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This story was supported by the Fund for Environmental Journalism of the Society of Environmental Journalists.

In the dusty light of a decades-old lunch counter in Lewisville, Arkansas, Chantell Dunbar-Jones expressed optimism at what the lithium boom coming to this stretch of the state will mean for her hometown. She sees jobs, economic development, and a measure of prosperity returning to a region that needs them. After waving to a gaggle of children crossing the street in honey-colored afternoon sunshine, the city council member assessed the future as best she could. “Not to say that everything’s perfect, but I feel like the positives way outweigh the negative,” she said.

Lewisville sits in the southwest corner of the state, squarely atop the Smackover Formation, a limestone aquifer that stretches from northeast Texas to the Gulf Coast of Florida and has for 100 years spurted oil and natural gas. The petroleum industry boomed here in the 1920s and peaked again in the 1960s before declining to a steady trickle over the decades that followed. But the Smackover has more to give. The brine and bromine pooled 10,000 feet below the surface contains lithium, a critical component in the batteries needed to move beyond fossil fuels.

Exxon Mobil is among at least four companies lining up to draw it from the earth. It opened a test site not far from Lewisville late last year and plans to extract enough of the metal to produce 100,000 electric vehicle batteries by 2026 and 1 million by 2030. Another company, Standard Lithium, believes its leases may hold 1.8 million metric tons of the material and will spend $1.3 billion building a processing facility to handle it all. All of this has Gov. Sarah Huckabee Sanders predicting that her state will become the nation’s leading lithium producer. 

With so much money to be made, Dunbar-Jones and other public officials find themselves being courted by extraction company executives eager to tell them what all of this could mean for the people and places they lead. They have been hosting town meetings, promising to build lasting, mutually beneficial relationships with the communities and residents of the area. So far, Dunbar-Jones and many others are optimistic. They see a looming renaissance, even as other community members acknowledge the mixed legacies of those who earn their money pulling resources from the ground. Such companies provide livelihoods, but only as long as there is something to extract, and they often leave pollution in their wake. 

The companies eyeing the riches buried beneath the pine forests and bayous promise plenty of jobs and opportunities, and paint themselves as responsible stewards of the environment. But drawing brine to the surface is a water-intensive process, and similar operations in Nevada aren’t expected to create more than a few hundred permanent jobs. It’s high-paying work, but often requires advanced degrees many in this region don’t possess. Looking beyond the employment question, some local residents are wary of the companies looking to lease their land for lithium. It brings to mind memories of the unscrupulous and shady dealings common during the oil boom of a century ago.

For residents of Lewisville, which is majority Black, such concerns are set against a broader history of bigotry and the fact that even as other towns prospered, they have long been the last to benefit from promises of the sort being made these days. Folks throughout the area are quick to note that the wealth that flowed from the oil fields their parents and grandparents worked benefited some more than others, even as they lived with the ecological devastation that industry left behind.

Dunbar-Jones is confident that, if nothing else, concern about their reputation and a need to ensure cordial relations with community leaders will sway lithium companies into supporting local needs. “All I can say is right now it’s up in the air as to what they will do,” she said, “but it seems promising.” 

Lewisville sits just west of Magnolia, El Dorado, and Camden, three cities that outline the “golden triangle” region that prospered after the discovery of oil in 1920. In an area long dependent upon timber, the plantation economy transformed almost instantly as tenant farmers, itinerant prospectors, and small landholders became rich. Within five years, 3,483 wells dotted the land, and Arkansas was producing 73 million barrels annually. 

Although the boom created great wealth, Lewisville remained largely rural, and its residents labored in the fields that made others rich. Still, the oil economy, coupled with the timber industry, brought a rush of saloons, itinerant workers, and hotels to many towns. Restaurants, supermarkets, and other trappings of a middle-class community soon followed, though Lewisville always lagged a bit behind.

That prosperity lasted a bit longer than the oil did. The first wells ran dry by the end of the 1920s, but the Smackover continued producing 20 to 30 million barrels annually until 1967, when it began a steady decline. These days, it offers about 4.4 million a year.

The shops that once served Lewisville and the furniture and feed factories that employed those who didn’t work the fields have long since gone. Jana Crank, who has lived here for 58 years, came of age in the 1960s and remembers prosperous times. She runs a community gallery in what’s left of downtown, where most buildings sport faded paint and cracked windows. “It used to be a TV fix-it shop,” Crank, a retired high school art teacher, said of the space.

As she spoke, a group of friends painted quietly. Canvases showing sunsets, crosses, and landscapes lined the walls. The scenes, bright and cheerful, stood in contrast to Lewisville, where retailers have moved on, the hospital has closed, and the schools have been consolidated to save money. Fewer than 900 people live here, about half as many as during the town’s peak in the 1970s. They tend to be older, with a median household income of around $30,000. “People are just dying out, their children don’t even live in town,” Crank said. “They have nothing to come back for.” 

That could change. Jobs associated with mining rare-earth minerals are highly compensated and highly sought-after, many of them netting as much as $92,000 per year. State Commerce Secretary Hugh McDonald believes the state could provide 15% of the world’s lithium needs, and Sanders has said Arkansas is “moving at breakneck speed to become the lithium capital of America.”

