Growth of Large-Scale Solar in California

Harris Ranch Resort isn’t close to much. Residents of California’s major cities know it mainly as a rest stop about halfway between Los Angeles and San Francisco on Interstate 5’s long run through the San Joaquin Valley. The sprawling stucco building has a Western-themed gift shop and a couple of good restaurants where travelers can enjoy regional specialties like tri-tip tacos and almond-smoked prime rib — perhaps while they charge their EV at one of the Tesla stations outside.

But in the vast expanse of California’s Westlands Water District, the ranch is about the most central spot for a meeting. On a sunny afternoon in late January, Jeff Fortune, Ross Franson, and Jeremy Hughes, three of the nine directors of the country’s largest agricultural water agency, gathered there for lunch to discuss an ambitious plan to rescue some of the most productive farmland in the U.S. from a decades-long water crisis. 

The Valley Clean Infrastructure Plan (VCIP) envisions converting 136,000 acres of land into 21 gigawatts of battery-backed solar power — nearly as much utility-scale solar capacity as has been installed in California to date. 

“This will be not only the largest project in California, or the largest project in the United States,” said Fortune, a third-generation farmer and the district’s board president since 2022. ​“This will be the largest project in the world.”

The scale of the plan matches that of the land. Westlands Water District was formed more than 60 years ago to collectively manage water resources and irrigation infrastructure for the farmers within its 1,000-square-mile territory. The district’s 614,000 acres grow billions of dollars’ worth of crops per year — grapes, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, garlic, citrus fruits, almonds, pistachios, and many others. Those crops make up a major share of the bounty in a region that produces a quarter of the country’s food, including 40% of its fruits and nuts. 

Fortune, Franson, and Hughes run family farming operations that collectively own or manage thousands of acres of a landscape transformed by industrial-scale irrigated agriculture. The water flows from reservoirs hundreds of miles north and is pumped from the Sacramento–San Joaquin River Delta via the Central Valley Project, one of the biggest water projects in the state. The water supply is augmented by wells that have delved ever deeper into the region’s aquifers. 

But that water supply is drying up. Since the 1990s, surface-water cutbacks from the environmentally stressed delta have led to the fallowing of hundreds of thousands of acres. And under state law, Westlands farmers face increasingly strict limits on the groundwater they use. 

Now, after decades of fighting state and federal agencies and lobbying Congress to increase the flow of water, Westlands farmers are shifting to a new approach. ​“Our hand is forced,” Fortune said. ​“Everyone’s in the same sinking ship together.” 

VCIP could keep the ship afloat by financing a wholesale conversion of fallowed land into solar farms and battery storage systems capable of powering the equivalent of 9 million homes. To carry those clean electrons to market, the district will finance and build a transmission network that will speed interconnection to California’s congested grid and expand power flows between the state’s two biggest utilities, Pacific Gas & Electric and Southern California Edison. 

None of this has happened yet, and completing it will take 10 years or more. But after years of work with developer Golden State Clean Energy, VCIP is now poised to move from concept to reality. 

In December, Westlands Water District’s board approved the programmatic environmental impact report that lays out a master plan for the project. Hughes, a fifth-generation farmer who has been operating in Westlands for a quarter century, said that about 150 contracts so far have been signed by growers to make land available — including about 800 acres of his family’s land. 

“The way we look at it is as a new crop,” he said. ​“We’re harvesting the sun and producing electricity.” 

Critically, farmers will retain land ownership under VCIP’s lease and easement deals, and thus, access to the water allocations. And under Westlands’ agricultural-land repurposing plan and its VCIP master plan, water allocations for acres put into solar can be redirected to remaining farmland. 

“You’re making the district more sustainable,” Fortune said, summing up the plan. ​“And that just helps the grower, it helps the communities, it helps the farmworkers — everybody.” 

That help is desperately needed. The farms that make up Westlands Water District — many of them sprawling, multigenerational family-run organizations with substantial landholdings — have struggled for years with drainage challenges, salination, and other effects of heavy irrigation, which have polluted watersheds. The communities in and around the district have high rates of poverty and unemployment, a lack of economic opportunities, tainted groundwater, and inadequate investment in roads, schools, and public safety. State law requires VCIP to include a community benefits plan that delivers economic value to not just its growers but also the local governments and residents. 

