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Texas Has ‘the Most Aggressive’ Well-Plugging Program in the U.S. So Why Is Its To-Do List So Long?

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Thursday, May 30, 2024

After a century and a half of oil and gas production in the United States, the nonprofit environmental watchdog Climate Tracker published a sobering report in 2020: Some 2.6 million unplugged onshore wells lay scattered across the country. Plugging all those derelict holes, from the rocky Appalachian hill country of western Pennsylvania to the dry plains of West Texas and the tundra of Alaska, and countless points between, might cost as much as $280 billion. And that figure from the report did not include undocumented wells — the ones that have vanished from the books, if they were ever recorded in the first place. Carbon Tracker’s estimate of the number of undocumented onshore wells was also striking: 1.2 million.  Since 1859, when the first successful American oil well was drilled in Titusville, Pennsylvania, no state has had more holes punched through its bedrock or has sucked more hydrocarbons out of the ground than Texas. Carbon Tracker uses data from the energy industry analytics company Enverus to identify wells that are inactive or low producing, said Rob Schuwerk, executive director of Carbon Tracker’s North America operation. And as of 2024, Carbon Tracker reports there are 476,790 documented wells that have been drilled, but not plugged, in the Lone Star State. The lengthy list includes those that have ceased operation and been added to the state’s orphan well program.  For a well to be listed as an orphan by the Texas Railroad Commission — the oil and gas regulator that manages the state’s well-plugging program — it must have been inactive for at least 12 months and have an operator whose Organization Report has also been delinquent for at least a year. There are 8,580 wells on the current Texas orphan list, which was last updated in April. The Environmental Defense Fund, a nonprofit environmental advocacy group, uses a simpler definition of orphans: “oil and gas wells that are inactive, unplugged, and have no solvent owner of record.” Of the nearly half-million unplugged wells Carbon Tracker has identified in Texas, more than a third have either been temporarily abandoned, have not produced in five or more years or have never produced oil or gas, Schuwerk said. Most of the rest are low-producing stripper wells. Only 15% of the unplugged wells in the state produce more than 15 barrels of oil equivalent per day, Schuwerk said. (The most recent figures from the Railroad Commission show that the state’s 246,133 active oil and gas wells produced an average of 41 barrels of oil equivalent per day in January.) Derelict wells are more than a nuisance — they are virtual doomsday machines that foul the air, pollute the soil, threaten groundwater and make it increasingly likely that we won’t meet our carbon reduction goals in the near future. In Texas and other oil and gas producing states, the bill for oilfield cleanup is staggering, but there are signs that state and federal lawmakers are getting serious about paying it. Signs of leakage are visible in on the side of the pumpjack and at the wellhead at the orphaned Beach Oil & Gas Olix-A Well No. 1, near Monahans, TX. On the heels of the Carbon Tracker report, the U.S. Congress in 2021 passed the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which earmarked $4.7 billion for “orphaned well site plugging, remediation and restoration activities on federal, Tribal, state and private lands,” all to be administered by the Department of Interior. According to the Environmental Defense Fund, some 120,000 wells in the United States would qualify for plugging under the new federal program, including the entire Texas orphan list. Plugging those wells and eliminating the methane they emit would be the equivalent of taking 1.5 million-4.3 million cars in the United States off the road for a year, the Environmental Defense Fund noted in a press release.  The reaction to the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which the Department of Interior described as a “historic investment” that would “ reduce methane and other greenhouse gas emissions from orphaned wells, help clean up water contamination, restore native habitat, create good-paying union jobs and benefit disproportionately impacted communities,” was chilly at the Texas Railroad Commission.  “We’re going to wait to see what their rules are before we decide if we have the opportunity to accept those dollars,” Commissioner Christi Craddick said in a speech at a Texas Pipeline Association meeting in January 2023. Craddick said she intended to protect Texas from regulatory strings attached to the bill that might be “hostile to energy.”  By the end of 2023, Texas had decided to take the federal money after all, accepting a $25 million grant to step up its state-managed plugging program, with an additional $319 million to follow in subsequent funding rounds. The flood of federal funds augments state dollars — $52.5 million in 2023, according to commission spokesperson Patty Ramon — that have funded a state-managed well-plugging program since 1984.  At the Capitol in Austin, Rep. Brooks Landgraf, an oil and gas attorney who represents the city of Odessa and chairs the Texas House Environmental Regulation Committee, has been driving an effort to boost funding for oilfield cleanup — including plugging orphan wells — as part of a larger effort to rehabilitate areas hit hard by intensive energy industry activity. For more than a decade, since the start of the fracking boom, Permian Basin cities, towns and rural areas have seen their roads degraded by endless streams of semis hauling water, sand and heavy equipment. One of those roads, Highway 285, has grown so dangerous from oilfield traffic that it is known as “Death Highway.”  The boom has also stressed schools, hospitals, law enforcement and health care resources, and caused a deterioration of air and water quality in the region, which is home to about half a million people, according to the Permian Basin Regional Planning Commission. “This is something that’s going to take a lot of time and a lot of money, but it’s something we have to do,” Landgraf said in May 2022. “We have to clean up our state.” A bill authored by Landgraf that would have tapped a new severance tax to increase funding for orphan plugging passed the Texas House of Representatives in 2023 with overwhelming support but died in the Senate. Landgraf told Capital & Main that he plans to bring the bill back in the 2025 session. Pecos County, TX: The APV McCamey Mag-N- No. 32, an orphan well on property owned by Exxon-Mobil. In a radio interview in April 2023, Craddick said she and the other commissioners on the Texas Railroad Commission believe “it’s important that we plug wells” and that Texas has the “most aggressive well-plugging program” in the country. “We have just under 1,000 people who work for this agency. Of that, almost half are inspectors,” Craddick said. (Ramon said the commission actually employs 180 inspectors in the oil and gas division.) “We go and inspect these wells and identify where it is and then put them on a list,” Craddick said. “When they go on a list, we prioritize them. Then, we have a process to determine whether they should be plugged sooner rather than later.”  Ramon said the commission has been “exceeding [plugging] targets set by the Legislature for seven straight years and counting.” But despite plugging in excess of 1,500 wells each year, the backlog of Texas orphans never seems to diminish. Worse, that list does not include an unknown number of unplugged wells that are undocumented, abandoned, or otherwise likely to meet the orphan criteria in the future. Since July 2020, the number of officially recognized orphans in Texas has never dropped below 6,208, according to monthly versions of the Railroad Commission’s orphan list obtained through an open records request. The average number of orphans over 42 months, including the most recent April 2024 list, was 7,907 (no lists were provided for July and August 2021 or December 2023, and the October 2020 list was blank). In March 2024, the number of orphans suddenly surged by nearly 4,000 to 12,205, before dropping back to 8,580 in April. Asked for an explanation, Ramon said the March list “inadvertently included wells that were not orphaned.” Ramon did not respond to a question about what process the commission uses to add and remove orphans from the list, or how such a meteoric leap and crash in orphan numbers could have inadvertently occurred in the span of a single month. Mosaic Midland, LLC, is the operator on record for the Cordz-Juul No. 13, a leaking non-orphan well close to Fort Stockton, Texas, photographed in April 2023. The Railroad Commission plugged the Cordz-Juul No. 13 about a year after this photo was taken. Asked if the commission has an estimate of the number of orphaned or abandoned wells that are not on the list, Ramon said, “All orphaned wells are on the list.” In a follow-up email, Ramon clarified that the state maintains the orphan list, which includes only wells that meet the dual criteria for orphans — inactive for at least a year, with an operator whose organizational paperwork has also been delinquent for at least a year — and a separate list of “Wells Remaining to be Plugged with State Managed Funds,” which is updated monthly and includes a mix of orphans and nonorphan wells that the state intends to plug during the current fiscal year, along with a cost estimate for each job.  As for identifying wells to plug under the program — orphan or not — Ramon said the commission uses a “Well Plugging Priority System” worksheet, with which it determines a well’s rating on a scale from Priority 1, the most urgent — leaking wells that need plugging immediately — to Priority 4, the least urgent. Whether a well meets the dual orphan criteria, or whether it is on the commission’s official orphan list, does not factor into its priority rating on the worksheet, though there is a line item for wells with operators that have been delinquent for more than five years. Out of 185 wells approved by the commission for plugging with state funds in March, according to documents obtained by Capital & Main through an open records request, at least three never appeared on the orphan list. The operator of one of those wells, Outline Oil Company LLC, located in Beeville, Texas, has a valid Organization Report and is in good standing with the Texas Comptroller’s Office. Ramon declined to explain why the state had committed an estimated $110,000 to plug Outline’s well, rather than requiring the operator to plug it. The remaining wells approved for plugging on the March list, but that were absent from the orphan list, have operators whose Organization Reports have been delinquent for years. The state estimates it will spend $120,000 replugging two gas wells owned by Dallas-based Arriola Operating and Consulting Inc., which has been delinquent since January 2013. The commission’s wellbore database lists the wells, which were both originally plugged in 1985, under a different operator. The commission will also spend an estimated $26,500 replugging a well owned by Coleman-based Ringo Rig LLC that records show had spent years on the orphan list before being plugged by the state in August 2023 and subsequently removed from the list. Ringo Rig LLC has been delinquent since July 2019.  Signs of leakage are visible around the wellhead at the orphaned Beach Oil & Gas Olix-A- Well No. 1, near Monahans, TX. “Not only do we plug orphaned wells, we also plug a well if an operator does not take action as directed at a leaking well,” Ramon said in an email. “Bottom line: we do not abdicate our duty to protect the environment; we plug wells, orphan or non-orphan, and eliminate pollution threats.” Ramon did not respond to questions about whether the commission has an estimate of how many nonorphans may eventually become the state’s responsibility, finding their way onto the orphan list, the plugging list, or both.  If there is a bottom line, it’s that Texas has no solid estimate of the number of unplugged wells within its borders that may one day become wards of the state. Some date back to the earliest years of oil exploration, when few if any records were kept. Others are still producing, but with operators who may not have enough cash when it comes time to end the well’s life and plug it — which is their legal responsibility. Others stopped producing a long time ago, and belong to delinquent operators, but for some reason are not included on the orphan list. “Right now the Railroad Commission estimates that we have almost 8,000 orphan wells that need to be plugged in the state of Texas,” Rep. Landgraf said back in 2022, when he was drumming up support for more orphan funding. “In reality there are probably more than that, because we just don’t know where they all are or how many exist.”  Copyright Capital & Main 2024