A few steps in that direction already have been taken around Lewisville, the county seat of Lafayette County. It is home to 13 lithium test wells, the most in the region. They’re tucked away behind pine trees, fields of cattle, and, occasionally, homes. The dirt and gravel roads leading to them have been churned to slurry by heavy equipment.

Those who own and work the wells arrived quietly last year, their presence indicated by the increasing number of trucks with plates from nearby Texas and Louisiana, sparking rumors throughout the region. They officially announced themselves to Mayor Ethan Dunbar last fall, in visits to local officials, mostly county leaders, to initiate friendly relations and establish the basis for economic partnerships. Mayor Dunbar and the Lewisville City Council were invited to a public meeting where lithium company executives discussed their plans and took questions.  

The town’s motto is “Building Community Pride,” something Dunbar-Jones, who is the mayor’s sister, takes seriously. She and others have hosted movie nights, community dinners, and, in a particular point of pride, clinics to help people convicted of crimes get their records expunged. Meanwhile, the city council, joined by a number of residents, has come together to nail down just what the lithium boom will mean for the town and to ensure everyone knows what’s in store. 

That’s particularly important, Dunbar-Jones said, because 60% of the town’s residents are Black. “Typically in minority neighborhoods, people are not as aware of what’s going on, because the information just doesn’t trickle down to them the way it does to other people,” she said. “At the meetings with the actual lithium companies, there may be a handful of people of color there versus others. So that lets you know who’s getting that information.”

A representative of Exxon, the only company that responded to a request for comment, said it has strived to build ties with communities throughout the region. “We connect early and often with elected officials, community members and local leaders to have meaningful conversations, provide transparency, and find ways to give back,” the representative said. It has opened a community liaison office in Magnolia and has worked with the city’s Chamber of Commerce to sponsor community events. It also established a $100,000 endowment for Columbia and Lafayette counties to provide grants for “education, public safety, and quality-of-life initiatives.”

Folks in Lewisville would like to see more of that kind of attention. In March, the city, working with the University of Arkansas Hope-Texarkana, hosted a town hall meeting so residents could speak to lithium executives and express concerns. The mayor recalls it drawing a standing room-only crowd that expressed hope that the industry would bring jobs and revenue to town, but also worried about the environmental impact. Folks called on Exxon and other companies to support new housing and establish pathways for young people to work in the industry. 

Venesha Sasser, who at 29 is the chief development officer of the local telephone company, sees the coming boom providing an opportunity to build generational wealth for families and resources, like broadband internet access, for communities. Any company that can invest $4 billion in a lithium operation can surely afford to toss a little back, Sasser said. “We want to make sure that whoever is investing in our community, and who we are investing in, actually means our people good.”

Sasser followed a trajectory common among young Black professionals from the area: She left to pursue an education, then returned to care for loved ones. As she got more involved in the community, she often found herself being treated a little differently, an experience Mayor Dunbar delicately described as bumping up against “old systems.” Lewisville is a majority-Black town in a majority-White county, and as of 2022, had a poverty rate of 23%. Although community leaders say they work well with colleagues in other towns and with county leaders, they also feel that they’ve had to elbow their way into conversations with lithium companies. They worry that the dynamics of the oil days, when Black men worked alongside whites but often in lower-paying, less desirable jobs and most of the money stayed in wealthier cities like El Dorado, will repeat themselves.

“You had people from Magnolia and El Dorado and Spring Hill and other places coming in and doing the work and reaping the benefits, and then when it was gone, they were gone,” said Virginia Henry, a retired school teacher who grew up in Lewisville and lives in Little Rock. Her ex-husband drilled for oil years ago, and the experience left her with a sour taste in her mouth. “I’m thinking it’s going to be pretty much the same,” she said. “They’re going to ease in, they want to do all this work and create all these jobs for somebody and then ease out when it’s done in a few years. Then here we’ll be with soil that can’t grow anything, contaminated water, and a whole bunch of kids with asthma.”

Mayor Dunbar, who is midway through his second term, is trying to balance reservations with optimism. “‘Imagine the possibilities.’ That’s my tagline,” he said, settling into a chair at City Hall. A blackboard behind him outlined his priorities: housing, recreation, education. He hopes support from companies like Tetra Technologies, which is developing a 6,138-acre project not far away, will finance those goals and give people a future that’s more stable than the past, one in which Lewisville’s children can pursue the same opportunities that kids in nearby, better-resourced communities can. 

“Think about Albemarle in Magnolia,” he said, referring to the bromine plant about 30 miles up the road. “Get a job at Albemarle, you stay there 25 years, you earn a decent salary, you’d have a decent retirement. You can live well. Quality of life is good. We are hoping to see the same thing here.” 

Many of the people poised to benefit from the lithium beneath their feet seem ambivalent about climate change. In El Dorado, in a bar called The Mink Eye, an oil refinery worker grimaced at the mention of electric vehicles. The next morning, retired oil workers gathered at Johnny B’s Grill scoffed at the idea of a boom. A waitress admitted that she’d bought stock in lithium companies, but said any faith that the industry will bring renewed prosperity does not necessarily mean folks are on board with the green transition. “These men drive diesels,” she said, pointing toward her customers. Still, she said, any jobs are good jobs.

