by national trends — inflation, tariffs, disrupted supply chains — that make it more expensive to build homes here.
“We can’t just wait. We need places for people to live, and those places are disappearing right in front of us.” Linda Ramsdell
While the state has funneled more than $500 million in federal pandemic relief funds to advance a variety of housing projects, that money is drying up. Legislators have turned to regulatory reform to spur housing construction and are wrangling this week over a bill, the Community Housing Infrastructure Program, intended to help pay for parts of new housing projects, such as streets and sidewalks.
“We can’t just wait,” said Linda Ramsdell, president of Headwaters Community Trust, an effort by residents of Albany, Craftsbury, Glover and Greensboro to lower the cost of new homes through community-based land ownership. “We need places for people to live, and those places are disappearing right in front of us.”
The Headwaters trust is just one example of some Vermonters taking matters into their own hands. Equipped with nothing more than creative ideas, everyday people — truck drivers, nannies, retirees and nonprofit workers — are meeting in living rooms and town halls to dream up solutions for themselves and their communities. Their widely varying ideas include such approaches as municipally funded neighborhoods, affordably built tiny homes, cooperatively owned housing and community land trusts.
Some of these grassroots trailblazers are reimagining how we live. More Vermonters are seeking information about cooperative living arrangements and communal housing initiatives, according to Collins. They’re embracing practices such as intergenerational living, resource sharing and land stewardship.
It’s not always easy to turn these ideas into reality, though. Mom-and-pop housing innovators are fighting the same headwinds as the big guys, often with fewer resources. Still, Collins thinks these housing alternatives, some in their infancy, deserve attention. Homegrown ideas often turn out to be the most valuable and replicable in the long run, she said. And with state or municipal investment, they could grow in scale.
In fact, the Champlain Housing Trust, now the largest community land trust in the country, had grassroots beginnings. Two nonprofits that launched in 1984 — the Burlington Community Land Trust, seeded with $200,000 in funds from the city to build affordable shared-equity housing, and the Lake Champlain Housing Development Corporation — merged in 2006 to become Champlain Housing Trust. Today. it’s the largest home provider in the state, managing more than 2,600 apartments.
“What makes the housing crisis so complex is that it is not a single-issue dilemma, and therefore there’s no single silver bullet,” Collins said. “We need to be trying out all sorts of things. We need all of these ideas to be put on steroids.”
Vermont has long incubated alternative ways of living. The state was in the vanguard of the back-to-the-land movement of the 1970s. But Collins and other housing advocates say residents must embrace more change, and quickly, in order to prevent the state from “becoming a playground for the rich and famous,” as Collins put it.
“This is a ripe time to do things differently than how we’ve always done it,” she said.
Seven Days gathered the stories of six grassroots housing ventures that reflect an array of local strategies, focusing on community-level efforts that could be replicated. Here are some of the clever, gritty and outright visionary housing ideas that Vermonters are making a reality.
Higher Ground
The Plainfield Village Expansion Project
Walker Blackwell couldn’t believe his luck when his family moved into their dream home, a modern timber-frame house just a three-minute walk from downtown Plainfield. Out-of-state buyers had been clamoring to buy the place, but Blackwell, a Vermont native, wooed the seller with a letter describing his dream of raising a family surrounded by friends and relatives in Plainfield.
Just two days after the Blackwells’ move in July 2023, the Great Brook inundated Plainfield. The family’s basement filled with water, damaging $60,000 worth of belongings still neatly packed in cardboard boxes.
The next year, Plainfield flooded again. While the Blackwells fared better that time, a number of their neighbors’ homes became unlivable. A riverside apartment building known as the Heartbreak Hotel collapsed and washed away.
“It was devastating,” Blackwell said. “It’s depressing living here now. This whole neighborhood filled with silt and emptied out.”
Plainfield residents mobilized to muck out basements but began to understand that the town — home of the former Goddard College and a longtime mecca for out-of-the-box thinkers — was at risk of serious decline.
About 38 homeowners in Plainfield, including the Blackwells, applied to the Federal Emergency Management Agency for buyouts that would allow their homes to be razed. Up to 11 percent of the town’s grand list value could be lost.