No state has punched more holes in its bedrock than the Lone Star State. The environmental risks are staggering, and so are the clean up costs The post Texas Has ‘the Most Aggressive’ Well-Plugging Program in the U.S. So Why Is Its To-Do List So Long? appeared first on .

After a century and a half of oil and gas production in the United States, the nonprofit environmental watchdog Climate Tracker published a sobering report in 2020: Some 2.6 million unplugged onshore wells lay scattered across the country. Plugging all those derelict holes, from the rocky Appalachian hill country of western Pennsylvania to the dry plains of West Texas and the tundra of Alaska, and countless points between, might cost as much as $280 billion. And that figure from the report did not include undocumented wells — the ones that have vanished from the books, if they were ever recorded in the first place. Carbon Tracker’s estimate of the number of undocumented onshore wells was also striking: 1.2 million. 

Since 1859, when the first successful American oil well was drilled in Titusville, Pennsylvania, no state has had more holes punched through its bedrock or has sucked more hydrocarbons out of the ground than Texas. Carbon Tracker uses data from the energy industry analytics company Enverus to identify wells that are inactive or low producing, said Rob Schuwerk, executive director of Carbon Tracker’s North America operation. And as of 2024, Carbon Tracker reports there are 476,790 documented wells that have been drilled, but not plugged, in the Lone Star State. The lengthy list includes those that have ceased operation and been added to the state’s orphan well program. 

For a well to be listed as an orphan by the Texas Railroad Commission — the oil and gas regulator that manages the state’s well-plugging program — it must have been inactive for at least 12 months and have an operator whose Organization Report has also been delinquent for at least a year. There are 8,580 wells on the current Texas orphan list, which was last updated in April. The Environmental Defense Fund, a nonprofit environmental advocacy group, uses a simpler definition of orphans: “oil and gas wells that are inactive, unplugged, and have no solvent owner of record.”

Of the nearly half-million unplugged wells Carbon Tracker has identified in Texas, more than a third have either been temporarily abandoned, have not produced in five or more years or have never produced oil or gas, Schuwerk said. Most of the rest are low-producing stripper wells. Only 15% of the unplugged wells in the state produce more than 15 barrels of oil equivalent per day, Schuwerk said. (The most recent figures from the Railroad Commission show that the state’s 246,133 active oil and gas wells produced an average of 41 barrels of oil equivalent per day in January.) Derelict wells are more than a nuisance — they are virtual doomsday machines that foul the air, pollute the soil, threaten groundwater and make it increasingly likely that we won’t meet our carbon reduction goals in the near future. In Texas and other oil and gas producing states, the bill for oilfield cleanup is staggering, but there are signs that state and federal lawmakers are getting serious about paying it.

Signs of leakage are visible in on the side of the pumpjack and at the wellhead at the orphaned Beach Oil & Gas Olix-A Well No. 1, near Monahans, TX.

On the heels of the Carbon Tracker report, the U.S. Congress in 2021 passed the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which earmarked $4.7 billion for “orphaned well site plugging, remediation and restoration activities on federal, Tribal, state and private lands,” all to be administered by the Department of Interior. According to the Environmental Defense Fund, some 120,000 wells in the United States would qualify for plugging under the new federal program, including the entire Texas orphan list. Plugging those wells and eliminating the methane they emit would be the equivalent of taking 1.5 million-4.3 million cars in the United States off the road for a year, the Environmental Defense Fund noted in a press release

The reaction to the Bipartisan Infrastructure Law, which the Department of Interior described as a “historic investment” that would “ reduce methane and other greenhouse gas emissions from orphaned wells, help clean up water contamination, restore native habitat, create good-paying union jobs and benefit disproportionately impacted communities,” was chilly at the Texas Railroad Commission.