That attitude pervades the state capitol in Little Rock, where politicians who don’t give much thought to why the energy transition is necessary cheer the state’s emerging role in it. The governor, who has cast doubt on human-caused climate change, has appeared at industry events like the Arkansas Lithium Innovation Summit to proclaim the state “bullish” on its reserves of the element. “We all knew that towns like El Dorado and Smackover were built by oil and gas,” Sanders told the audience. “But who knew that our quiet brine and bromine industry had the potential to change the world.”

Much of the world’s lithium is blasted out of rocks or drawn from brine left to evaporate in vast pools, leaving behind toxic residue. The companies descending on Arkansas plan to use a more sustainable method called direct lithium extraction, or DLE. It seems to be a bit more ecologically friendly and much less water-intensive than the massive pit mines or vast evaporation ponds often found in South America. It essentially pumps water into the aquifer, filters the lithium from the extracted brine, then returns it to the aquifer in what advocates call a largely closed system. Researchers from the University of California, Los Angeles, in a report prepared for the Nature Conservancy, said that “DLE appears to offer the lowest impacts of available extraction technologies.”

Still, the technology is relatively new. According to Yale Environment 360, Arkansas provides a suitable proving ground for the approach because it has abundant water, a large concentration of lithium, and an established network of wells, pipelines, and refineries. But there are concerns about the amount of water required and the waste material left behind, despite repeated assurances from lithium companies that the process is safe and sustainable.

Although DLE doesn’t require as much water as brine evaporation, in which that water is lost, “it is a freshwater consumption source,” Patrick Donnelly, of the Center for Biological Diversity, said in an interview with KUAF radio in Fayetteville, Arkansas. The waste generated by the process is another concern, he said, “in particular, a solid waste stream. It’s impossible for them to extract only the lithium.”  

Locals are well aware of the impact brine can have on the land. Before anyone realized its value, oil and gas producers didn’t worry much about it leaking or spilling onto the ground, literally salting the earth. Some are concerned that the pipelines that will carry brine to refineries might leak, as they did in the oil days. Such fears are compounded by the fact the state Department of Environmental Quality relies on individuals to report problems and doesn’t appear to do much outreach to residents.

There’s also a lot of skepticism about how many jobs the boom may create. So far, Standard Lithium’s plant in El Dorado employs 91 people, said Douglas Zollner, who works with the Arkansas branch of the Nature Conservancy and has toured the facility. No one’s offered any projections on how many people might find work in the budding industry, but a lithium boom in Nevada suggests it may not be all that many. Construction of the Thacker Pass mine, which could produce 80,000 metric tons of lithium annually, is expected to generate 1,500 temporary construction and other jobs — but it will only employ 300 once operational.

Those jobs pay well, but typically require advanced training. Public universities like Arkansas Tech University are revising science and engineering curricula to meet the lithium industry’s needs, hoping to connect students with internships in the field. However, locals worry that disinvestment in schools in rural and largely Black communities will leave those who most need these jobs unable to attain the training necessary to land them.

Just how much money might flow into local communities remains another open question. Fossil fuel companies lease the land they drill and pay landowners royalties of 16.67% of their profit. Any oil pumped from the land also is taxed at 4 to 5% of its market value. This fee, called severance tax, is paid to the counties or towns from which the resource was extracted. 

None of these things apply to lithium. So far, there is no severance tax on the metal, though the state levies a tax of $2.75 for every 1,000 barrels of the brine from which it is extracted. The state Oil and Gas Commission continues haggling over a royalty rate, though it seems unlikely the fee will be as high as those paid on oil and gas leases. When the state sought a double-digit royalty, the industry balked, arguing that extracting and processing lithium is expensive and officials ought to wait until production begins in earnest before deciding what’s fair. 

Companies cannot extract and sell the metal for commercial use until the commission sets a royalty rate, a process expected to drag on for some time. On July 26, the major players in the Arkansas lithium industry filed a joint application seeking a rate of 1.82%. The South Arkansas Mineral Association — which represents the majority of landowners, which is to say, timber companies, oil companies, and other corporate interests — demanded a higher share. 

Small landowners still hope to benefit, and the lack of clarity around royalties hasn’t done much to engender trust among locals wary of the companies looking to lease their land. Some folks, already offered terms, are using online forums to determine if they’re being stiffed. Others fear efforts to wrest land from the few Black families who own property, often passed between generations informally without a deed or title. Such land, called heirs’ property, accounts for more than one-third of Black-owned property in the South, and without the documentation required to prove ownership, land can be subject to court-ordered sales. 

Many in Lewisville say they regularly receive calls and texts from people interested in buying land, and Henry has seen people checking out properties and attending auctions. During a visit to the Lafayette County courthouse archives, I noticed a woman thumbing through mineral rights records. Although she wouldn’t identify herself, she politely explained that she was checking such documents throughout Arkansas, Texas, and Louisiana, bringing to mind the speculators who, during the oil boom, did the same before approaching naive residents who may not know about the riches under their land. 

Beyond the timber companies with holdings in the region, most of the major landowners are white and wealthy, and any spoils, Henry suspects, will simply pass from one affluent family or powerful company to another, with no benefit to people like her. “What land, honey?” she said with a small, sardonic laugh. “That’s a pie in the sky type dream to me.”

Despite the concerns, the hype and fanfare surrounding the possibility of an economic revival remains high. City officials in Lewisville, and the people they lead, are trying to remain open-minded and easygoing even if unanswered questions linger about how many jobs might be coming, how the boom will benefit their town, and what it will mean for the environment.