Residents started gathering last August to discuss how they might quickly add more housing. When two landowners offered to sell the town roughly 24 acres just outside the village, the group wondered, What if the town created a new neighborhood for displaced residents?
Seventeen volunteers led by Heartbreak Hotel owner Arion Thiboumery began work on a plan to turn that land into approximately 40 affordable house lots. The town would extend sewer lines, water and electricity to make the lots less expensive to build upon. Parcels would sell for about $30,000 to $100,000 based on size. Builders or future residents would pursue construction on their own.
“The same old, same old is not working in Vermont,” said Lauren Geiger, who cochairs the 11-member East Village Expansion Advisory Committee with Thiboumery and theater artist and former legislator Donny Osman. “This seems like an extremely good opportunity to do something creative and different.”
By March, the volunteers had come up with three conceptual drawings, a projected budget and a loose plan to keep the endeavor cost-neutral for the town: Plainfield would borrow to buy the land and install the utilities and then would sell parcels at cost to those who wanted to build there.
On Town Meeting Day, voters approved a zoning revision allowing houses to be built closer together and a plan to establish a reserve fund for the project. Soon after that, the Plainfield Selectboard created the advisory committee.
Then the project encountered some headwinds. “It’s kind of two steps forward, one step back,” said Will Colgan, Plainfield’s Planning Commission chair.
First, supporters of the village expansion had to defeat an attempt to rescind the March zoning changes that would allow the smaller lots needed to make the project financially feasible. Some naysayers, worried the increased density would change the character of the town, successfully petitioned for reconsideration. On May 20, residents reaffirmed the new zoning in a 152-82 vote, keeping the project alive.
In the meantime, however, a reanalysis revealed that the project might cost $4 million to $5 million, about double the initial estimate. Creating the new neighborhood is intended to be cost-neutral for the town. Since the advisory team wants to hold down the price of each lot, the new cost estimate has it scrambling to find additional funds and to apply for federal disaster recovery grants designated for projects in Washington County.
Advisory committee members also hope that the Vermont legislature will pass the Community Housing Infrastructure Program, which would allow municipalities such as Plainfield to borrow money to build roads, water lines and sewers to serve new housing. The money would be repaid over time from property taxes paid by the new development. That could be an alternative way to finance the village expansion.
Despite the urgency to help displaced residents, the advisory committee has slowed down to ensure that the project is financially sound. While the group had hoped to acquire the land and start selling lots this fall, it looks like that won’t happen until sometime next year.
The clock is ticking for Blackwell’s family, whose FEMA buyout has been approved. The project is the only hope that he and his wife have to raise their children, ages 2 and 4, in Plainfield. And, while they have widened their search to all of Washington County, they have been unable to find an affordable, flood-safe home.
“We are really feeling an accelerated need for this [project],” Blackwell said. “It’s the kind of thing that, if it actually works, could be a model for other towns and a chance to keep on calling Plainfield home.”
‘A Cross-Class Community’
Collectively Owned Home in St. Albans
When Andrés Oyaga signed the closing contract for a charming two-story house in St. Albans in May, he became the first person in his family to own a home. A Los Angeles native, Oyaga, 24, is the child of Guatemalan and Colombian immigrants who worked as day laborers. He moved to Vermont in 2019 to attend Middlebury College, where he fell in love with the state’s rural landscape and politically engaged populace.
After graduating, he took a job as a labor rights worker and rented a room in a communal home in Burlington owned by Alyssa Chen, a co-coordinator of the nonprofit Education Justice Coalition of Vermont. Chen told him she was looking for a different model of homeownership.
“I never dreamed I could own a home.” Andrés Oyaga
“I never wanted to be a landlord and extract wealth from people long term,” Chen said. Instead, she was interested in cooperative ownership, a housing model that enables people to jointly own shares of a building. She had been discussing the idea for years with her friend and roommate, Liz Goodwin, and her sister Laurel. She soon recruited Oyaga.
After attending several meetings, Oyaga was excited to join. “Housing has always been … a cause of stress for me,” he said. “I never dreamed I could own a home.”