 “We’re going to wait to see what their rules are before we decide if we have the opportunity to accept those dollars,” Commissioner Christi Craddick said in a speech at a Texas Pipeline Association meeting in January 2023. Craddick said she intended to protect Texas from regulatory strings attached to the bill that might be “hostile to energy.” 

By the end of 2023, Texas had decided to take the federal money after all, accepting a $25 million grant to step up its state-managed plugging program, with an additional $319 million to follow in subsequent funding rounds. The flood of federal funds augments state dollars — $52.5 million in 2023, according to commission spokesperson Patty Ramon — that have funded a state-managed well-plugging program since 1984. 

At the Capitol in Austin, Rep. Brooks Landgraf, an oil and gas attorney who represents the city of Odessa and chairs the Texas House Environmental Regulation Committee, has been driving an effort to boost funding for oilfield cleanup — including plugging orphan wells — as part of a larger effort to rehabilitate areas hit hard by intensive energy industry activity. For more than a decade, since the start of the fracking boom, Permian Basin cities, towns and rural areas have seen their roads degraded by endless streams of semis hauling water, sand and heavy equipment. One of those roads, Highway 285, has grown so dangerous from oilfield traffic that it is known as “Death Highway.”  The boom has also stressed schools, hospitals, law enforcement and health care resources, and caused a deterioration of air and water quality in the region, which is home to about half a million people, according to the Permian Basin Regional Planning Commission.

“This is something that’s going to take a lot of time and a lot of money, but it’s something we have to do,” Landgraf said in May 2022. “We have to clean up our state.” A bill authored by Landgraf that would have tapped a new severance tax to increase funding for orphan plugging passed the Texas House of Representatives in 2023 with overwhelming support but died in the Senate. Landgraf told Capital & Main that he plans to bring the bill back in the 2025 session.

Pecos County, TX: The APV McCamey Mag-N- No. 32, an orphan well on property owned by Exxon-Mobil.

In a radio interview in April 2023, Craddick said she and the other commissioners on the Texas Railroad Commission believe “it’s important that we plug wells” and that Texas has the “most aggressive well-plugging program” in the country. “We have just under 1,000 people who work for this agency. Of that, almost half are inspectors,” Craddick said. (Ramon said the commission actually employs 180 inspectors in the oil and gas division.) “We go and inspect these wells and identify where it is and then put them on a list,” Craddick said. “When they go on a list, we prioritize them. Then, we have a process to determine whether they should be plugged sooner rather than later.” 

Ramon said the commission has been “exceeding [plugging] targets set by the Legislature for seven straight years and counting.” But despite plugging in excess of 1,500 wells each year, the backlog of Texas orphans never seems to diminish. Worse, that list does not include an unknown number of unplugged wells that are undocumented, abandoned, or otherwise likely to meet the orphan criteria in the future.

Since July 2020, the number of officially recognized orphans in Texas has never dropped below 6,208, according to monthly versions of the Railroad Commission’s orphan list obtained through an open records request. The average number of orphans over 42 months, including the most recent April 2024 list, was 7,907 (no lists were provided for July and August 2021 or December 2023, and the October 2020 list was blank). In March 2024, the number of orphans suddenly surged by nearly 4,000 to 12,205, before dropping back to 8,580 in April. Asked for an explanation, Ramon said the March list “inadvertently included wells that were not orphaned.” Ramon did not respond to a question about what process the commission uses to add and remove orphans from the list, or how such a meteoric leap and crash in orphan numbers could have inadvertently occurred in the span of a single month.

Mosaic Midland, LLC, is the operator on record for the Cordz-Juul No. 13, a leaking non-orphan well close to Fort Stockton, Texas, photographed in April 2023. The Railroad Commission plugged the Cordz-Juul No. 13 about a year after this photo was taken.

Asked if the commission has an estimate of the number of orphaned or abandoned wells that are not on the list, Ramon said, “All orphaned wells are on the list.” In a follow-up email, Ramon clarified that the state maintains the orphan list, which includes only wells that meet the dual criteria for orphans — inactive for at least a year, with an operator whose organizational paperwork has also been delinquent for at least a year — and a separate list of “Wells Remaining to be Plugged with State Managed Funds,” which is updated monthly and includes a mix of orphans and nonorphan wells that the state intends to plug during the current fiscal year, along with a cost estimate for each job. 

As for identifying wells to plug under the program — orphan or not — Ramon said the commission uses a “Well Plugging Priority System” worksheet, with which it determines a well’s rating on a scale from Priority 1, the most urgent — leaking wells that need plugging immediately — to Priority 4, the least urgent. Whether a well meets the dual orphan criteria, or whether it is on the commission’s official orphan list, does not factor into its priority rating on the worksheet, though there is a line item for wells with operators that have been delinquent for more than five years.

Out of 185 wells approved by the commission for plugging with state funds in March, according to documents obtained by Capital & Main through an open records request, at least three never appeared on the orphan list. The operator of one of those wells, Outline Oil Company LLC, located in Beeville, Texas, has a valid Organization Report and is in good standing with the Texas Comptroller’s Office. Ramon declined to explain why the state had committed an estimated $110,000 to plug Outline’s well, rather than requiring the operator to plug it. The remaining wells approved for plugging on the March list, but that were absent from the orphan list, have operators whose Organization Reports have been delinquent for years. The state estimates it will spend $120,000 replugging two gas wells owned by Dallas-based Arriola Operating and Consulting Inc., which has been delinquent since January 2013. The commission’s wellbore database lists the wells, which were both originally plugged in 1985, under a different operator. The commission will also spend an estimated $26,500 replugging a well owned by Coleman-based Ringo Rig LLC that records show had spent years on the orphan list before being plugged by the state in August 2023 and subsequently removed from the list. Ringo Rig LLC has been delinquent since July 2019. 

Signs of leakage are visible around the wellhead at the orphaned Beach Oil & Gas Olix-A- Well No. 1, near Monahans, TX.

“Not only do we plug orphaned wells, we also plug a well if an operator does not take action as directed at a leaking well,” Ramon said in an email. “Bottom line: we do not abdicate our duty to protect the environment; we plug wells, orphan or non-orphan, and eliminate pollution threats.” Ramon did not respond to questions about whether the commission has an estimate of how many nonorphans may eventually become the state’s responsibility, finding their way onto the orphan list, the plugging list, or both. 

