2025 Change Maker of the year: Bastian Basalt

By Scott France

On a quiet stretch of Marrowstone Island, where mossy trees meet the long memory of the land, Bastian Basalt is building something rare: not just housing, but trust.

Basalt, a Jefferson County Change Maker of 2025, doesn’t flinch at the size of the work. He leans into it. His vision—part housing collective, part healing space, part mutual aid network—has grown from lived experience, deep empathy, and a belief that people, given safety and dignity, can always emerge stronger.

“This land was being used as a dump,” Basalt said, standing on the five-acre parcel he purchased to begin the project. “So we’re cleaning it up in a way that honors the land.” What once held refuse now holds possibility: fixer homes in various stages of renovation, a school bus being transformed into a living space, and plans for gardens, gathering areas, and places of rest.

The concept is simple and radical at once. Basalt wants to provide housing opportunities that meet people where they are—whether that’s a bus converted into a tiny home, a room in a shared house, or a short-term sanctuary for someone in crisis. Money, he says, isn’t the only currency that matters.

“We want to show the community that you can have other exchange systems that are safe, and that you can trust random people,” he said. Residents who move on will be asked only to give or sell their home back to the collective, keeping the housing in circulation for others in need.

Basalt is currently renovating a three-bedroom house on the property that had been heavily trashed. Much of the material he uses comes from what others have discarded—wood salvaged from old boats, home tear-downs, and forgotten corners of the peninsula. His hands-on skills come from studying at the Northwest School of Wooden Boat Building, where he learned craftsmanship grounded in care, patience, and respect for materials.

That respect extends to people, especially those on the margins. Basalt is open about his experiences with houselessness and how it reshaped him. “I experienced how people treat you so differently when you’re houseless,” he said. “It changes you.” As a member of the queer community, Basalt knows what it means to look for safety and belonging—and how transformative it can be when you find it.

Before this project took shape, he began doing mutual aid work: cleaning homes, getting food to people, helping however he could. That work never stopped. Today, his scope of giving reads like a full-service grassroots organization. He’s helped put a couple of people through school, bought supplies for schoolchildren, and quietly supports single mothers and elders who are struggling.

One of his most striking efforts came when Basalt spearheaded a fundraising campaign for an elderly woman who had been scammed out of her entire life savings—$250,000—through a phone scam. Basalt didn’t hesitate. The community responded, raising more than $300,000 to help restore what had been stolen. It was proof, he says, of what’s possible when people take chances on each other.

“I wish we valued taking chances with other humans as much as we valued money in this society,” Basalt said.

His project on Marrowstone is guided as much by healing as by housing. After what he describes as “profound spiritual changes” this past year, Basalt has focused on creating a place that supports both physical and emotional well-being. Plans include a sauna, cold plunge, hot tub, red light therapy, a meditation dome, yoga space, and a community kitchen. There will be potlucks and community dinners, a free fridge, and spaces where people can simply sit and be together.

“We want this place to be a place to heal, not just a place to rent a room,” he said.

The vision is intentionally multi-generational. Basalt sees a painful disconnect in modern life: elderly people who are lonely and food insecure, younger able-bodied people who need housing, individuals living alone in large homes while others have nowhere to sleep. “People aren’t sharing or talking to each other,” he said. “There are so many lonely older people here, and many young people who are angry at feeling that they missed out. I’m hoping to break out of those barriers on a small scale.”

The collective is still refining its goals, but one is clear: to provide one or two units that are free or very low cost for short-term stays—up to a year—for people in immediate need. Basalt emphasizes that this is about sanctuary, not charity.

“I can’t put a value on housing people,” he said. “It pays its own dividends.”

Those dividends are visible to the people around him. “Bastian is a very kind, caring person with a good heart,” said Ayla Pollick, his partner. “He just wants to help people. People have been greatly changed by what he’s doing, and they are very grateful.”

To fund the work, Basalt has been traveling around the country, sharing the vision and raising money. “I’ve been lucky to meet some very wonderful, generous wealthy people in the past year who believe in this project,” he said. He’s also actively seeking mentors of all kinds, knowing that a sustainable community takes shared wisdom.

At the heart of it all is a quiet, steady faith. “I believe in the human ability to emerge no matter what,” Basalt said. “That you are always growing.”

On Marrowstone Island, amid reclaimed wood and half-finished homes, that belief is taking shape—one bus, one meal, one act of trust at a time. It’s why The Jefferson County Beacon is celebrating Bastian Basalt as a Change Maker this year, and why his work feels less like a project and more like an invitation: to rest, to heal, and to believe in each other again.

Basalt has chosen Owl360’s youth housing project to be the recipient of the Jefferson Community Foundation donation money.

If you are interested in learning more about Bastian’s project, and/or would like to donate money, labor or materials, contact him at: rogowski.s@gmail.com