In March the four cemented a plan, envisioning a space that would allow them to balance autonomy and privacy with community. A few days later, Alyssa learned that a friend of a friend was selling a 3,819-square-foot home in St. Albans for $685,000. The Chens, Goodwin and Oyaga toured the sage-green Victorian and fell in love.
The three-story home was large enough to accommodate the creation of three “pods” — two-bedroom sections of the house with their own bathrooms and kitchenettes. The owners will share a common kitchen and living room. The lot has room to build a freestanding accessory dwelling unit in the backyard.
The group decided to buy the house as “tenants in common” — a legal term to describe a form of collective property ownership — rather than as a cooperative, because creating a co-op requires more complicated legal arrangements. The four owners aim to eventually transition to formal co-op ownership that would make the home permanently affordable.
Most banks in Vermont do not loan money for collectively owned homes, so the group has arranged a $200,000 loan from Alyssa and Laurel’s parents instead. Their monthly payments on that portion of the financing will be around $200 to $300 per person each month.
Even so, “It’s been extremely complicated to set this all up,” Alyssa said. She’s grateful that her remote gig gave her the time and flexibility to work with a real estate lawyer. She’s keenly aware that not everyone who is interested in joint homeownership can do that.
The group hopes that the state will help future collectives by making it easier for co-ops to secure mortgages or exempting them from costly reporting requirements.
To finance the purchase of the home, each of the members is paying a $100,000 share. Alyssa, who has inherited money, is paying half of Oyaga’s portion, which will stay with the house if he moves on, as well as an additional $85,000; Laurel chipped in an extra $35,000. Oyaga raised the rest of his share through personal loans and donations.
“This is a potential model for people with and without wealth to work together to build a cross-class community,” Alyssa said.
The group is ensuring the home stays permanently affordable. Each member has agreed to live there for at least three years. If one of them chooses to leave before then, their initial investment will be refunded to them but not any equity the group has accrued. The group also plans to create bylaws that prohibit the home itself from ever being sold outright.
“I think of what we’re doing as an example of how people with resources can redistribute and support community members with less resources,” Oyaga said. “Not in a charity way, but in a collaborative way.”
In July, the four will finally move into the St. Albans house. There’s plenty of work to be done to reach their final vision of a collective home. But they can hardly wait.
Rutland Calling
Partners in Housing
An estimated 240 vacant housing units have languished in Rutland even as the state pays to house homeless people in local motels. Now, there’s an organized effort to get those empty units fixed up and occupied again.
Every month, a cross-disciplinary gathering of developers, lawmakers and nonprofit leaders meets to work on transforming underused properties in Rutland. Developer Stephen Box launched the gatherings in 2023.
The group, Partners in Housing, is built on a simple premise: By connecting small-scale developers such as Box with the investors, tradespeople and support they need to restore abandoned homes, affordable housing can be brought online more quickly than if Vermonters rely solely on large-scale, state-funded projects.
Box knows what these ventures require. In 2023, he transformed a blighted bike shop in Rutland into eight units of affordable housing for veterans who have experienced homelessness.
Like Box, other developers often leverage the state’s five-year-old Vermont Housing Improvement Program, which offers property owners grants of up to $50,000 to help fix up vacant units and get them on the market at reasonable rates.
To date, the program has awarded $41 million in grants to help rehab more than 1,000 rental units — 156 of them in the Rutland area, more than in any other county. The state’s 2025-2026 state budget provides another $4 million for the effort.
“We need everybody at every level, not just the people who build 300 units at a time,” Box said.
Box is 67 and a self-described “citizen developer.” He cofounded Partners in Housing and this year brought on Scott Graves, a developer who specializes in senior housing, and Mike Waugh, the CEO of Verent Solutions, a technology company. The group offers a vision of affordable housing development in which anyone can, and should, get involved.
“We want to create an environment of entrepreneurship and solutions,” Graves said. “We want to empower mom-and-pop developers to put a house back online.”
Box and Graves, for example, hope to take on at least two to four properties annually themselves. Through Partners in Housing, the two have connected with and started mentoring novice developers, leading workshops on topics such as zoning and accessory dwelling units.
Box encourages small-scale developers in other parts of the state to follow his lead. “What we’re doing isn’t rocket science,” he said. “We’re just getting people together.”