If there is a bottom line, it’s that Texas has no solid estimate of the number of unplugged wells within its borders that may one day become wards of the state. Some date back to the earliest years of oil exploration, when few if any records were kept. Others are still producing, but with operators who may not have enough cash when it comes time to end the well’s life and plug it — which is their legal responsibility. Others stopped producing a long time ago, and belong to delinquent operators, but for some reason are not included on the orphan list.

“Right now the Railroad Commission estimates that we have almost 8,000 orphan wells that need to be plugged in the state of Texas,” Rep. Landgraf said back in 2022, when he was drumming up support for more orphan funding. “In reality there are probably more than that, because we just don’t know where they all are or how many exist.” 


Copyright Capital & Main 2024

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What’s the best way to expand the US electricity grid?

A study by MIT researchers illuminates choices about reliability, cost, and emissions.

Growing energy demand means the U.S. will almost certainly have to expand its electricity grid in coming years. What’s the best way to do this? A new study by MIT researchers examines legislation introduced in Congress and identifies relative tradeoffs involving reliability, cost, and emissions, depending on the proposed approach.The researchers evaluated two policy approaches to expanding the U.S. electricity grid: One would concentrate on regions with more renewable energy sources, and the other would create more interconnections across the country. For instance, some of the best untapped wind-power resources in the U.S. lie in the center of the country, so one type of grid expansion would situate relatively more grid infrastructure in those regions. Alternatively, the other scenario involves building more infrastructure everywhere in roughly equal measure, which the researchers call the “prescriptive” approach. How does each pencil out?After extensive modeling, the researchers found that a grid expansion could make improvements on all fronts, with each approach offering different advantages. A more geographically unbalanced grid buildout would be 1.13 percent less expensive, and would reduce carbon emissions by 3.65 percent compared to the prescriptive approach. And yet, the prescriptive approach, with more national interconnection, would significantly reduce power outages due to extreme weather, among other things.“There’s a tradeoff between the two things that are most on policymakers’ minds: cost and reliability,” says Christopher Knittel, an economist at the MIT Sloan School of Management, who helped direct the research. “This study makes it more clear that the more prescriptive approach ends up being better in the face of extreme weather and outages.”The paper, “Implications of Policy-Driven Transmission Expansion on Costs, Emissions and Reliability in the United States,” is published today in Nature Energy.The authors are Juan Ramon L. Senga, a postdoc in the MIT Center for Energy and Environmental Policy Research; Audun Botterud, a principal research scientist in the MIT Laboratory for Information and Decision Systems; John E. Parson, the deputy director for research at MIT’s Center for Energy and Environmental Policy Research; Drew Story, the managing director at MIT’s Policy Lab; and Knittel, who is the George P. Schultz Professor at MIT Sloan, and associate dean for climate and sustainability at MIT.The new study is a product of the MIT Climate Policy Center, housed within MIT Sloan and committed to bipartisan research on energy issues. The center is also part of the Climate Project at MIT, founded in 2024 as a high-level Institute effort to develop practical climate solutions.In this case, the project was developed from work the researchers did with federal lawmakers who have introduced legislation aimed at bolstering and expanding the U.S. electric grid. One of these bills, the BIG WIRES Act, co-sponsored by Sen. John Hickenlooper of Colorado and Rep. Scott Peters of California, would require each transmission region in the U.S. to be able to send at least 30 percent of its peak load to other regions by 2035.That would represent a substantial change for a national transmission scenario where grids have largely been developed regionally, without an enormous amount of national oversight.“The U.S. grid is aging and it needs an upgrade,” Senga says. “Implementing these kinds of policies is an important step for us to get to that future where we improve the grid, lower costs, lower emissions, and improve reliability. Some progress is better than none, and in this case, it would be important.”To conduct the study, the researchers looked at how policies like the BIG WIRES Act would affect energy distribution. The scholars used a model of energy generation developed at the MIT Energy Initiative — the model is called “Gen X” — and examined the changes proposed by the legislation.With a 30 percent level of interregional connectivity, the study estimates, the number of outages due to extreme cold would drop by 39 percent, for instance, a substantial increase in reliability. That would help avoid scenarios such as the one Texas experienced in 2021, when winter storms damaged distribution capacity.“Reliability is what we find to be most salient to policymakers,” Senga says.On the other hand, as the paper details, a future grid that is “optimized” with more transmission capacity near geographic spots of new energy generation would be less expensive.“On the cost side, this kind of optimized system looks better,” Senga says.A more geographically imbalanced grid would also have a greater impact on reducing emissions. Globally, the levelized cost of wind and solar dropped by 89 percent and 69 percent, respectively, from 2010 to 2022, meaning that incorporating less-expensive renewables into the grid would help with both cost and emissions.“On the emissions side, a priori it’s not clear the optimized system would do better, but it does,” Knittel says. “That’s probably tied to cost, in the sense that it’s building more transmission links to where the good, cheap renewable resources are, because they’re cheap. Emissions fall when you let the optimizing action take place.”To be sure, these two differing approaches to grid expansion are not the only paths forward. The study also examines a hybrid approach, which involves both national interconnectivity requirements and local buildouts based around new power sources on top of that. Still, the model does show that there may be some tradeoffs lawmakers will want to consider when developing and considering future grid legislation.“You can find a balance between these factors, where you’re still going to still have an increase in reliability while also getting the cost and emission reductions,” Senga observes.For his part, Knittel emphasizes that working with legislation as the basis for academic studies, while not generally common, can be productive for everyone involved. Scholars get to apply their research tools and models to real-world scenarios, and policymakers get a sophisticated evaluation of how their proposals would work.“Compared to the typical academic path to publication, this is different, but at the Climate Policy Center, we’re already doing this kind of research,” Knittel says. 

UK farmers lose £800m after heat and drought cause one of worst harvests on record

Many now concerned about ability to make living in fast-changing climate after one of worst grain harvests recordedRecord heat and drought cost Britain’s arable farmers more than £800m in lost production in 2025 in one of the worst harvests recorded, analysis has estimated.Three of the five worst harvests on record have now occurred since 2020, leaving some farmers asking whether the growing impacts of the climate crisis are making it too financially risky to sow their crops. Farmers are already facing heavy financial pressure as the costs of fertilisers and other inputs have risen faster than prices. Continue reading...