“You know, it’s kind of frustrating because the questions get asked at these meetings,” Dunbar, the mayor, said. But he feels the lithium companies often meet questions with the same pleasant, if unhelpful, answer of “We can’t talk about it.” They’re always so careful in their responses. “They deliberately did not say anything until they knew what they wanted to do and say, that’s the same with what they want to provide communities,” Dunbar said. 

As for the $100,000 commitment from Exxon, no one’s sure exactly who will receive that money or how allocations will be made. The mayor, discussing that point, showed some frustration. He said he has tried, and will continue to try, to get the companies to put their promises of jobs and support for local infrastructure in writing.

The balance of goodwill that he is trying to maintain between everyone involved is delicate: the lithium companies, whose jobs and support his community desperately needs; the county officials he must work with; the residents of Lewisville; and the mayors he collaborates with on grant applications. These towns are small, and word spreads quickly; relationships are as precious as the riches deep below the ground.

As Dunbar-Jones, the city council member, finished her turkey sandwich in the late afternoon light of the diner, she spoke of her faith in the ties between the people of Lewisville. “It’s hard to get a group of people to work together, period, especially when they don’t know each other,” she said. “But we all know each other.”

Despite her confidence, she knows she’s dealing with relationships in which companies take what they can and leave, where the question of what they owe the communities that enrich them is naive. Her father benefited from his job at Phillips 66, but it couldn’t last forever. When the oil was gone, those who profited from it were, too. From their perspective, she said, it’s a question of “How long am I going to support a community I’m no longer in? It would be unrealistic to think that there will be some long-term benefits from it.” The same is true of lithium, and the companies that will mine it. At some point, they will leave, and take their jobs and their money with them. Dunbar-Jones only hopes they leave Lewisville a little better off once they’ve left.

Editor’s note: Climeworks is an advertiser with Grist. Advertisers have no role in Grist’s editorial decisions.

This article originally appeared in Grist, a nonprofit, independent media organization dedicated to telling stories of climate solutions and a just future. Learn more at Grist.org

With lithium, Arkansas risks repeating oil boom and bust is an article from Energy News Network, a nonprofit news service covering the clean energy transition. If you would like to support us please make a donation.

Even as North Carolina continues to weaken its building energy conservation codes, a new federal rule is poised to spur the construction of thousands of energy-efficient starter homes in the state each year. 

Adopted earlier this spring, the measure requires homes with certain federally-backed mortgages to meet the latest guidance for insulation thickness, window quality, and other energy-saving features — a major improvement over the state’s 2009-era floor for new residential construction. 

The rule is expected to impact more than 1 in 10 new home sales in North Carolina, mostly by lower-income and first-time homebuyers. Government studies show they will pay more for improved efficiency but reap immediate cash-flow benefits from lower monthly utility bills. 

“The requirements are essential for protecting low-income homebuyers and renters,” said Lowell Ungar, federal policy director of the American Council for an Energy-Efficient Economy, “lowering their energy bills, giving them more comfortable and healthier homes, and protecting them in the climate transition.”

The impact extends beyond North Carolina and will lift standards in several states where lawmakers and industry lobbyists have pushed back against energy-saving building code updates.   

Ungar and his colleagues are also working to extend the requirements to the independent regulator of Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac. If they succeed, a large majority of new homes in North Carolina could be built to modern energy-savings standards — even though a 2023 state law prevents any major code updates until the next decade. 

Rob Howard, who builds sustainable homes in the state’s foothills, fought against the law and now serves on the state’s Building Code Council. 

“It’s the first feeling of hope that I’ve had for North Carolina since last year,” he said.

Homebuilders block local improvements 

Reducing energy waste in buildings is a critical component of the clean energy transition. The most cost-effective way to do so is at the point of construction, especially in rapidly-growing North Carolina, where some 90,000 new homes are built each year, about two-thirds of them single-family units. 

Yet the powerful home construction lobby has long resisted stronger requirements for energy-saving features in residential construction, influencing the state legislature, where it is a major campaign donor, and until recently, the state’s Building Code Council, a citizen commission. 

Thus, while model codes are updated every three years, North Carolina’s rules remain outdated. Though the council was poised last year to bring the code in line with 2021 guidelines, lawmakers backed by developers intervened to circumvent the update, overriding a veto from Gov. Roy Cooper, a Democrat. 

This year, the Republican-led legislature relaxed insulation requirements and made other changes to the building code that many experts, including the state fire marshals’ association, argued would make homes less safe. Again, Cooper vetoed the measure, and in a vote last week, lawmakers overrode him.

“The General Assembly has let the homebuilding industry make a quick buck at the expense of North Carolina families who will pay more every month in home energy costs,” Drew Ball, Southeast campaigns director at Natural Resources Defense Council, said in a statement after the vote. “This law rolls back North Carolina’s energy building codes and passes the costs on to consumers.”

‘Let’s set the bar as high as possible’

But state building codes aren’t the only policies that can influence home construction.  

The federal government plays a huge role in promoting homeownership by guaranteeing loans for borrowers who can only make a small down payment or may otherwise risk default.  

In 2007, a sweeping energy law adopted under the George W. Bush administration required any new home purchased with backing from the Department of Housing and Urban Development or the Department of Agriculture to meet the latest model code for energy efficiency. 