Partners in Housing also offers opportunities for impassioned residents to get directly involved. Its meetings are open to all. Susan and Jack Crowther, retired octogenarians who have lived in Rutland for 56 years, have attended.
“We have all of these vacant or run-down properties,” Susan said. “We want to see them reoccupied and do what we can to make that happen.”
The Crowthers met Todd Barnett, a California transplant investing in the local housing market, at a Partners in Housing session. Barnett is one of the up-and-coming developers Box and Graves have taken under their wing. Barnett owns two small rental properties that he wants to transform into at least eight units of affordable housing.
The Crowthers appreciated his vision and enterprising spirit. After touring his properties, the couple agreed to loan him $25,000 to $50,000 to expedite the renovations after he has finalized a construction contract.
At other Partners in Housing meetings, municipal staff have collaborated with developers. In February, Rutland City Mayor Michael Doenges discussed with members the possibility of creating a database of vacant homes to help small-scale developers identify priority properties. Attendees also discussed creating a land bank — a holding for underutilized land for future development — while a local carpenter and developer negotiated a “sweat-equity” arrangement, providing labor for a share of equity in the project.
Sure, it was all talk, but as Box insists, that’s how all good plans start.
Enjoying Company
HomeShare Vermont
Despite their age difference, Honey Donegan, 76, and Kayla Mazza, 30, consider themselves perfectly paired housemates.
On weeknights, the duo watches “Jeopardy” together. On weekends, they enjoy long, rambling conversations over coffee. Sometimes they share meals. But they also respect one another’s need for alone time.
“We’ve found a great balance,” Mazza said. “We’re similar in that we really enjoy each other’s company but are very independent.”
HomeShare Vermont, a nonprofit that pairs homeowners with potential housemates, brought the pair together in 2024. Donegan, a part-time nanny, was having trouble keeping up with the membership costs of her home, which is part of a housing association in Quechee.
“I knew I would either have to sell my home, get two jobs or look into somebody moving in,” she said.
Mazza, meanwhile, had just started work as a data analyst at a White River Junction nonprofit and was commuting an hour each way from her parents’ home in Waterbury. Apartments near Mazza’s new workplace were well out of her price range.
Out of desperation, both women turned to HomeShare. The organization’s goal is to make affordable housing available while offering companionship and assistance to people who need it. Many hosts are older; their average age last year was 72.
HomeShare matches people through a series of in-depth interviews, in-person meetings and a 14-day live-in trial period. If each party wants to proceed, as happens nine times out of 10, then HomeShare negotiates a formal arrangement.
Arrangements can be strictly monetary or could involve lower rent in exchange for performing chores such as yard work, cleaning and shopping. In some arrangements, the guest provides more assistance to the host and pays no rent. The average monthly rent for HomeShare guests in 2024 was $359. (The organization sets a rent limit of $650.)
Founded in 1982, HomeShare is not a new housing solution. But as the affordability crisis has worsened, interest and matches have surged, executive director Connor Timmons said.
“It’s almost as if all of these years were leading up to this moment,” he said. “What we offer is exactly what folks need.”
The number of applicants surged from 452 in 2019 to 693 last year. In just the first four months of this year, 533 people have applied and HomeShare has matched 263 individuals. Anyone can apply, and the organization is always looking for more hosts.
This coming year, HomeShare plans to expand its service area to include the Northeast Kingdom, meaning it will serve 12 counties.
“As soon as we expand to one town, others start calling asking for us,” Timmons said.
Timmons thinks that HomeShare’s boom also reflects a growing desire for shared living arrangements. In a survey last year, 76 percent of participants reported feeling less lonely.
Donegan and Mazza say they appreciate living with someone from a different generation and perspective. Donegan feels a sense of security knowing that if she does “something stupid, Kayla will be back by 5 p.m.”
Mazza, meanwhile, said living with Donegan has changed her idea of what constitutes a good life. “People my age are taught that we should be super independent,” she said. “We overlook the importance of having a community within the home.”