While it will be a massive and complicated undertaking, California needs four to five times as much new clean energy and storage as this project is slated to provide in the next 20 years, said Franson, president of farming at Woolf Farming & Processing, which cultivates 30,000 acres across the San Joaquin Valley, most of it in Westlands. 

The master plan could provide a model for what the state must accomplish to meet that need for power on a grand scale, he said. ​“There’s so much talk in the state about the demand they’re seeing, about energy transition, about water issues … This hits all those boxes.”

Highway 33 runs south from the Mendota pool, a key water-exchange point for the San Joaquin Valley’s interlocking irrigation systems, and into Westlands Water District’s northeastern zone. 

On a cold winter morning, Jose Gutierrez, the district’s assistant general manager, and I drove along the two-lane road through a thick blanket of Tule fog. Despite the limited visibility, Gutierrez had no trouble pointing out the solar farms on both sides of us. Farther down the road, pile drivers rattled away, busy planting anchor posts for yet more solar projects. 

The installations there now are a fraction of what’s envisioned under VCIP. If that plan is fully realized, the trucks roaring up and down Highway 33 will pass solar fields stretching uninterrupted for roughly 30 miles, Gutierrez said. The surrounding area is slated for solar for a simple reason: It’s no longer irrigable. 

Much of the land designated for solar development under the master plan is drainage-impaired — undergirded by a shallow layer of clay soil that prevents water from percolating deeper. As water accumulates above the clay layer, it becomes increasingly salty, but cannot be flushed out — and there’s no easy fix, thanks to a decades-old impasse between the federal government and the water district. 

Under a 2015 settlement agreement with the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation, Westlands was required to retire at least 100,000 acres from irrigated agriculture. In 2022, the district launched a land purchasing program to take on managing the retirement and eventual remediation of those drainage-impaired acres. 

That land can still be planted with wheat or other cereal crops that tolerate being irrigated by rainfall alone, or leased to sheepherders. ​“But its value from a commodity perspective is pretty low,” Gutierrez said. As a result, it has mostly been left unused.

In fact, it’s a financial drag on the district. Idle land must still be managed to prevent pests and invasive weeds from setting in and endangering neighboring farms. Several times while on the highway, I spotted signs on utility poles advertising barn-owl boxes for rent — the birds help control gopher populations. And the debt the district took on to buy the fallowed acres must be paid off. 

All this makes the land ideal for solar in a region whose clean energy potential is well understood. State agencies have designated large swaths here as the Westlands Competitive Renewable Energy Zone, meaning they are primed for solar development. Studies from universities and nonprofit groups indicate that the San Joaquin Valley can build solar while retaining sustainable levels of agriculture. 

In the 13 years Gutierrez has worked for the district, eight solar projects have been launched on non-irrigable lands that the district has purchased and sold to developers. The biggest ones include the Darden Clean Energy Project, a 1.15-gigawatt solar-battery system being constructed on about 9,500 acres in the district’s central area; and Westlands Solar Park, a 2.27-gigawatt multistage development on roughly 20,000 acres in the district’s southern reaches. 

Private landowners, like Fortune, Franson, and Hughes, have also been making deals with developers, and many other farmers could follow suit, Gutierrez said. In fact, VCIP expects that roughly half the 136,000 acres of solar and batteries it plans to develop will be on privately owned land. 

Water shortages are the primary reason that Westlands growers are seeking alternatives to farming. But growers are facing other pressures, too, Gutierrez said. Volatile commodity prices have driven a boom and bust in certain crops, such as almonds. Rising energy and labor costs have taken their toll. 

Landowners are eager to move more acres into solar to defray these costs, hedge against market risks, and bolster their bottom lines, he said. But there are roadblocks. Solar developers face long and onerous environmental reviews for each project under the California Environmental Quality Act, as well as drawn-out county permitting processes. And in California, as in many other parts of the country, limited grid capacity is forcing projects to wait for years in clogged-up interconnection queues.

Patrick Mealoy, partner and chief operating officer of Golden State Clean Energy, the VCIP developer, summarized the situation as a convergence of factors. ​“The land use planning, the water restrictions in the valley, the congestion on the transmission grid,” he said, ​“screamed for a master plan.”