It wasn’t until 2015 that the Obama administration tied the loans to the 2009 model energy efficiency code. The Trump administration took no action.

The Biden-Harris administration picked up the torch last year, beginning an examination to make sure the latest model codes would bring more benefits than costs. In May of this year, officials concluded that the 2021 standards wouldn’t negatively affect the affordability and availability of housing.

“As a result of the updated energy standards, energy efficiency improvements of 37% will cut energy costs by more than $950 per year, saving homeowners tens of thousands of dollars over the lifetime of the home,” a press release from the Department of Housing and Urban Development said.

Similarly, last year an independent government lab found that the more stringent standards will add about $5,000 to the cost of the average North Carolina home, but generate a positive monthly cash flow instantly in the form of lower utility bills. 

About 1 in 10 new single-family home loans per year are backed by the Department of Housing and Urban Development or the Department of Agriculture, according to the federal officials. 

The Department of Veterans Affairs must update its lending rules to match those of HUD and USDA, impacting another 3% to 5% of newly built homes, Ungar estimates.

Howard, who’s building a small collection of super-efficient homes in Granite Falls, says just one of the 11 cottages so far is being financed with a loan that would be affected by the new rule. 

“As a small builder who’s focused on attainable housing, I’m going to assume that a certain percentage of my buyers will qualify for the USDA loan programs,” he said. “And so of course, I want them to have the ability to participate in those. But I’ve already made the decision to build to zero-energy ready, which is currently based on the 2021 [model code]. I’m already there.” 

The bigger impact of the new rule will be on large, multi-state, multi-regional builders who focus on starter homes, Howard said. “Those kinds of builders don’t want two different levels that they’re building to. They would rather have one that simplifies their entire construction process.”

With the new rule, then, builders can either adhere to the latest energy efficiency standards so that potential buyers can qualify for federal backing on their loans — or not. 

“Let’s set the bar as high as possible,” said Howard, “and then builders get to choose.” 

If multi-state builders choose to build all of their homes to the 2021 model code, the rule’s impact could extend beyond the roughly 15% of new stock estimated by government officials and advocates.

‘A much broader impact’

If advocates succeed in getting the Federal Housing Finance Agency, the regulator of Fannie and Freddie, to adopt the same standards, the effect would be even greater: the two companies ultimately end up buying over half of mortgages in the country. 

“Now you’re talking about 70% of the loans in this country,” Howard said. “So that’s obviously a much broader impact.”

As they have in North Carolina, the national builder lobby claims the energy efficiency standards will add tens of thousands of dollars to construction costs. They oppose the rule that’s already finalized for the Departments of Agriculture, Housing and Urban Development, and Veterans Affairs, and they object to extending the requirements to Fannie and Freddie. 

“If Fannie and Freddie were forced to comply with the 2021… mandate,” Missouri builder Shawn Woods told Congress this spring, “this would become a de facto national standard and be a massive blow to housing affordability.” 

Unless Republican presidential nominee Donald Trump wins this November, the finalized rule is safe for now, advocates believe. As for the broader requirements on Fannie and Freddie, the director of the Federal Housing Finance Agency said it would study the matter and issue a decision by the end of June. 

“Obviously, they did not do that,” Ungar said.

Even with N.C.’s building code frozen, federal rule poised to boost energy-efficient housing in the state is an article from Energy News Network, a nonprofit news service covering the clean energy transition. If you would like to support us please make a donation.

A three-judge panel in North Carolina upheld Duke Energy’s reduced payments to rooftop solar owners on Tuesday, unanimously rejecting claims from climate justice advocates that the smaller credits run afoul of state law.

The ruling upholds for now a scheme that took effect last October after Duke, some of the state’s oldest solar installers, and multiple clean energy groups reached a complicated truce to avoid the bruising battles over net metering seen in other states.

NC WARN, Environmental Working Group, and others opposed to the compromise argued that regulators adopted it without conducting their own analysis of the costs and benefits of net metering, a requirement of a 2017 statute. Such studies typically show that rooftop solar offers net benefits to the grid, contrary to utility claims.

The appellants rested their argument in part on a statement from one of the 2017 law’s authors, John Szoka, a Fayetteville Republican who served in the state House of Representatives for a decade. An Energy News Network article quoted in the appeal describes Szoka as “adamant” that the Utilities Commission, not Duke, should conduct the study.

The appeals court panel agreed, based on the plain text of the law. 

“The commission erred in concluding that it was not required to perform an investigation of the costs and benefits of customer-sited generation,” Judge Hunter Murphy, a Republican, wrote. 

But in a disappointing twist for the challengers, he continued, “however, the record reveals that the commission de facto performed such an investigation when it opened an investigation docket in response to [Duke’s] proposed revised net energy metering rates; permitted all interested parties to intervene; and accepted, compiled, and reviewed over 1,000 pages of evidence.”

Joined by two Democrats, Judges John Arrowood and Toby Hampson, Murphy’s opinion also rejected arguments that the commission erred by failing to consider all of the benefits of rooftop solar and by forcing solar owners to migrate to time-variable rates instead of allowing flat rates to stand.

“The commission properly considered the evidence before it and made appropriate findings of fact and conclusions of law,” Murphy wrote.