Record heat and drought cost Britain’s arable farmers more than £800m in lost production in 2025 in one of the worst harvests recorded, analysis has estimated.Three of the five worst harvests on record have now occurred since 2020, leaving some farmers asking whether the growing impacts of the climate crisis are making it too financially risky to sow their crops. Farmers are already facing heavy financial pressure as the costs of fertilisers and other inputs have risen faster than prices.This year Britain had the hottest and driest spring on record, and the hottest summer, with drought conditions widespread. As a result, the production of the five staple arable crops – wheat, oats, spring and winter barley, and oilseed rape – fell by 20% compared with the 10-year average, according to the analysis by the Energy and Climate Intelligence Unit (ECIU). The harvest in England was the second-worst in records going back to 1984.Supercharged by global heating, extreme rainfall in the winters of 2019-20 and 2023-24 also led to very poor harvests, as farmers were unable to access waterlogged and flooded fields to drill their crops.“This has been another torrid year for many farmers in the UK, with the pendulum swinging from too wet to too hot and dry,” said Tom Lancaster at the ECIU. “British farmers have once again been left counting the costs of climate change, with four-fifths now concerned about their ability to make a living due to the fast-changing climate.”He added: “There is an urgent need to ensure farmers are better supported to adapt to these climate shocks and build their resilience as the bedrock of our food security. In this context, the delays [by ministers] to the relaunch of vital green farming schemes are the last thing the industry needs.” The sustainable farming incentive was closed in March.Many farmers are struggling to break even and some blame environmental policies, but Lancaster said: “The evidence suggests that climate impacts are what’s actually driving issues of profitability, certainly in the arable sector, as opposed to policy change. Without reaching net zero emission there is no way to limit the impacts making food production in the UK ever more difficult.”David Lord, an arable farmer from Essex, said: “As a farmer, I’m used to taking the rough with the smooth, but recent years have seen near constant extreme rainfall, heat and drought. It’s getting to the point with climate change where I can’t take the risk of investing in a new crop of wheat or barley because the return on that investment is just so uncertain.“Green farming schemes are a vital lifeline for me, helping build my resilience to these shocks whilst providing cashflow to help buffer me financially.”Green farming approaches include planting winter cover crops. These increase resilience by boosting the organic content of soil, meaning it can retain water better during droughts. Cover crops can also help break up compacted soil, allowing it to drain better during wet periods.The ECIU analysis used production data for England published in October and current grain prices and then extrapolated it to the UK as a whole, a method shown to be reliable in previous years. Since 2020, which was the worst harvest on record, lost revenue associated with the impact of extreme weather is now more than £2bn for UK arable farmers. Grain prices are set globally, so low harvests in the UK do not translate in the market to higher prices.The link between worsening extreme weather and global heating is increasingly clear. The Met Office said the UK summer of 2025 was the hottest in more than a century of records and was made 70 times more probable because of the climate crisis. Global heating also made the severe rainfall in the winter storms of 2023-24 about 20% heavier.“This year’s harvest was extremely challenging,” said Jamie Burrows, the chair of the National Farmers’ Union combinable crops board. “Growing crops in the UK isn’t easy due to the unpredictable weather we are seeing more of. Funding is needed for climate adaptation and resilient crop varieties to safeguard our ability to feed the nation.”The price of some foods hit by extreme weather are rising more than four times faster than others in the average shop, the ECIU reported in October. It found the price of butter, beef, milk, coffee and chocolate had risen by an average of 15.6% over the year, compared with 2.8% for other food and drink.Drought in the UK led to poor grass growth, hitting butter and beef production, while extreme heat and rain in west Africa pushed up cocoa prices and droughts in Brazil and Vietnam led to a surge in coffee prices.A spokesperson for the Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs said farmers were stewards of the nation’s food security. “We know there are challenges in the sector and weather extremes have affected harvests,” she said. “We are backing our farmers in the face of a changing climate with the largest nature-friendly farming budget in history to grow their businesses and get more British food on our plates.”

Realtors just forced Zillow to hide a key piece of information about buying a home. Here’s why

Until recently, when you looked at a house for sale on Zillow, you could see property-specific scores for the risk of flooding, wildfires, wind from storms and hurricanes, extreme heat, and air quality. The numbers came from First Street, a nonprofit that uses peer-reviewed methodologies to calculate “climate risk.” But Zillow recently removed those scores after pressure from CRMLS, one of the large real-estate listing services that supplies its data. “The reality is these models have been around for over five years,” says Matthew Eby, CEO of First Street, which also provides its data to sites like Realtor.com and Redfin. (Zillow started displaying the information in 2024, but Realtor.com incorporated First Street’s “Flood Scores” in 2020.) “And what’s happened is the market’s gotten very tight. And now they’re looking for ways to try and make it easier to sell homes at the expense of homebuyers.” The California Regional MLS, like others across the country, controls the database that feeds real estate listings to sites like Zillow. The organization said in a statement to the New York Times that it was “suspicious” after seeing predictions of high flood risk in areas that hadn’t flooded in the past. When Fast Company asked for an example of a location, they pointed to a neighborhood in Huntington Beach—but that area actually just flooded last week. In a statement, First Street said that it stands behind the accuracy of its scores. “Our models are built on transparent, peer-reviewed science and are continuously validated against real-world outcomes. In the CRMLS coverage area, during the Los Angeles wildfires, our maps identified over 90% of the homes that ultimately burned as being at severe or extreme risk—our highest risk rating—and 100% as having some level of risk, significantly outperforming CalFire’s official state hazard maps. So when claims are made that our models are inaccurate, we ask for evidence. To date, all the empirical validation shows our science is working as designed and providing better risk insight than the tools the industry has relied on historically.” Zillow’s trust in the data has not changed, and that data is important to consumers: In one survey, it saw that more than 80% of buyers considered the data when shopping for a house. But the company said in a statement that it updated its “climate risk product experience to adhere to varying MLS requirements.” It’s not clear exactly what happened: In response to questions for this story, CRMLS now says it only asked Zillow to remove “predictive numbers” and flood map layers on listings, while Zillow says the MLS board voted to demand they block all of the data. It’s also not clear what would have happened if Zillow hadn’t made any changes, though in theory, the MLS could have stopped giving the site access to its listings. Images of Zillow’s climate risk tools from a 2024 press release [Image: Zillow] Zillow still links to First Street’s website in each listing, so homebuyers can access the information, but it’s less easy to find. The site also still includes a map that consumers can use to view overall neighborhood risk, if they take the extra step to click on checkboxes for flooding, fire, or other hazards. But the main scores are gone. Obviously, seeing that a particular house has a high flood risk or fire risk can hurt sales. Nevertheless, after First Street first launched, the National Association of Realtors put out guidance saying that the information was useful—and that since realtors aren’t experts in things like flood risk, they shouldn’t try to tell buyers themselves that a particular house is safe, even if it hasn’t flooded in the past. First Street’s flood data goes further than that of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which uses outdated flood maps. It also incorporates more climate predictions, along with the risk of flooding from heavy rainfall and surface runoff, not just flooding from rivers or the coast. And it includes predictions of small amounts of flooding (for example, whether an inch of water is likely to reach the property). Buyers can dig deeper to figure out how much that amount of flooding might affect a particular house. It’s not surprising that some high risk scores have upset home sellers who haven’t experienced flooding or other problems in the past. But as the climate changes, past experiences don’t guarantee what a property will be like for the next 30 years. Take the example of North Carolina, where some residents hadn’t ever experienced flooding until Hurricane Helene dumped unprecedented rainfall on their neighborhoods. Redfin, another site that uses the data, plans to continue providing it, though sellers have the option to ask for it to be removed from a particular home if they believe it’s inaccurate. (First Street also allows homeowners to ask for their data to be revised if there’s a problem, and then reviews the accuracy.) “Redfin will continue to provide the best-possible estimates of the risks of fires, floods, and storms,” Redfin chief economist Daryl Fairweather said in a statement. “Homebuyers want to know, because losing a home in a catastrophe is heartbreaking, and insuring against these risks is getting more and more expensive.” Realtor.com is working with CRMLS and data providers to look into the issues raised by the MLS over the scores. “We aim to balance transparency about the evolving environmental risks to what is often a family’s biggest investment, with an understanding that the available data can sometimes be limited,” the company said in a statement. “For this reason we always encourage consumers to consult a local real estate professional for guidance or to learn more. When issues are raised, we work with our data partners to review them and make updates when appropriate.” If more real estate sites take down the scores, it’s likely that some buyers won’t see the information at all. First Street says that while it’s good that Zillow still includes a link to its site, the impact is real. “Whenever you add friction into something, it just is used less,” Eby says. “And so not having that information at the tip of your fingers is definitely going to have an impact on the millions of people that go to Zillow every day to see it.”