Mealoy was part of the development team that put together a similar, if much smaller, master plan for Westlands Solar Park, the biggest solar-battery project in the district to date. That plan set key terms for individual developers on issues ranging from environmental mitigation and land management practices, to standard lease and contract requirements, to agreements regarding the arrays’ eventual decommissioning. 

VCIP takes essentially the same approach, Mealoy said. Golden State Clean Energy itself will likely develop less than a fifth of the 21 gigawatts and will be working with independent developers for the rest, he said. But it’s far more efficient to create a master plan than to have each developer go it alone. 

“When you look at the sheer magnitude of the tens of thousands of megawatts we need to build in California, the targets are getting higher. We’re doing a remarkable job, but we’re actually falling behind,” he said. ​“VCIP is enormous, but it’s a fraction of what we have to add.” 

The programmatic environmental impact review approved by the district in December is the culmination of that master planning effort, Gutierrez said. It took two years, but now that it’s done, ​“it sets a standard for all VCIP solar developments of what they’re going to have to follow.”

That includes requirements for limiting construction impacts like air pollution, noise pollution, traffic safety, fire prevention, and the like, he said — an important consideration for nearby communities. 

It also sets out how solar farms will be maintained once they’re built, said Allison Febbo, Westland’s general manager. That’s good not just for the neighbors but also for the developers. 

Individual projects will still need conditional land use permits and construction permits from Fresno County, which encompasses the VCIP project boundaries. But with the approved guidelines in place, ​“we believe that we’ve knocked off two years in the planning process,” Gutierrez said, as opposed to ​“if a solar developer was to come in and do a one-off.” 

Golden State Clean Energy has also laid out common financial terms and conditions for landowners and solar developers, Mealoy said. ​“If you’re farming near Kerman or if you’re farming near Huron, you have the exact same deal.” 

The district hopes that all this planning ahead will help bring enough privately held land on board to roughly match the amount of district-owned land on the table, Gutierrez explained. That is vital to achieve the scale needed to enable the most unusual aspect of the plan, he said: building out the transmission. 

“The district had enough land to make it interesting,” Gutierrez said. ​“But we knew we needed more land on the private side to justify the investments in infrastructure.” 

To be reminded of how important new power lines and substations are to achieving the VCIP vision, Ross Franson need only look out his office window.

I met up with Franson at the white-painted, single-story field operations offices of Woolf Farming & Processing, which sits just east of Interstate 5, near Huron, the district’s sole incorporated city. To the south, past a field now under solar development, a spiderweb of power lines and transmission towers march southward. They converge just over the horizon, at PG&E’s Gates Substation — a critical juncture for solar power to interconnect to the larger state grid. 

Of the 20,000 or so acres the company farms, roughly 1,200 have been built out in solar, Franson told me. Woolf plans to develop up to 3,000 acres in total. ​“We’re a little bit unique, in the sense that our farm is right next to the Gates Substation,” he said. 

That’s not the case for much of the district’s acreage, he explained: ​“It’s far away from transmission lines and substations. And so the cost of doing that isn’t ideal.” 

Enter Assembly Bill 2661, a state law passed in 2024. It allows Westlands to finance and build its own grid infrastructure. It also allows the district to use the clean energy it generates for its own purposes, and to sell the rest to utilities and other power buyers via the transmission system run by the California Independent System Operator. 

In that sense, as Hughes said over lunch at Harris Ranch, VCIP is a ​“transmission play, not a solar play. The solar is doable because of the transmission.” 

VCIP’s 500-kilovolt system will entail five new electrical substations and roughly 70 miles of high-voltage transmission connecting to the CAISO grid to the north, south, and west, Hughes said. In essence, it will provide an eastern parallel to the two 500-kilovolt transmission pathways already running along I-5 on the district’s western border. 

Transmission is notoriously hard to build. But Westlands hopes that its master plan can forestall landowner and environmental opposition that has stymied many other projects. Much of the 70-mile line has been sited to cross district-owned lands. Where transmission will be situated on privately owned land, Westlands has crafted standard easement agreements to give landowners confidence they’re getting the same deals as their neighbors, Gutierrez said.