Many solar installers saw a dip in sales and interest in the last quarter of 2023 when the lower net metering credits took effect. But they were also hopeful about a new Duke program that rolled out this spring, which offers solar customers incentives to pair their arrays with home batteries.

Jim Warren, NC WARN executive director and an outspoken Duke critic, said in a press release that he and his allies would weigh an appeal to the state’s Supreme Court. 

“This ruling directly harms our once-growing solar power industry and the communities constantly battered by climate change driven by polluters like Duke Energy,” he said.

North Carolina appeals court upholds Duke Energy’s lower net metering rates is an article from Energy News Network, a nonprofit news service covering the clean energy transition. If you would like to support us please make a donation.

Correction: David Porter, vice president of electrification and sustainable energy strategy at EPRI, spoke generally about the challenges and opportunities of constructing data centers and coordinating with utilities. He did not speak specifically about the Southwest Virginia project.

Will Payne and Will Clear are all too aware of the skeptics.

But those doubters only fuel the duo’s vision for Southwest Virginia. The former Virginia state energy office bureaucrats turned private-sector consultants have an ambitious plan to repurpose land and backfill local taxes in communities left behind by the coal industry’s decline, and also pioneer new models for powering data centers with local clean energy.

Data Center Ridge is one piece of a nonprofit venture — Energy DELTA Lab — designed to transform 65,000 mostly contiguous acres of minelands where coal was king for decades into test sites that advance energy innovation. The project has the backing of Republican Gov. Glenn Youngkin, who announced an agreement last November establishing a framework for developing the land. 

“If I had a dollar for every time somebody asked why we’re wasting our time on this, I wouldn’t have to work,” Clear, a former chief deputy director with the state Department of Energy. “This isn’t a pipedream. What people need to understand is how long a project like this takes.” 

The first phase involves persuading tech companies to build solar-powered data centers on up to 2,000 acres of the now-defunct Bullitt Mine in Wise County. The facilities would be able to tap into underground mine water to help cool their servers. Eventually, they say, other energy sources such as wind turbines, pumped hydro storage, or small nuclear reactors could be added across the larger property.

“This is a big idea and we need someone who can share that vision,” said Payne, managing partner of Coalfield Strategies LLC. “We need developers who believe in ramped-up clean energy.” 

Glenn Davis, director of the Virginia Department of Energy, said a couple of key factors are driving the state’s interest in the lab. Many data center companies are exclusively seeking sites where they can access 100% clean energy, and new clean power generation could cushion the grid impact from the state’s booming data center sector.

“Southwest Virginia was the energy capital of the East Coast and I believe it will be again,” Davis said in an interview. “There’s a power void that needs to be filled and solar is part of that.” 

Dovetails with Youngkin energy plan

DELTA, shorthand for Discovery, Education, Learning & Technology Accelerator Lab, is just one enterprise Davis is tracking as he coordinates Youngkin’s all-of-the-above Energy Plan. 

Last fall, Youngkin said the intent is to attract private and public dollars to flesh out a portfolio that also draws wind, hydrogen, large-scale batteries, pumped-storage hydropower and eventually, perhaps, small modular nuclear reactors when and if that nascent technology matures. Any carbon-cutting realized by lab energy projects wouldn’t count toward Virginia’s landmark Clean Economy Act because the faraway area is served by a Lexington-based power company, Kentucky Utilities. The VCEA requires only the state’s largest investor-owned generators — Dominion Energy and Appalachian Power — to achieve a carbon-free grid by 2045 and 2050, respectively. 

That doesn’t bother Youngkin, Davis said.

“What’s driving the governor’s interest is jobs, businesses and an improved quality of life,” said Davis, appointed as an agency head in April 2023. “We’re excited because the opportunity for growth there is larger than any other in the state.” 

Dallas-based Energy Transfer owns the acreage, roughly 101 square miles. The lab is coordinating site development with Wise County officials and the landowner. Some of the acreage is still being mined for metallurgical coal, the type used for steelmaking and other industries. However, much of the property, including inactive Bullitt Mine, is being reclaimed. 

On paper, the dozen or so projects on the drawing board, including Data Center Ridge, could generate 1,600-plus jobs, add 1 GW of new power and induce $8.25 billion in private investments, Payne said. First, however, they have to move beyond the conversation stage. 

Payne and Clear, DELTA’s chief advisers, are counting on their matchmaking skills to revive a region often depicted as down on its heels. 

Clear grew up in Smyth County, east of Wise County. Payne recently moved to Washington County on the Virginia-Tennessee border. The Richmond native left a position as chief deputy at the state energy department in 2019 to direct InvestSWVA, an incubator invented to diversify the region’s economy and curb carbon emissions. Appalachian Grains was one of their previous energy-related joint ventures.

Tax revenues from data centers are the boost local governments need to fill the coal gap, they say. 

“Plain and simple, public safety, education, health care, municipal services and other core government sources are at risk of falling off a cliff if we do nothing,” said Clear. “We’re trying to solve this crisis.” 

Is SW Virginia the next ‘tertiary market’? 

Josh Levi, president of the Loudoun County-based Data Center Coalition, said Southwest Virginia shouldn’t be dismissed as too inaccessible or mountainous for data center development. 