Until recently, when you looked at a house for sale on Zillow, you could see property-specific scores for the risk of flooding, wildfires, wind from storms and hurricanes, extreme heat, and air quality. The numbers came from First Street, a nonprofit that uses peer-reviewed methodologies to calculate “climate risk.” But Zillow recently removed those scores after pressure from CRMLS, one of the large real-estate listing services that supplies its data. “The reality is these models have been around for over five years,” says Matthew Eby, CEO of First Street, which also provides its data to sites like Realtor.com and Redfin. (Zillow started displaying the information in 2024, but Realtor.com incorporated First Street’s “Flood Scores” in 2020.) “And what’s happened is the market’s gotten very tight. And now they’re looking for ways to try and make it easier to sell homes at the expense of homebuyers.” The California Regional MLS, like others across the country, controls the database that feeds real estate listings to sites like Zillow. The organization said in a statement to the New York Times that it was “suspicious” after seeing predictions of high flood risk in areas that hadn’t flooded in the past. When Fast Company asked for an example of a location, they pointed to a neighborhood in Huntington Beach—but that area actually just flooded last week. In a statement, First Street said that it stands behind the accuracy of its scores. “Our models are built on transparent, peer-reviewed science and are continuously validated against real-world outcomes. In the CRMLS coverage area, during the Los Angeles wildfires, our maps identified over 90% of the homes that ultimately burned as being at severe or extreme risk—our highest risk rating—and 100% as having some level of risk, significantly outperforming CalFire’s official state hazard maps. So when claims are made that our models are inaccurate, we ask for evidence. To date, all the empirical validation shows our science is working as designed and providing better risk insight than the tools the industry has relied on historically.” Zillow’s trust in the data has not changed, and that data is important to consumers: In one survey, it saw that more than 80% of buyers considered the data when shopping for a house. But the company said in a statement that it updated its “climate risk product experience to adhere to varying MLS requirements.” It’s not clear exactly what happened: In response to questions for this story, CRMLS now says it only asked Zillow to remove “predictive numbers” and flood map layers on listings, while Zillow says the MLS board voted to demand they block all of the data. It’s also not clear what would have happened if Zillow hadn’t made any changes, though in theory, the MLS could have stopped giving the site access to its listings. Images of Zillow’s climate risk tools from a 2024 press release [Image: Zillow] Zillow still links to First Street’s website in each listing, so homebuyers can access the information, but it’s less easy to find. The site also still includes a map that consumers can use to view overall neighborhood risk, if they take the extra step to click on checkboxes for flooding, fire, or other hazards. But the main scores are gone. Obviously, seeing that a particular house has a high flood risk or fire risk can hurt sales. Nevertheless, after First Street first launched, the National Association of Realtors put out guidance saying that the information was useful—and that since realtors aren’t experts in things like flood risk, they shouldn’t try to tell buyers themselves that a particular house is safe, even if it hasn’t flooded in the past. First Street’s flood data goes further than that of the Federal Emergency Management Agency, which uses outdated flood maps. It also incorporates more climate predictions, along with the risk of flooding from heavy rainfall and surface runoff, not just flooding from rivers or the coast. And it includes predictions of small amounts of flooding (for example, whether an inch of water is likely to reach the property). Buyers can dig deeper to figure out how much that amount of flooding might affect a particular house. It’s not surprising that some high risk scores have upset home sellers who haven’t experienced flooding or other problems in the past. But as the climate changes, past experiences don’t guarantee what a property will be like for the next 30 years. Take the example of North Carolina, where some residents hadn’t ever experienced flooding until Hurricane Helene dumped unprecedented rainfall on their neighborhoods. Redfin, another site that uses the data, plans to continue providing it, though sellers have the option to ask for it to be removed from a particular home if they believe it’s inaccurate. (First Street also allows homeowners to ask for their data to be revised if there’s a problem, and then reviews the accuracy.) “Redfin will continue to provide the best-possible estimates of the risks of fires, floods, and storms,” Redfin chief economist Daryl Fairweather said in a statement. “Homebuyers want to know, because losing a home in a catastrophe is heartbreaking, and insuring against these risks is getting more and more expensive.” Realtor.com is working with CRMLS and data providers to look into the issues raised by the MLS over the scores. “We aim to balance transparency about the evolving environmental risks to what is often a family’s biggest investment, with an understanding that the available data can sometimes be limited,” the company said in a statement. “For this reason we always encourage consumers to consult a local real estate professional for guidance or to learn more. When issues are raised, we work with our data partners to review them and make updates when appropriate.” If more real estate sites take down the scores, it’s likely that some buyers won’t see the information at all. First Street says that while it’s good that Zillow still includes a link to its site, the impact is real. “Whenever you add friction into something, it just is used less,” Eby says. “And so not having that information at the tip of your fingers is definitely going to have an impact on the millions of people that go to Zillow every day to see it.”