Westlands is taking on a significant financial commitment to unblock the grid bottleneck. Gutierrez estimated the price tag of building the project’s grid infrastructure is more than $1 billion. 

The district will need to negotiate agreements with CAISO to earn back that money through transmission access charges. That’s the same way the state’s major new grid expansions are repaid over time via increases to utility customers’ bills. 

But Mealoy believes those costs will be more than counterbalanced by benefits to the state at large. A study commissioned by Golden State Clean Energy found that VCIP could yield more than $9 billion in net energy cost savings over the next 25 years, both by adding more clean power and by reducing grid congestion that drives up rates and reliance on fossil gas–fired power plants in Northern California. 

State agencies are loath to approve massive transmission investments to accommodate future clean energy projects. But as that buildout lags, CAISO’s grid remains congested — and clean energy developers face potentially project-killing costs for upgrades to connect to it. 

That’s why VCIP relies on doing solar, batteries, and transmission together, Mealoy said. ​“To get transmission built, you needed size and scale,” he said. 

Owning the power lines also gives Westlands control over some of its energy-related expenses. Several California irrigation districts operate their own utility services, including Turlock Irrigation District and Modesto Irrigation District in the Central Valley and Imperial Irrigation District in the southeast corner of the state.

Westlands, which is served by PG&E, isn’t becoming its own utility, Fortune stressed during lunch at Harris Ranch. ​“PG&E is not fighting us, and we’re not fighting PG&E.”

But running the district’s massive pumping stations requires a lot of power, as does operating well pumps and drip irrigation motors, he said. ​“The district is going to get lower power costs to supply the water, and [growers] are going to get the option of lower-cost power on their end — so the water cost is going to come down.” 

The central role of water in Westlands is evident to anyone driving along I-5. Scattered among the fields and orchards are signs — posted on fences and on wheeled trailers once used to haul cotton — broadcasting slogans like ​“No Water = Lost Jobs,” ​“Stop the Politicians Created Water Crisis,” and ​“Congress-Created Dust Bowl.”

The angry sentiments stem from the decades-long conflict over California’s massive state and federally managed water distribution. Westlands secured its water allotments from the Central Valley Project in the 1960s. But since the 1990s, joint federal and state efforts to restore endangered fish species and protect the delta’s environment have increasingly restricted flows from the massive pumping stations that move water southward. And as the most recent water district to be created and served by the federal water system, Westlands is a junior holder of water rights, which makes it first in line for cuts. 

Historically, San Joaquin Valley farmers and politicians have held a hard line on keeping the water flowing, with Westlands-bankrolled lobbyists often taking the lead. But as those political efforts faltered and drew public pushback during the state’s historic drought of 2011 to 2017, Westlands growers shifted their stance. 

In 2022, Franson, Hughes, and two other growers won seats on the district’s board on a ​“change coalition” platform, aimed at putting an end to the adversarial water policies of Tom Birmingham. The district’s general manager for more than 20 years, Birmingham announced his retirement after the election. 

To be clear, Westlands hasn’t surrendered the fight for water, said Febbo, who replaced Birmingham in 2023. ​“Our growers have shifted, from saying we don’t want to repurpose any of our agricultural lands, to a position where we have to fallow a significant portion of our area,” she said, ​“and that we should do that in a planned and thoughtful way until we determine a way to restore our water supply.” 

If decades of on-again, off-again surface water allocations were the instigating incident, the Sustainable Groundwater Management Act was the hard closer. Passed in 2014, SGMA created the first statewide regulations to manage groundwater resources that provide roughly 40% of California’s water and that have sustained San Joaquin Valley agriculture for more than a century. 

But overpumping has reached a crisis point in the San Joaquin Valley. Thousands of public and private wells have run dry. The land itself is sinking, as water from underground aquifers gets depleted by as much as 2 feet per year in some parts of the valley. That subsidence is threatening to undermine critical infrastructure, including the San Luis Canal, the section of the California Aqueduct serving Westlands Water District.

SGMA requires overdrafted water basins to achieve sustainability by the early 2040s, which will entail both significant cutbacks on pumping and replenishing depleted aquifers. Complying with the law will likely necessitate fallowing about 500,000 acres across the San Joaquin Valley, according to the nonprofit Public Policy Institute of California.