A Tiny Solution
The Dandelion Housing Project
Murphy Robinson has lived for 12 years in his 72-square-foot tiny home on wheels, complete with a wood-fired stove and composting toilet. Building his “tiny,” which cost about $5,000, was the best financial decision the 43-year-old ever made, he said proudly, because it allowed him to eventually purchase a plot of land in Worcester.
“I have gained so much personal freedom in building and living in an affordable tiny home,” he said.
Robinson, who is transgender, said in recent years, more and more of his friends, many of whom identify as LGBTQ+, have been drawn to Vermont by its reputation for tolerance. Some have faced housing insecurity, made worse by recent floods. The wilderness educator turned truck driver realized that his tiny home building skills could help others.
“What young person who doesn’t have a trust fund can afford to live in Vermont right now?” Robinson asked.
He has long viewed tiny homes as a housing option for those willing to sacrifice modern comforts for affordability, though he knows they’re not for everyone.
Also, most prebuilt tiny homes cost anywhere from $90,000 to $150,000 — not a truly affordable housing solution.
So in 2023, when he and some of his coworkers decided to leave their jobs at a food delivery service in Berlin, he pitched them on starting an affordable tiny home building project. The need was especially pressing given the recent floods in central Vermont.
“What young person who doesn’t have a trust fund can afford to live in Vermont right now?” Murphy Robinson
The ex-coworkers founded the Dandelion Housing Project. Its website describes the effort as “a collective of non-traditional builders with a passion for solving the housing crisis through small & simple solutions” and notes that the group is “queer as a three dollar bill.”
Dandelion Housing is technically a for-profit in the process of becoming a cooperatively owned LLC but can receive donations through its fiscal sponsor, the nonprofit Community Resilience Organizations, which sprang up in Vermont after Tropical Storm Irene.
That summer, the newly formed collective and a smattering of volunteers got to work building a livable tiny home prototype for about $40,000. Silas Wood, a member of the building crew, volunteered to finance construction of the house. He now lives in it on Robinson’s property.
The mobile structure they built is remarkably homey, and, at 8 by 20 feet, much larger than Robinson’s. With a high ceiling, many windows and a woodstove, the home feels both cozy and spacious. It includes a simple bathroom with a composting toilet and basic shower and an elevated sleeping nook with overhead storage space.
Still, the home is bare-bones compared to many tiny homes on the market. That’s intentional. Fancy appliances and finishes would drive the cost higher. The builders would like to keep the base cost of a Dandelion House at $50,000 to $55,000, with options for clients to add a woodstove for $5,000 and electrical wiring for $7,000.
“We sell warm, well-lit boxes,” Robinson said.
Encouraged by the success of the prototype, the “dandy crew,” as they call themselves, built a $40,000 tiny home on wheels last summer for an artist. The inaugural client has been living in the home for almost a year and loves it, Robinson said.
Wood and Robinson, the core members of the team, work part time as truck drivers to make ends meet and to retain health insurance. This summer, they plan to build a somewhat larger 640-square-foot stationary house for Robinson, who has decided he wants more room than his current extra-tiny home provides.
They aim to keep the cost under $80,000 and potentially to use the home — they are calling it the Goldenrod — as a prototype for an affordable stand-alone model they could build elsewhere in Washington County while continuing to offer their trademark tiny.
The group, which is taking on an intern this summer, would like to grow the team to increase its capacity. Members also hope eventually to build a large garage so that they can build tiny homes year-round, but that would be costly. The Dandelion collective welcomes volunteers and is looking for help making the garage project a reality. Murphy envisions a future in which building and parking tiny homes becomes relatively easy for Vermonters.
Right now, finding a legal place to put a tiny home can be difficult. While local codes in Vermont generally allow them, specific regulations vary by municipality. Robinson thinks that the state’s wastewater regulations — which are designed for conventional homes — also limit the number of places people can park a tiny home.
Despite the limitations, there’s clearly an interest. More than 20 people have reached out to the group hoping to eventually purchase a Dandelion home.
In the meantime, Robinson and Woods are encouraging potential clients to learn more about building a tiny, or perhaps give it a go. Dandelion led a series of tiny home building and financing workshops at Common Ground Country Fair in Unity, Maine last September.
“It’s an incredibly satisfying way to live,” Wood said. “I don’t regret it for a second.”
