I don't want to break the law. I'd like to live within it.
In the mountains above Aspen, Colorado, a military veteran spent a decade building a life fifteen metres off the ground — a solar-powered, reclaimed-material treehouse he believed stood on public land. It did not. Now Pitkin County, acting on behalf of property law and building codes, is moving to dismantle what Matthew Franzen calls a living experiment in sustainable dwelling, and a July trial will decide whether a decade of careful, low-impact construction amounts to something worth preserving — or simply a violation that must be undone.
- Franzen faces not only the loss of his home but a criminal trespassing charge, placing a decade of deliberate, self-sufficient living suddenly in the territory of lawbreaking.
- The land he built on belongs to Pyramid Ranch LLC, a private entity tied to the billionaire Crown family — owners of the Aspen Skiing Company — adding a sharp class dimension to what might otherwise read as a simple zoning dispute.
- County officials insist the structure poses genuine safety risks and that no one is above building regulations, yet they acknowledge spending years searching for alternatives before filing suit.
- A crowdfunding campaign and vocal public support have reframed Franzen as a symbol of Aspen's housing affordability crisis, turning a local legal matter into a broader argument about who gets to inhabit an increasingly unaffordable landscape.
- A July trial now holds the fate of the structure — and the question of whether any compromise between environmental idealism and property law is still possible.
Matthew Franzen has spent the past decade living fifteen metres above the ground near Aspen, Colorado, in a three-storey treehouse he built largely from reclaimed materials. Accessible by zipline and powered by solar panels, the structure — which he named the Treehouse Environmental Living Experiment, or TELE — was designed as a working demonstration of sustainable living. For ten years, he drew nothing from municipal utilities and left no cost to local infrastructure.
In March, Pitkin County filed a lawsuit alleging building code violations and unpermitted construction on private land. Franzen also faces a separate criminal trespassing charge. The hillside he built on, which he believed to be public, belongs to Pyramid Ranch LLC — a private entity owned by the Crown family, the billionaire owners of the Aspen Skiing Company.
Franzen, a military veteran and arborist, has said he has no wish to defy the law — only to find a way to live within it. County officials say they spent years exploring alternatives, including relocation options, before the lawsuit proceeded. Yet the case moved forward, prompting public criticism from those who questioned the use of legal resources in the absence of any complaint from the actual landowner.
A GoFundMe campaign has drawn attention to Franzen's contributions — reduced wildfire risk, protected mature trees, restored soil health — and positioned his situation as emblematic of Aspen's acute housing affordability crisis. Supporters note that an earlier housing loss, more than a decade ago, was what first led him to build something entirely his own.
A trial is set for July. If the county prevails, the home will be dismantled. The case has become a small but pointed collision between environmental idealism, property rights, and the deeper question of who gets to decide how people live in a place where conventional housing has grown nearly out of reach.
Matthew Franzen has spent the last decade suspended fifteen metres above the ground in a treehouse of his own making, accessible only by zipline, nestled in the steep terrain above Maroon Creek near Aspen, Colorado. The structure he built—three storeys of bedrooms, kitchen, and living spaces woven among the trees—was meant to be more than shelter. He calls it a "Treehouse Environmental Living Experiment," or TELE, a working demonstration that another way of living was possible.
Now Pitkin County wants to tear it down. In March, county officials filed a lawsuit alleging the home violates local building codes and land-use regulations. Franzen also faces a separate criminal trespassing charge. The core issue is straightforward: the treehouse was built without permits on private land, and it has remained in violation despite years of back-and-forth between Franzen and county officials. The county argues the structure poses a severe safety risk and that the same rules must apply to all property owners.
Franzen, a military veteran and arborist, believed when he began construction around 2016 that the land was public. It was not. The hillside belongs to Pyramid Ranch LLC, a private entity owned by the Crown family—the billionaire owners of the Aspen Skiing Company. He built mostly from reclaimed materials, installing solar panels, composting systems, and other environmentally conscious features. For a decade, he lived without connection to municipal utilities, leaving no footprint on the county's infrastructure or budget.
The legal battle has drawn unexpected support. A GoFundMe campaign launched to cover his legal costs frames Franzen as an environmental advocate whose project speaks to Aspen's acute housing affordability crisis. Campaign organizer Anne-Sophie Lenoir highlighted his contributions: reduced wildfire risk, protected mature trees, restored soil health, and zero cost to taxpayers. The campaign also references an earlier chapter of Franzen's life—more than ten years ago, he lost a rental home after being charged under circumstances he believed were unjust. Rather than disappear, he chose to build something of his own.
County lawyer Richard Neiley told The Grand Junction Daily Sentinel that officials had spent years exploring alternatives, including relocation options for both the treehouse and Franzen himself. "We really want to find a positive outcome," he said. Yet the lawsuit proceeded. Aspen real estate agent Gareth Williams questioned the decision on social media, noting that Franzen appeared to be living responsibly, causing no harm, and that pursuing the case seemed like a poor use of public resources—police time, legal time, court time—especially without a complaint from the actual landowner.
Franzen has insisted he is not trying to defy the law. "I don't want to break the law," he told the Aspen Daily News. "I'd like to be able to live within the law." The distinction matters to him. He sees himself not as a scofflaw but as someone caught between the life he built and the rules that govern it.
A trial is scheduled for July. If the county prevails, the home Franzen spent a decade constructing will be dismantled and removed from the trees. The question of what comes next—where he goes, what becomes of the experiment, whether any compromise emerges—remains unanswered. The case has become a small but visible collision between environmental idealism, property law, and the question of who gets to decide how people live in a place where housing has become nearly unaffordable.
Citas Notables
We really want to find a positive outcome— Richard Neiley, Pitkin County lawyer
It seems like a poor use of taxpayer money going after him. Police time, legal time, court time all without a complaint from the land owner.— Gareth Williams, Aspen real estate agent, on social media
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did he think the land was public when he started building?
He's an arborist, not a surveyor. He looked at the hillside, saw no fences, no signs, no obvious markers of private ownership. He made an assumption that cost him a decade of his life.
But he must have known eventually. Why didn't he stop?
By the time he understood who owned it, he'd already built something real. He had shelter. He had a home. And he'd built it in a way that seemed to harm no one—the landowner never complained. The county did.
What does the county actually want?
Officially? Compliance with building codes. Unofficially? That's harder to say. The lawyer says they want a positive outcome, but they filed a lawsuit anyway. Maybe they want him gone. Maybe they want him to get permits, which might be impossible for a treehouse. Maybe they want to enforce the rules equally.
Is he actually breaking the law?
Technically, yes. He built without permits on private land. But he's also lived there for ten years without the landowner objecting, without causing documented harm, without costing the county anything. The law is clear. The fairness is not.
What happens if he loses?
The home comes down. He loses the only shelter he's built for himself. And the experiment ends—the proof that you can live differently in a place like Aspen disappears with the trees.
Do people actually care?
Enough to fund his legal defense. Enough to question whether this is how a wealthy county should spend its resources. Whether that's enough to change the outcome—that's what July will tell us.