Under the Westlands groundwater management plan approved by the state in 2022, the district must roughly halve the amount of water it normally pulls from the ground during dry years by 2030, Gutierrez said. That reduction, along with the uncertainty around future surface water deliveries from the Central Valley Project, forces growers to face the prospect of reducing by half the amount of land they’re able to irrigate every year. 

This prospect has helped convince a critical mass of Westlands growers to support VCIP, Franson, Hughes, and Fortune said over lunch. 

“I really do think SGMA forced the issue,” Franson said. ​“When push comes to shove, we needed to come up with an alternative plan.”

Allowing farmers to put land into solar without losing its water allocations is essential to making that plan work, Fortune said. Typically, allocations for land repurposed or sold for nonagricultural uses revert to the district, he explained. But under VCIP, landowners with long-term leases or cash-up-front easement deals with solar developers keep both surface water and groundwater allocations, which they can apply to remaining farmland. 

That’s important for Westlands growers like Rebecca Kaser, owner of Avellar-Moore Farms. Her family has been farming in Westlands for four generations. She hasn’t put land into VCIP yet, but her father has. 

“We have fallowed over half our acreage,” she said. ​“We still have property taxes, we still have horticultural expenses … and they don’t return any income. And we do this just for the water allocation, so we can continue to grow, to help out our neighboring communities providing jobs and paying property taxes.” 

VCIP offers ​“financial relief from the incurred expenses year over year on this fallowed acreage — and the way it was designed, we could still keep our water,” she said. ​“What I really want to emphasize is that if we can keep on farming all of it, we would. The VCIP is a tool in the tool box to at least stay farming with the little that we can.” 

If VCIP develops as intended, it’s not just the growers who will benefit but all residents in Westlands Water District. 

Danny Garcia, 41, has lived his entire life in Three Rocks, an unincorporated community in the middle of the district. He hopes that building the world’s biggest solar and battery project will bring prosperity to Three Rocks, which is also known as El Porvenir, which means ​“the future.” But he and his family have their doubts.

“People are struggling right now,” he told me when I stopped by his home. ​“There’s many ways that people could work on solar.” Garcia makes a living as a trucker, hauling produce and delivering fruit and nut tree seedlings from nurseries for planting in the fields. He can envision participating in the construction boom when VCIP gets underway. 

Almost everyone who lives in Three Rocks is employed in agriculture in one way or another, he said — including longtime farmworkers like his mother, Rosa Ramirez. She’s worked in the fields since she moved here from Mexico about 50 years ago, she told me in Spanish as Garcia translated. She can earn up to $600 per week when jobs are steady, but less than $200 a week when it’s slow.

And work has been slower and slower, Ramirez said, sitting at her son’s dining room table. ​“Back in the ​’90s, they used to have tomato fields, lettuce, onions.” But as water has become scarcer, ​“a lot of almond trees are knocked out because of water — less and less.” 

With solar panels eating up more and more farmland, ​“how is she going to pay her bills?” Garcia asked. ​“Is she going to work there with the solar system? She has no experience.” 

The San Joaquin Valley includes some of the poorest counties in the state. The confluence of water stresses, environmental degradation, and rising heat and weather disruptions from climate change are only set to intensify the area’s challenges, according to a report issued as part of California’s 2021 climate change assessment. 

Agriculture provides 17 percent of the San Joaquin Valley’s employment and 19 percent of its revenues. Those economic ties are even tighter in the sparsely populated Westlands, where agriculture generated $3.6 billion in economic activity and more than 27,500 jobs as of 2022, according to a 2025 study commissioned by the district. 

But those figures were down from an estimated $4.7 billion in economic activity and about 35,000 jobs in 2019, driven largely by increases in fallowed land due to water restrictions. Those declines led to roughly 30% less in public tax revenues for counties, cities, and special districts, meaning millions of dollars no longer available for roads, water systems, schools, and other public services. 

VCIP could help buck those trends, Mealoy of Golden State Clean Energy said. Building the solar and battery farms and grid infrastructure will require employing about 6,000 people for at least 10 years — in what he described as ​“good-paying, labor union jobs” — as well as about 1,000 full-time operations jobs once the project is complete. Some of those positions could be filled locally through apprenticeship and training programs with community colleges and workforce development agencies. 

