For nearly seven years, my family and an extraordinary team of people have fought battle after battle in Teton County for something we believed this community desperately needed: housing.
Not simply houses, but homes. Starter homes, multi-family homes, ones within the realm of affordability.
The opportunity for the people who make a Wyoming town what it is, and for them to actually be able build a life here. To have a place in the future, and maybe even room for a family to start a next generation.
I’ve now had a few days to sit with the October 6th vote to allow housing. To absorb it, reflect on it, and finally allow the reality of what happened to sink in.
On October 6th, after all those long years of governmental permit review, we finally celebrated a monumental, narrative-shifting victory.
A victory for my family and our team, certainly. But far more importantly, a victory for the future of this community.
A victory for hope. For possibility. For the teachers, nurses, first responders, working families, and countless others who dedicate their lives to this valley but struggle to find a way to call it home.
And perhaps most meaningfully, a victory for generations of families who haven’t even begun their stories here yet.
I grew up in Teton County. I understand what an extraordinary privilege it is to have roots here, to raise a family here, and to have generations of history tied to this place going back more than 100 years.
That history has shaped who I am, how I see this community, and what I believe we owe to its future.
One of the most meaningful aspects of our small lot housing project is knowing that other families will have the opportunity to build those same roots.
To raise their children here, watch them grow, and perhaps someday see those children raise families of their own.
To become multigenerational Jackson families, too.
That is a beautiful thing. And it is worth fighting for.
But getting here has been anything but easy.
There were countless moments over these nearly seven years when giving up seemed like the most logical thing to do. Moments when obstacles felt insurmountable, when the goalposts moved, and when another setback followed what felt like a hundred before it.
Moments when walking away would have been easier, and perhaps even more reasonable.
But we didn’t.
And I am profoundly grateful that we didn’t let logic have the final say.
We kept believing. In this project, in each other, in ourselves, and, most importantly, in the reason we began this journey in the first place.
We could see what this neighborhood might become long before it felt possible. We understood the opportunity it represented, not just in the number of homes it could provide, but in the lives those homes could change. We believed that if we could find a way forward, we could create something truly meaningful for this community.
When you’ve spent nearly seven years fighting for something, however, you become so accustomed to the fight that it’s difficult to recognize when you’ve finally won.
You spend years bracing for the next obstacle, the next hearing, the next battle. And even when the moment you’ve worked toward finally arrives, it takes time to believe it’s real.
That’s what these last few days have been for me.
Learning to let go of the fight, if only for a moment, and allowing myself to appreciate the magnitude of what we’ve accomplished.
And above all else, what I feel is gratitude.
Gratitude for my family, who never stopped believing. For our team, who poured years of their lives, their hearts, and their determination into making this possible. For everyone who stood beside us, spoke up, showed up, and believed that Jackson could make room for more of its own people.
And especially for the neighbors who demonstrated what it truly means to welcome others into a community.
Among our greatest supporters have been Molly and Wayne Hughes, whose generosity, courage, and conviction deserve special recognition.
Molly and Wayne embody the spirit of “Yes in My Backyard.” Not simply as a slogan, but as a way of living.
As the closest neighbors to this proposed development, they had every opportunity to oppose it. Instead, they welcomed the prospect of a new neighborhood with open arms.
And they didn’t stop there.
They put their money where their mouths are through the Hughes Charitable Foundation donating an extraordinary $15 million toward the construction of Habitat for Humanity homes.
They have stood on this property and led prayers. Wayne and Molly literally pounded wooden stakes into our land with handwritten scripture that said, “Love Your Neighbor As Yourself,” Mark 12:31.
They have shown up, spoken up, and demonstrated the courage to voice uncomfortable truths, even when doing so wasn’t easy or popular.
Their support has been a reminder that being a good neighbor isn’t about protecting what is yours at the expense of someone else’s opportunity. It’s about recognizing that the community we love becomes stronger when more people have the chance to belong to it.
In a valley where conversations about growth and housing can so often be defined by opposition, Molly and Wayne have offered a different example: one rooted in generosity, compassion, and a willingness to be part of the solution.
They have shown that it is possible to deeply love and protect this place while also opening the door for others to call it home.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you, Molly and Wayne. Your belief in this project, your friendship, and your unwavering support have meant more to my family and our team than words can adequately express.
And your example is one I hope our entire community can learn from.
Because the question of housing in Jackson is ultimately about much more than development. It is about what kind of community we want to be, and who will have the opportunity to be part of it.
I understand the instinct to protect this place. I feel it deeply. Having grown up here, being fifth generation here, I know that the character of Jackson is worth preserving.
But I also believe we need to ask ourselves an important question: What, exactly, are we protecting it from? From the teacher who wants to live in the community where she teaches? From the nurse who hopes to avoid driving over a snowy mountain pass after a 12-hour shift? From the young family trying to establish the same roots that so many of us have been fortunate enough to inherit?
We cannot claim to value the character of this community while making it increasingly difficult for the people who give it that character to remain here.
And we cannot preserve Jackson’s future by closing the door behind those of us who were fortunate enough to find our place in it.
That is why this project has always represented something much bigger than housing to me and my family..
It is about belonging. About opportunity. About the possibility that the next generation of Jackson locals might include families who otherwise would never have had the chance to stay.
Because what good is protecting a place if we lose the people who make it worth protecting?
There is still work ahead. The vote on October 6th does not erase the challenges of the past seven years, nor does it mean that every obstacle has disappeared. But it represents a profound step forward and a reason to believe that meaningful progress is possible, even when the path is long and difficult.
Nearly seven years later, I am proud, relieved, emotional, and more hopeful than I have been in a very long time.
And someday, when families are moving into their homes, children are riding bikes through the neighborhood, and generations of memories are being made, I hope to look back on every difficult moment and know, without a doubt, that it was worth it.
Not because we won a vote.
But because we helped make room for someone else’s future.
Here’s to believing in something bigger than ourselves. To refusing to give up. And to making room for the next generation of Jackson.
Nikki Gill, Jackson
