It begins quietly, as many stories do, in a small rural town where the horizon seems impossibly broad. The town planning commission gathers in a modest room, the air thick with the scent of burnt coffee and aged carpet, to hear that their town will soon win the modern economy: 10 new data centers within the town’s boundaries. Not just one or two, but 10. The PowerPoint presentations shine with promises: construction jobs, some permanent positions, “community investment,” and a new tax base that will “transform the region.”
Sure, there will be jobs. But not the jobs that rebuild a town’s soul. Data centers don’t employ thousands once they’re up; they employ dozens, sometimes fewer, depending on how automated the operation is. The real impact isn’t people—it’s power, land, transmission capacity, and water. When you drop 10 massive facilities into a small grid, demand spikes don’t just happen inside the fence line. They ripple outward. Utilities must upgrade substations, reinforce transmission lines, procure new-generation equipment, and finance these investments. Guess who ends up paying a meaningful portion of that over time? Local ratepayers, in one form or another, will face higher bills or the quiet deferral of other infrastructure work.
Water is often the second shoe to drop. Even when operators insist they’re “water efficient,” cooling is cooling, and cooling at scale is never free. Some facilities will use evaporative systems; some will use closed-loop systems; some will promise innovation that appears impressive in a press release. Meanwhile, the town’s farmers now watch the aquifer levels and the weather forecast with equal anxiety, except now they’re competing with an industry whose thirst is measured in engineering diagrams, not drought stories.
This is what the data center boom looks like on the ground: a glossy promise wrapped around very physical constraints. READ MORE...
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