‘Permanently affordable’
The Vermont Real Estate Cooperative
The Vermont Real Estate Cooperative is a housing solution hidden in plain sight. Nothing stands out to people passing by the gabled house on Malletts Bay Avenue in Winooski.
In fact, the building is part of a cooperative business, collectively owned by 76 Vermont residents interested in taking housing off the speculative market. It’s the second property the five-year-old co-op has invested in and home to three households. They pay about $2,000 per month for their three- and four-bedroom apartments — roughly $1,000 less than the market rate in the city.
“We’re bypassing the contradictory situation of homeownership where a home is an asset that you have to make sure appreciates in value,” Matt Cropp said. He’s the treasurer of the co-op and, perhaps not so coincidentally, executive director of the Vermont Employee Ownership Center, which helps businesses transition ownership to their employees. “We’re trying to create permanently affordable housing.”
The premise is relatively simple: Vermont residents can become member-owners of the co-op by buying one or more $1,000 shares. Each of the members, regardless of how many shares they own, has one vote in business decisions. No member can own more than 10 percent of the total member equity, which is currently about $360,000, and return on investment is limited to 6 percent annually. So far, members have gotten a 4 percent dividend each year.
“It’s less precarious and less exploitative than traditional renting.” Matt Cropp
The co-op initially emerged as a project of the Vermont Solidarity Investing Club, which has invested more than $60,000 in cooperative businesses across the state. When some members — including Cropp, who was chair of the club — learned about the NorthEast Investment Cooperative in Minneapolis, they decided to create something similar in Vermont. The investing club has since morphed into the Vermont Real Estate Co-op.
The co-op purchased its first property in 2020: a commercial space in Burlington that is rented to Good News Garage, a nonprofit that gives refurbished cars to people in need. The investment gave the group a chance to “put its training wheels on,” said co-op president Arion Thiboumery, who is also involved in the Plainfield project. “We’re able to show that it doesn’t just need to be a nonprofit player who can do this.”
Thiboumery sees the Vermont Real Estate Co-op as filling an important niche, preserving affordable housing by buying homes before they skyrocket in value. The group focuses on properties with fewer than 20 units, which is too small for some affordable housing developers to bother with.
The co-op collaborates with the nonprofit Vermont Community Loan Fund, which provides low-interest financing in exchange for the co-op’s promise to keep rent in line with the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development’s fair market prices.
Meanwhile, members — including one member-tenant — benefit from something “in-between rental and homeownership,” Cropp said, building limited equity on the value of the co-op rather than the value of a home. Members can sell their shares to cash out at any time, subject to board approval.
“It’s less precarious and less exploitative than traditional renting,” he added.
It’s also an accessible investment option because of the $1,000 buy-in. Caitlin Waddick, vice president of the co-op’s board, decided to invest because she wanted to help address the state’s housing crisis.
“Part of my interest was wanting to invest in my own community but needing it to be in a place where it was at least keeping up with inflation,” Waddick said. “For me, in an ethical sense, this is that happy middle ground.”
Thiboumery and Cropp share a long-term vision. Once the co-op owns five properties in Chittenden County, it will begin acquiring homes elsewhere until it has a statewide network.
The co-op is always taking on new members and encourages those interested in starting something similar in other parts of the state to reach out.
The board is focused now on finding a third investment property and hiring a full-time property manager, which will help them put more energy into growing the co-op’s profile. At the moment, volunteer board members are bogged down with the day-to-day operation of the two properties, which includes plumbing and electrical work, on top of their day jobs. The co-op is currently negotiating the purchase of an apartment building in Burlington’s Old North End. The members want to be sure their next investment is a smart one.
The co-op’s scrappiness is also its greatest asset, Thiboumery said. “When the political winds blow the wrong direction, which is happening now, we aren’t just going to fold,” he said. “Our funding comes from our community. We can be resilient in these moments.”
Staff writer Kevin McCallum contributed to this report.
Clarification, May 29, 2025: This post was updated to include additional detail about the financing of the St. Albans co-op.
The original print version of this article was headlined “Home Hacks | Co-ops, community partnerships and tiny homes: Vermonters pursue innovative solutions during an unrelenting housing crisis”
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