Businesses in the region could provide equipment and services to developers, and secondary spending will boost local economies, he added. The cost of building solar and battery projects ranges from $1 million to $1.5 million per megawatt, he noted. 

And the towns, school districts, and county services will benefit from ​“billions of dollars that could be injected” into the tax base, once the state’s current property tax exemption for solar projects expires at the end of 2027, he said. It’s hard to predict future property tax revenues for Fresno County, but they’re certain to be significantly higher than those collected on fallowed fields, he said. 

How those economic benefits will flow to communities suffering from generations of underinvestment and facing the loss of agricultural jobs has yet to be defined, however. In January, Westlands’ board voted in favor of a draft approach to meet the requirements in AB 2661, the law making VCIP possible, to ​“ensure that local communities have meaningful opportunities to participate and access benefits” from its clean energy transformation.

That plan for the community benefits agreement commits the district to work with Fresno County and seven incorporated cities to ​“commit a portion of project revenues” to workforce, energy-affordability, environmental, and quality-of-life benefits. 

But Westlands doesn’t plan to start making that money available for ​“at least 60 months out, coinciding with the commercial operation of the facilities,” Russ Freeman, the district’s deputy general counsel, said at the January meeting before the vote took place. 

That’s worrisome to community groups that feel they’ve been neglected by Westlands’ power players and the region’s political leaders. Rural Communities Rising, representing 36 communities across western Fresno County, was formed last year so that residents ​“are heard, respected, and prioritized,” as the clean-energy developments envisioned by VCIP move ahead. 

“We believe in a big-tent concept. Everybody should participate,” Espi Sandoval, a Rural Communities Rising board member and educator, said at that January meeting. His group is advocating for a formal organization, including local governments, school and water districts, labor associations, workforce agencies, nonprofits, and local representatives, to ​“work collectively with developers to address … priorities.” 

Community groups are focused first on mitigating impacts from construction, like limiting vehicle traffic that can clog narrow roads, worsen already poor air quality, and kick up dust carrying fungi that cause a pulmonary ailment known as valley fever. They’re also demanding more emergency services, including fire stations located closer to solar and battery sites that could pose fire risks. 

And they’re asking for remediation of longtime problems like high energy costs and polluted water supplies. Ramirez’s electric bill from PG&E was $331.74 for the month of November — far more than she thinks she ought to be paying for a small single-story home. California has the highest electric bills in the mainland U.S. That’s a particular burden for low-income San Joaquin Valley residents during days or weeks of triple-digit summer temperatures.

Ramirez’s water bills have also risen, even as the water remains undrinkable, she said — a problem plaguing hundreds of thousands of California residents, many of them in the San Joaquin Valley. In Three Rocks and nearby Cantua Creek, the cause is disinfectant by-products from chemicals, such as chlorine, used to treat surface water delivered from Westlands to a Fresno County–managed treatment facility. 

“That’s why we have the water jugs,” Garcia said, pointing to the five-gallon containers arrayed under the trampoline in his front yard. ​“Every two weeks, the water man comes in and leaves them.”

Clean energy could provide an economic lifeline for the region — but that’s not guaranteed. A 2024 report from the Sierra San Joaquin Jobs Initiative, a joint project of the Fresno-based Central Valley Community Foundation and the state-funded California Jobs First Council, found that the four counties of Fresno, Kings, Madera, and San Joaquin could host 29 gigawatts of solar and energy storage through 2045, adding up to about $10 billion in investment and an estimated 73,000 new jobs paying an average of $32 per hour. 

But it also found that workers ​“feel inadequately prepared for this transition” in terms of education, training, and opportunity to break into the industries involved. 

Elizabeth Cabrera, city manager of San Joaquin, a town of about 3,700 people in western Fresno County, has attended meetings held by nonprofit groups working with solar developers to offer jobs and training to locals. But less than a third of San Joaquin residents have a high school degree or equivalent, she said. Many speak only Spanish, and ​“a high percentage are undocumented. That’s already three major barriers to entry.”

