A Colorado homebuilder turned nonprofit CEO created a co-housing model for former foster youth and older adults at risk of homelessness.

For decades, Carlton Mason relied on what he called the “school of self-employment” where “every problem is yours to fix” in his work as a tile and stone subcontractor for high-end homes. But he never imagined he’d use those skills to run a nonprofit helping two high-risk populations: young adults coming out of foster care and adults 62 and older facing homelessness. As CEO of CASA of the 7th Judicial District, a Montrose, Colorado-based child advocacy organization, Mason created the state’s first rural intergenerational supportive housing development, or what he calls a community of “belonging and shared accountability.”

The development in Montrose, a city of 20,000 in southwest Colorado, is named the Village — and it looks like one, with 45 tiny houses clustered in groups of three with shared walkways and big-sky mountain views. The one- and two-bedroom units are models of “biophilic design,” an architectural approach that integrates nature to improve health, well-being and productivity. There’s a tenant-built garden blossoming with flowers and vegetables, a 2,800-square-foot community center with a kitchen-dining room and rec room, and even community solar power to keep energy costs down. Tenants, who range in age from 18 to 81, socialize over holiday meals and take field trips to go fishing, pet horses or pump iron at the local recreation center. 

Mason was in his late forties, having stepped out of subcontractor work and into homeschooling his daughter, when his wife recommended he check out a job at the local Court Appointed Special Advocates (CASA7JD), focused on supporting foster children. Motivated by the chance to help neglected and abused kids, Mason joined the organization as a volunteer coordinator in 2013. He soon realized that the tiny nonprofit with an annual budget of $254,000 could barely make payroll and that providing legal support for kids in the foster system — and then closing their cases when they turned 18 — was counterproductive.

Many of the newly designated adults weren’t heading for first jobs and new relationships but for mental illness, drug addiction, homelessness or prison. “If a kid has been in foster care, chances are you will be dealing with that kid again at 18,” he says. “Some very high percentage of them end up dealing with law enforcement. They’re just social, emotional, behavioral health issues that were never resolved.”

Over the next two years, Mason rose from CASA7JD’s volunteer coordinator to its executive director, telling the board it could fire him if he failed to turn around the nonprofit in six months. They didn’t. CASA7JD has expanded its mission to include supportive services for younger and older adults and now has a $2.4 million annual budget, a full-time staff of 12, and housing assets worth $14 million and rising.

“How Many Houses Do You Want?”

Opened in September 2024, the Village was prompted by Mason’s call with a director from the Area Agency on Aging who had $1 million to spend on housing. “I’ll take your million. How many houses do you want?” Mason remembers asking. “She said, ‘Well, we could use 15 for homeless seniors.’ I said, ‘Well, we’ll do 15 for our group,’” thinking the arrangement could be a win-win for two vulnerable populations. Within two years, he had raised $10 million from a combination of government, foundation and local donors and signed on a bank loan of $1.5 million. 

Mason emphasizes the project is designed to give taxpayers a “social return on investment,” meaning what’s spent on supportive housing is saved from emergency room visits and law enforcement. The Village currently generates $559,000 yearly in rent revenue, he says. Tenants pay up to a third of their gross income to live in 30 of the tiny homes; 12 units are available for those who qualify for affordable housing; and three are for rapid-response bridge housing, to get a person in crisis inside within hours. The young adults get jobs and must move by age 25; the seniors have landed a forever home.

This “housing first” model includes financial, employment and other support services from CASA7JD’s staff, some survivors of domestic violence, homelessness or addiction. Around 15 who have served as staff or interns were once tenants in one of the nonprofit’s three housing developments. “There’s a certain amount of learning they have that you’re not going to get anywhere else,” Mason explains of his preference for hiring people who bring lived experiences rather than advanced degrees. The nonprofit helps staff get credentialed in “co-active coaching,” where case workers and clients work as partners to solve problems. 

Jarrod Herrick is a former tenant who joined CASA7JD’s staff. A quick and verbal 25-year-old who grew up with bouts of homelessness, Herrick credits Mason and his colleagues with giving him stability. Just before 18, he moved into 1st Place on 2nd Street, the nonprofit’s first supportive housing development. After about three years, he left to live with friends but soon found his way back to the CASA7JD community and its Youth Access Center with a big living room and smoothie bar. “I went through a rough patch, and I really missed the vibe that I got when I came into the building,” Herrick says. He then became a peer support specialist “to give back and be the person that gives support versus taking the support.” 

New Friendships, Old Trauma

Mason, whose approach to supportive housing is shaped by his Christian faith and parenting experiences, believes people can find strength from helping themselves and others. 

“I won the lottery, I would have been homeless,” says Lisa Jackson, 66, who has no family and lost her trailer home before moving into the Village. She’s become close to a young neighbor named Isaac, who as he reaches 25 is getting ready to move out of the Village. “Bye is not bye forever,” says Isaac, sitting with Jackson at a picnic table at the block party. “That’s right,” responds Jackson, “Isaac is welcome at my house anytime. That’s how close we’ve become.”

Scott Stryker, the Montrose contractor who built the Village, says that he and other local builders and designers have gotten involved, often for low fees, because of Mason’s passion and energy. “The elders mentoring the younger people, that’s a pretty cool story. I had that in my life,” says Stryker. 

Still, past traumas haunt Village residents. Six months after the their first housing development opened in 2018, a young tenant committed suicide. Mason went down to the property in the middle of the night. “I’ve got my tenants locked in their rooms trying to figure out how to deal with the trauma because probably 95 percent of them have suicidal ideation,” he says. Police called a mental health provider who, Mason recalls, gave out a business card and left. “All I could do that night was walk around to these young people and just simply say, ‘Look, I’m not going to pretend I know how you feel. I don’t. I’m way out of my depth. But you matter to me. And I’ll be here as long as you’d like me to be.’”

“After 13 years of working with troubled but promising young people, Mason is now turning his attention to developing wealth-building opportunities.”

In 2020, CASA7JD piloted the Financial Literacy and Exchange (FLEX) Program, a matching-fund, escrow-like savings account for people in supportive housing that encouraged employment and saw some tenants saving up to $15,000. The pilot program was set to go statewide in 2022, but the Colorado legislature pulled funding in 2025 due to budget cuts; Mason has tapped a local credit union to keep the program partially going. Mason argues that former tenants and other young adults must have opportunities to save, not only for rental deposits and educational expenses but eventually to own their homes. He expects philanthropists and legislators to understand, and meet, this need.

“These kids are going to be broke forever on minimum wage if we don’t figure out how to help,” he says. “When there is no intergenerational wealth, 10 years later they’ve got a TV, a broken-down car — this is all they own. We need to create a dynamic where they have opportunity.”