Vail Valley Teachers Face Housing Crisis as High Costs Force Evictions

The housing market in the valley doesn’t just push out the wealthy; it’s quietly evicting the people who keep the lights on.

Larkin Pauls, a fifth grader at Brush Creek Elementary, isn’t writing from a position of detached economic theory. She’s writing because she’s watching her teachers leave. The claim is simple, provocative, and entirely counterintuitive to the usual real estate narrative: the community isn’t just losing homes; it’s losing its backbone. If we can’t afford to house the teachers, firefighters, and paramedics who help us sleep at night, then our "wonderful, safe place" is a facade.

Here’s the thing though. We tend to think of housing affordability as a problem for the young professional couple buying their first condo. We ignore the veteran educator who’s been teaching in the district for a decade but can’t find a place to park her dog. Pauls highlights a teacher who had to scramble for temporary housing after her lease fell through, left without a proper space to rest or recharge. That’s not just an inconvenience. That’s instability.

And it’s not just new teachers. Even experienced educators are struggling with the physical reality of high-cost living. Pauls shares the story of another kindergarten teacher who moved from Ohio, only to find herself in a lockoff with no room for furniture. The building wasn’t pet-friendly. So, her dog stayed in Ohio. The teacher had to decide what furniture to bring because space was so tight. It sounds absurd. It’s actually a crisis.

We need to look at what’s already working before we invent new solutions. Randy Wyrick reported in May 2019 that Habitat for Humanity Vail Valley partnered with Eagle County Schools to break ground on 12 homes specifically for district employees. It was the nation’s first of its kind. That partnership proved that targeted, specific interventions can work. But Pauls argues that 12 homes isn’t enough. We need more programs like this. We need a system where helping our community doesn’t mean sacrificing your own comfort.

Some folks might argue that if a teacher can’t afford housing, they should move to a cheaper town. That’s the easy answer. It’s not the right one. If we lose our teachers, our firefighters, and our paramedics because they’re sleeping in cars or temporary rentals, the entire valley suffers. The quality of life drops. The sense of community frays.

Pauls suggests practical steps: discounts at local stores, more organizations dedicated to supporting these workers, and a collective effort to change the narrative. She advises new teachers to get involved, to make friends, to build a network that can help navigate the chaos. But advice isn’t a lease.

The letter ends with a warning that feels urgent. If we ignore the housing crisis for the "important people," we lose them. And when they leave, we’re left with a hollow shell of a town. We need to find ways to provide affordable housing not as a charity case, but as a community investment. Because a town without its teachers is just a collection of buildings.

Picture a classroom in Brush Creek. The teacher is there, but she’s tired. She’s thinking about her dog in Ohio. She’s wondering if she can afford to stay another year. That’s the cost of doing business if we don’t fix the housing squeeze.