Recently, the burgeoning industry began expanding into off-the-beaten path “tertiary markets,” he said. For instance, he pointed to a deal Amazon Web Service announced this year to spend $10 billion on two data center complexes in Mississippi. 

It was only a few years ago that the industry reached into secondary markets such as Columbus, Ohio, and San Antonio, Texas, after initially concentrating its investments primarily in Silicon Valley, New York-New Jersey, Dallas, Chicago, Northern Virginia, Atlanta and Phoenix. 

In Virginia alone, there’s a southward shift as more data centers pop up around Fredericksburg and Richmond. 

“What they’re doing is credible,” Levi said about Payne and Clear. “My understanding is that they have seen levels of interest from data center developers. Whether the opportunities they’re leveraging lines up with the business needs of data centers remains an open question.”   

For instance, he said, Southwest Virginia might be the right fit for backing up federal data but less so for applications such as live-streaming video or trading stocks. 

Loudoun County and surrounding Northern Virginia are home to almost 300 data centers, the biggest concentration of such campuses in the world. It’s the crossroads for roughly 70% of global internet traffic. 

Prolific construction of the mega-buildings that make cloud computing possible — combined with the accompanying need for transmission lines for electricity and water for cooling — have caused an uproar among community activists alarmed about their impact on local infrastructure and the environment.

Such large-scale growth prompted a tongue-in-cheek comment from Democratic state Sen. Danica Roem about exporting data centers from Prince William, the county she represents, to Tazewell County, just east of the proposed Data Center Ridge. 

In an interview with the Energy News Network, Roem said she would only support siting data centers in Southwest Virginia if the projects have widespread community buy-in, are powered with renewable energy and are built on reclaimed coal mines that don’t require clearcutting of forests, which serve as carbon dioxide sinks. Utility customers shouldn’t be saddled with paying for the expensive buildout of transmission infrastructure, she added. 

“I don’t want to simply shift the problems we’re having here to Southwest Virginia and create problems for the residents there,” Roem said. “If they’re building data centers there, are they going to stop digging in my district?”

Roem has joined other legislators introducing bills aimed at reining in data center growth and controlling the resources the buildings require. For instance, compared to a typical office building, the U.S. Energy Department estimates one data center needs 50 times more electricity. 

‘A lot of potential hurdles’ 

David Porter, vice president of electrification and sustainable energy strategy for the Palo Alto, Calif.-based Electric Power Research Institute, said there are numerous challenges and opportunities when it comes to coordinating data centers’ power needs with utilities.

“These data centers could be a really neat idea if they can work around a lot of potential hurdles,” Porter said. High on his checklist of potential limiting factors are access to a reliable electric grid connection, battery storage to fill gaps and “major league” fiber optic cable for communications.

He emphasized that even a modest number of data centers can’t rely on renewable energy 24/7. Backup power, typically provided by diesel-powered generators, is needed to keep the centers operating when the wind isn’t blowing and the sun isn’t shining.

As well, he said, even larger data centers in the gigawatt range generate far fewer jobs than a manufacturing center.

Payne and Clear said they are far from naïve about the difficulty of solving grid and broadband issues, which they know will take years, not months, to remedy, and that the jobs will be impactful in a region where the average annual income is $42,000.

“In Southwest Virginia, we’ve seen plenty of manufacturers pick up and leave, and that wouldn’t be the case with wind turbines and data centers.”

Their models show that one 36 MW data center, considered to be a mid-size project, would generate about 50 jobs paying $134,300 a year. In an ideal scenario, the size of Data Center Ridge would eventually expand more than 25-fold to 1,000 MW.

DELTA Lab recently collaborated with a local industrial facilities authority to offer a financial incentive for data center developers, Clear noted. It translates to Wise, Lee, Scott and Dickenson counties and the city of Norton offering a tax rate on data center equipment of 24 cents per $100 of assessed value. By far, it’s the lowest such rate in the state.

“The more persuasive argument for data centers here is about sustainability for local governments and their citizens,” Clear said. “This creates a new trajectory for tax collections for the next 50 years.”

Water source easy, electricity not so much 

The sites they’re eyeing for data centers are atop an estimated 6 billion to 10 billion gallons of underground 55-degree mine water, which offers a less-costly method for cooling the hot air generated by hundreds of servers. 

It’s not an aquifer. Over the years, rainwater has been filtered by the limestone and sandstone as it trickled through fissures and cracks and landed in cavities created as coal deposits were removed. The pools of water are as deep as 1,000 feet below the surface. 

Four years before ushering in DELTA Lab, Payne and Clear had procured a state grant to study the water supply. Since then, they have been collaborating with engineers to devise a closed-loop water system that could chill the centers and eventually pump the water back underground to be reused after the Earth removes the heat it absorbed. 

Drilling of test wells by a geotechnical company is scheduled to begin this fall. That exploration is funded by the federal government and managed by the U.S. Department of Energy. 

In the meantime, a looming challenge is securing the flow of electricity to and from Data Center Ridge. Even if on-site solar arrays with backup battery storage are the initial power source, the project needs to have sufficient substations, transmission lines and other infrastructure to tie into the grid. That way, excess electricity can be shipped out and “imported” electrons can fill any deficits. 

Payne and Clear are talking with Kentucky Utilities — which does business in Wise and four other Virginia counties as Old Dominion Power — about upgrading and adding infrastructure. That analysis is part of a larger effort spearheaded by county officials to meet long-term energy demand in Southwest Virginia. 