Researchers Slightly Lower Study's Estimate of Drop in Global Income Due to Climate Change

Researchers who examined climate change’s potential effect on the global economy say data errors led them to slightly overstate an expected drop in income over the next 25 years

The authors of a study that examined climate change's potential effect on the global economy said Wednesday that data errors led them to slightly overstate an expected drop in income over the next 25 years.The researchers at Germany's Potsdam Institute for Climate Impact Research, writing in the journal Nature in 2024, had forecast a 19% drop in global income by 2050. Their revised analysis puts the figure at 17%.The authors also said in their original work that there was a 99% chance that, by midcentury, it would cost more to fix damage from climate change than it would cost to build resilience. Their new analysis, not yet peer-reviewed, lowered that figure to 91%.The Associated Press reported on the original study. Nature posted a retraction of it Wednesday.The researchers cited data inaccuracies in the first paper, particularly with underlying economic data for Uzbekistan between 1995 and 1999 that had a large influence on the results, and that their analysis had underestimated statistical uncertainty.Max Kotz, one of the study’s authors, told the AP that the heart of the study is unchanged: Climate change will be enormously damaging to the world economy if unchecked, and that the impact will hit hardest in the lowest-income areas that contribute the fewest emissions driving the planet's warming. Gernot Wagner, a climate economist at Columbia Business School who wasn't involved with the research, said the thrust of the Potsdam Institute's work remains the same “no matter which part of the range the true figure will be.”“Climate change already hits home, quite literally. Home insurance premiums across the U.S. have already seen, in part, a doubling over the past decade alone,” Wagner said. “Rapidly accumulating climate risks will only make the numbers go up even more.”The Associated Press’ climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP’s standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at AP.org.Copyright 2025 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.Photos You Should See – Nov. 2025

Climate Change Is Killing the Myth of Los Angeles

I once lived in an apartment in Los Angeles that flooded every time it rained. Not just a polite drip, either. The ceiling sagged and dripped into long wet ribbons, and the wall beside my desk would bleed water like I was playing out Barton Fink in color. I wonder how that space looks now, as Southern California comes out of a long rain event where the hills above Altadena saw nearly nine inches at the site of January’s Eaton fire, between November 14 and November 21. People love to talk about tanned and toned Dallas Raines, the veteran KABC meteorologist who can summon high drama from a passing low-pressure system. Or the obligatory SUV hydroplaning down the 5 Freeway. In L.A., weather banter is its own civic dialect. We rarely admit how fragile the physical city really is, and how the very places that frame our daily lives—the courtyard where you catch the first blue of morning, the balcony where you watch the hills smolder at golden hour—can start to fail the moment the skies decide to turn. Everything here is built for one type of weather. And most of the time it works. But when it doesn’t, it really doesn’t work. L.A. has spent over a century advertising its perfect Mediterranean climate. Now increasingly frequent severe weather events are triggering citywide soul-searching about who deserves protection, what neighborhoods get resources, which elected officials are to blame, and whether the promise of this place still holds. Some parts of L.A. County picked up close to a foot of rain in 10 days in February 2023, leaving more than 80,000 Los Angeles Department of Water and Power customers without power, while unhoused residents faced flooded encampments, freezing nights, and packed shelters. Almost exactly a year later, emergency crews pulled a pregnant, unhoused woman from a storm drain above a raging river. The January 2025 fires in the Palisades and Altadena further exposed the gap between the city we imagine and the one we actually live in. What happens when a city built on the mythology of sublime weather has to finally face how to live with a climate that refuses to stay in line?The Los Angeles myth goes back more than a century: Between the 1880s and the 1920s, the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce mailed millions of pamphlets eastward, selling Midwestern families on a kingdom of eternal spring. Sunkist built a national brand on winter oranges ripening while Chicago froze. Railroads sponsored booster fiction and postcards promising a life where weather was not an obstacle but an asset. In the dead of winter, “[you could] have a small, five-acre citrus farm and do really well and then hop on the streetcar and go to the beach for the day,” said professor Char Miller, a historian and environmental analysis scholar at Pomona College.Miller has spent decades tracing how this mythology ossified. While the pitch obscured who paid the price—Indigenous communities pushed off their land, Chinese and Japanese residents marginalized or excluded—the promise endured in part because the landscape helped carry it. But for all the valleys, deserts, and coastlines, there were also floods, fires, earthquakes, and landslides: hazards only mentioned in the fine print. There’s an old line Miller heard during his early days on the West Coast in the 1970s: “California is 90 percent paradise, 10 percent apocalypse.” It was something people once said with a kind of wry affection, the same sensibility baked into disaster films that love to see Los Angeles perpetually destroyed. It was the myth of a place that could always be rebuilt, where catastrophe was fleeting and bounty would always return. But that ratio, Miller says, is shifting, leaning more toward calamity. It was nearly midnight in New York when my phone lit up. A friend in Los Angeles was calling to ask if I wanted him to move anything out of my apartment, which had just fallen under an evacuation order while I was back East. Earlier that afternoon, on January 8, West Hollywood had been in the mid-70s—bone-dry, humidity in the 20s. The kind of day that feels ominous if you’ve lived here long enough to know what those numbers mean. By nightfall, another fire was creeping toward Runyon Canyon, the hiking trail so quintessentially L.A. it sometimes has a valet. In the weeks that followed the January fires, the political blame game was relentless. Some went after Mayor Bass, others after Governor Newsom. But the fury felt like a way to avoid the harder truth of a city playing dumb about its own new climate reality.Even while the January fires were still burning, city and state leaders promised to rebuild immediately, suspending regulations that might have slowed development in the very zones that were incinerated. “What that did was to take off the table any kind of transformation that might have slowed down the very things that that fire consumed, which is rapid growth up into fire zones,” Miller said. A recent CalMatters analysis found that nearly four million people in Southern California are living in such hazardous zones.Climate scientist Daniel Swain told me that despite all the finger-pointing after the January fires, the forecast wasn’t the problem. Meteorologists had issued “crystal clear warnings” days ahead of time. The real issue, he suggested, is that Los Angeles still treats climate disasters as if they can be willed away, as if better heroics in the moment could out-muscle physics. “We can’t expect to have a firefighting force that can magically overcome hurricane-force winds amid record dry conditions producing a blizzard of embers in the suburbs,” Swain said. “You just can’t fight that in the moment.”The deeper problem is structural. Southern California is one of the most fire-prone landscapes in the country, and millions now live in or immediately downwind of terrain primed to burn. Many neighborhoods haven’t seen major fire in decades, which feeds the illusion of safety. But growth has pushed suburbs further into the wildland-urban interface just as warming has lengthened fire season, increasing the chances that a Santa Ana wind event arrives when vegetation is crisp and unrecoverably dry. Most years won’t align as catastrophically as January did, Swain noted, but when they do the math is unforgiving.Work has to happen long before the flames arrive. Swain pointed to neighborhoods where community groups had already tackled vegetation management, replaced vulnerable vents, or cleared brush from wooden fences. Those blocks didn’t just fare slightly better, but some avoided becoming ignition points entirely. Fire resilience, he emphasized, is cumulative; every house that doesn’t burn is one less launching pad for embers to race downwind.The fixes aren’t always grand or expensive. Sometimes it’s a few hundred dollars for finer mesh vents that stop embers from blowing into attics. Sometimes it’s ripping out head-high brush along a property line. Sometimes it’s insisting that new construction in fire zones meet tougher standards or retrofitting homes that were built for a climate that no longer exists.Swain sees the January fires as a preview of what strong Santa Ana events will look like going forward. Historically, many of the strongest Santa Ana events came after at least some winter rain. Now that rain is arriving later, meaning more wind events strike when the hills are still crisped from autumn, as was the case in January. But the problem in Los Angeles isn’t just meteorological: It is political, infrastructural, and deeply cultural. Miller likes to point to other parts of the country that faced similar crossroads and chose differently. After catastrophic floods in 1998, San Antonio bought out homeowners in riparian zones rather than sending them back into danger. Houston did something similar after Hurricane Harvey. These weren’t mass seizures or punitive acts; they were buyouts at market rate, voluntary and forward-looking. “What if,” Miller wondered, “you went to people who were burned out in Altadena and the Palisades and said, ‘We’re going to pay you not to rebuild’?” It’s a planner’s maxim—build up, not out—but in Southern California, the political will rarely matches the topographic reality.And yet, amid the devastation, there were signs of another kind of civic instinct. In Altadena, neighbors organized mutual aid networks at local businesses like Octavia’s Bookshelf and Bike Oven, and community leaders helped residents navigate insurance, microloans, and temporary housing. New nonprofits sprang up to support people psychologically and financially. Miller is skeptical of rebuilding policy, but he’s quick to note the human creativity that emerged in the fire’s wake—a kind of grassroots adaptation that government hasn’t yet matched.In May, Miller remembers stepping off a plane at LAX behind someone wearing a leather jacket with two mottos curved across the back: “Never forget” on top, “Rebuild Altadena” on the bottom. “I think the bottom circle erases the top,” Miller said. “If you rebuild, you have already forgotten because you are not paying attention to what happened and why it happened.”