Leticia Fernández, the 63-year-old owner of the Half-Way Store in Cantua Creek, is also doubtful that solar development can make up for the loss of agriculture in the area. She started working at the store when she was 16, and bought it from the previous owner in 1997. But business has declined as more land has been fallowed, and the solar projects being built haven’t reversed that, she said. ​“They’re not spending the money like they tell us at the meetings.”

That’s not to say that solar projects aren’t doing some good, Fernández said. She pointed to the new fire station being built in Cantua Creek, financed in part through a $15 million commitment from Intersect Power, the initial developer of the Darden Clean Energy Project (the project is now owned by IPX Power).

Intersect also committed to community benefits plans that will make $2 million in direct investments in the next 10 years and $5 million over the project’s lifetime. The initial $2 million has gone to support affordable housing, provide grants to small businesses, bolster school programs, plant trees, and give away about 250 window air-conditioning units, among other benefits. 

“We want to build strong partnerships, and we want to bring the community into the project, whether that’s supplying concrete or getting a union job and working on-site,” said Elizabeth Knowles, head of community engagement at Intersect Power. The Darden project is expected to create more than 1,600 all-union construction jobs, generate more than $70 million in state and local sales tax revenues during its construction, and provide more than $200 million in property taxes in the first 10 years, she said. 

Still, some people say the Darden project’s original community benefits agreement didn’t direct money to the most pressing needs. They want to make sure the process for VCIP, which will be more than 15 times larger than Darden, doesn’t leave them out of the loop. 

“We understand the project will take at least 10 years to build out. But we want residents to be part of conversations before decisions are made,” said Mariana Alvarenga, a senior policy advocate with the nonprofit Leadership Council for Justice and Accountability.

The challenge is that most of the economic impacts of clean energy projects are tied to ​“jobs and spillover work for local businesses” during construction, said David Adelman, a professor at the University of Texas at Austin School of Law who studies local opposition to clean energy developments. Beyond that, ​“virtually all of the benefit is in increased local property taxes,” he said. ​“Most of that impact gets buried in county and school district budgets” that are ​“not very visible to the local community.” 

These facts could bolster arguments for larger up-front community benefits payments, he said. But that might be hard for clean energy developers already struggling with the looming loss of federal tax credits, rising equipment and labor costs, and other economic headwinds. Nor do solar project developers want to be held responsible for repairing past harms to communities and to the environment that were caused by others. 

County tax revenues from clean energy projects could be directed to helping the communities near those projects. But that requires commitments from county politicians and administrators to ensure those revenues aren’t redirected elsewhere — and like many other rural counties, Fresno County is facing major budget pressures.

Justin Diener, controller of Red Rock Ranch, understands these concerns. He grew up on his family farm in Five Points, which has won recognition for its sustainable water and soil management. After graduating from Stanford University, he was employed in agriculture finance for 12 years, then returned to work with his father in 2016. He won his seat on the Westlands board of directors in 2022 as part of the change coalition — and unlike most Westlands farmers, he lives on the land that his family farms.

“I love to be out here,” Diener said on a stroll outside the modest one-story building that houses his family’s farm operations. ​“I grew up out here, across the street. But you know, it’s not a walk in the park, either.” It’s a half-hour drive for him or his wife to take their daughter to and from school. Last fall, crops left rotting in nearby fields because they were unsuitable for market caused a fly infestation that plagued the area for months. 

Diener has also seen the decline in Fresno County services over the decades. ​“When I was younger, the roads got paved more frequently,” he said. ​“The potholes were taken care of.” He’d like to see VCIP money coming into the district prioritized for critical needs. ​“Do you have shelter? Do you have food? Do you have water? Is where you live safe?” 

He thinks that long-term funding from Fresno County and municipal governments, rather than one-time community-benefits dollars, is the logical source for supporting those kinds of fundamental services. ​“I’d look to ongoing community benefits dollars to be an enhancement to government dollars, rather than a replacement,” he said. It’s also important that community benefits be ongoing, rather than one-off donations. 

Still, Diener says VCIP could be ​“transformational” for Westlands. ​“The district’s not going to see the benefits today or tomorrow,” he said. ​“But five to 10 years down the road, I think things are going to be very different.” 

https://www.canarymedia.com/articles/solar/were-harvesting-the-sun-solar-project-california