One plus, Clear said, is that siting the buildout of substations and transmission lines will be less difficult on property with one landowner. However, he also knows investor-owned utilities often aren’t keen on asking ratepayers to fund infrastructure built to serve one distant customer.

Davis said his agency would likely pursue federal Energy Department money to construct transmission infrastructure. 

Data Center Ridge has the potential to boost the utility’s renewable energy portfolio, which is 1% of a generation energy mix that is heavy on coal, 84%, and natural gas, 15%. 

Although every component of their blueprint presents a separate set of obstacles, the entrepreneurs say outsiders’ perception of Appalachia is the chief hindrance. 

“Even after making our case since 2019, dispelling myths about the region is our first challenge in getting developers down here,” Payne said. “They think everybody is on meth and lives in shanties.” 

They persist to prove their doubters wrong. 

“Everything is teed up here to be executed,” Clear said. “It’s getting that first domino to drop that’s really important.” 

Promoters of clean-energy data centers in Virginia coal country unfazed by doubters is an article from Energy News Network, a nonprofit news service covering the clean energy transition. If you would like to support us please make a donation.

An array of critics came out swinging in January when Duke Energy first filed its plans in North Carolina for one of the largest fossil fuel investments in the country.  

But as the months have dragged on in the development of the company’s biennial carbon-reduction plan, some notable detractors have relented. 

Just before expert witness testimony was set to begin in Raleigh late last month, the state-sanctioned ratepayer advocate, Public Staff, and Walmart endorsed a settlement with Duke on its blueprint, which includes building 9 gigawatts of new natural gas plants that the utility says could be converted to run on hydrogen in the future.

A few days later, the Carolinas Clean Energy Business Association, a consortium of solar and wind developers, announced it had signed on too.  

The agreement, which contains some small concessions from the utility, led to low-key hearings that ended in less than two weeks. It makes it more likely that Duke will get what it wants from regulators by year’s end, including a greenlight, if not final approval, for three large new natural gas plants in the near term.

Chris Carmody, executive director of the Carolinas Clean Energy Business Association, says the proposed compromise also helps lock in forward progress on solar energy and batteries, however incremental. 

“It’s a more aggressive solar spend. It’s a more aggressive storage spend,” he said. “Certainly, we would like to see more. But first of all, we like to see it going in the right direction.” 

Clean energy advocates believe Duke’s push for new gas plants will harm the climate, since the plants’ associated releases of planet-warming methane will cancel out any benefits of reduced carbon pollution from smokestacks. At the same time, they say the investments could become useless by midcentury or sooner, before their book life is over, saddling ratepayers with costs that bring no benefits.

“There’s not much in it for their customers except unnecessary risk, cost, and more pollution,” Will Scott, southeast climate and clean energy director for the Environmental Defense Fund, wrote in a blog last month. 

But Duke’s gas bubble has proved hard to burst. For one, the company’s predictions of massive future demand from new data centers are based in part on confidential business dealings that are challenging to rebut from the outside. 

Unlike two years ago, when Duke proposed its first carbon reduction plan, no groups produced an independent model showing how Duke could meet demand without building new gas. 

“We can talk about costs, or market conditions,” said Carmody. But, he said, “we did not do any modeling.”

Public Staff ran its own numbers and has urged more caution on new gas plants than Duke proposes. But the agency is unwavering that at least some are needed.

New Biden administration rules haven’t yet proved the death knell for gas that some expected. Duke is suing to overturn the rule, but it insists that building new plants that will run at half capacity is the most economical plan for compliance.

And even as Duke is proffering more gas, it’s also undeniably proposing more solar.

Clean energy backers still object to annual constraints on solar development the utility says are necessary. But the limits have increased from less than 1,000 megawatts per year in 2022 to over 1,300 megawatts. And the settlement would result in another 240 megawatts of solar than Duke had first proposed.

“It’s an iterative improvement,” said Carmody. 

What’s more, the settlement opens a discussion with Duke about the scores of 5-megawatt solar projects across the state whose initial contracts will soon expire. A proposal for how to refit them could come in April of next year. 

“This is a really important issue to our members,” said Carmody.  “These are projects that could be repowered. They could be upgraded with storage. They could have significantly more efficient solar technology than was on them 15 or 20 years ago.” 

Still, Carmody said his group tried to word the settlement in a way that left room for clean energy advocates to continue to advocate for less gas and steeper emissions cuts sooner — and that’s certainly their plan. 

“Three power plants that will be really expensive to build and then operate for only a few years is just a ridiculous proposal,” the settlement notwithstanding, said Maggie Shober, research director for the Southern Alliance for Clean Energy. 

“We remain hopeful that there’s a lot that the [commission] can do in this carbon plan proceeding and in their final order, to move us forward on a clean energy trajectory.”

Nick Jimenez, senior attorney for the Southern Environmental Law Center, acknowledges the settlement stacks the deck somewhat against his clients. 

“Historically, the commission approves a lot of settlements,” he said. “It likes to see parties settle, especially when Duke and the Public Staff are involved.”

Former critics start to coalesce around Duke Energy’s plans for more gas, solar in N.C. is an article from Energy News Network, a nonprofit news service covering the clean energy transition. If you would like to support us please make a donation.