I once lived in an apartment in Los Angeles that flooded every time it rained. Not just a polite drip, either. The ceiling sagged and dripped into long wet ribbons, and the wall beside my desk would bleed water like I was playing out Barton Fink in color. I wonder how that space looks now, as Southern California comes out of a long rain event where the hills above Altadena saw nearly nine inches at the site of January’s Eaton fire, between November 14 and November 21. People love to talk about tanned and toned Dallas Raines, the veteran KABC meteorologist who can summon high drama from a passing low-pressure system. Or the obligatory SUV hydroplaning down the 5 Freeway. In L.A., weather banter is its own civic dialect. We rarely admit how fragile the physical city really is, and how the very places that frame our daily lives—the courtyard where you catch the first blue of morning, the balcony where you watch the hills smolder at golden hour—can start to fail the moment the skies decide to turn. Everything here is built for one type of weather. And most of the time it works. But when it doesn’t, it really doesn’t work. L.A. has spent over a century advertising its perfect Mediterranean climate. Now increasingly frequent severe weather events are triggering citywide soul-searching about who deserves protection, what neighborhoods get resources, which elected officials are to blame, and whether the promise of this place still holds. Some parts of L.A. County picked up close to a foot of rain in 10 days in February 2023, leaving more than 80,000 Los Angeles Department of Water and Power customers without power, while unhoused residents faced flooded encampments, freezing nights, and packed shelters. Almost exactly a year later, emergency crews pulled a pregnant, unhoused woman from a storm drain above a raging river. The January 2025 fires in the Palisades and Altadena further exposed the gap between the city we imagine and the one we actually live in. What happens when a city built on the mythology of sublime weather has to finally face how to live with a climate that refuses to stay in line?The Los Angeles myth goes back more than a century: Between the 1880s and the 1920s, the Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce mailed millions of pamphlets eastward, selling Midwestern families on a kingdom of eternal spring. Sunkist built a national brand on winter oranges ripening while Chicago froze. Railroads sponsored booster fiction and postcards promising a life where weather was not an obstacle but an asset. In the dead of winter, “[you could] have a small, five-acre citrus farm and do really well and then hop on the streetcar and go to the beach for the day,” said professor Char Miller, a historian and environmental analysis scholar at Pomona College.Miller has spent decades tracing how this mythology ossified. While the pitch obscured who paid the price—Indigenous communities pushed off their land, Chinese and Japanese residents marginalized or excluded—the promise endured in part because the landscape helped carry it. But for all the valleys, deserts, and coastlines, there were also floods, fires, earthquakes, and landslides: hazards only mentioned in the fine print. There’s an old line Miller heard during his early days on the West Coast in the 1970s: “California is 90 percent paradise, 10 percent apocalypse.” It was something people once said with a kind of wry affection, the same sensibility baked into disaster films that love to see Los Angeles perpetually destroyed. It was the myth of a place that could always be rebuilt, where catastrophe was fleeting and bounty would always return. But that ratio, Miller says, is shifting, leaning more toward calamity. It was nearly midnight in New York when my phone lit up. A friend in Los Angeles was calling to ask if I wanted him to move anything out of my apartment, which had just fallen under an evacuation order while I was back East. Earlier that afternoon, on January 8, West Hollywood had been in the mid-70s—bone-dry, humidity in the 20s. The kind of day that feels ominous if you’ve lived here long enough to know what those numbers mean. By nightfall, another fire was creeping toward Runyon Canyon, the hiking trail so quintessentially L.A. it sometimes has a valet. In the weeks that followed the January fires, the political blame game was relentless. Some went after Mayor Bass, others after Governor Newsom. But the fury felt like a way to avoid the harder truth of a city playing dumb about its own new climate reality.Even while the January fires were still burning, city and state leaders promised to rebuild immediately, suspending regulations that might have slowed development in the very zones that were incinerated. “What that did was to take off the table any kind of transformation that might have slowed down the very things that that fire consumed, which is rapid growth up into fire zones,” Miller said. A recent CalMatters analysis found that nearly four million people in Southern California are living in such hazardous zones.Climate scientist Daniel Swain told me that despite all the finger-pointing after the January fires, the forecast wasn’t the problem. Meteorologists had issued “crystal clear warnings” days ahead of time. The real issue, he suggested, is that Los Angeles still treats climate disasters as if they can be willed away, as if better heroics in the moment could out-muscle physics. “We can’t expect to have a firefighting force that can magically overcome hurricane-force winds amid record dry conditions producing a blizzard of embers in the suburbs,” Swain said. “You just can’t fight that in the moment.”The deeper problem is structural. Southern California is one of the most fire-prone landscapes in the country, and millions now live in or immediately downwind of terrain primed to burn. Many neighborhoods haven’t seen major fire in decades, which feeds the illusion of safety. But growth has pushed suburbs further into the wildland-urban interface just as warming has lengthened fire season, increasing the chances that a Santa Ana wind event arrives when vegetation is crisp and unrecoverably dry. Most years won’t align as catastrophically as January did, Swain noted, but when they do the math is unforgiving.Work has to happen long before the flames arrive. Swain pointed to neighborhoods where community groups had already tackled vegetation management, replaced vulnerable vents, or cleared brush from wooden fences. Those blocks didn’t just fare slightly better, but some avoided becoming ignition points entirely. Fire resilience, he emphasized, is cumulative; every house that doesn’t burn is one less launching pad for embers to race downwind.The fixes aren’t always grand or expensive. Sometimes it’s a few hundred dollars for finer mesh vents that stop embers from blowing into attics. Sometimes it’s ripping out head-high brush along a property line. Sometimes it’s insisting that new construction in fire zones meet tougher standards or retrofitting homes that were built for a climate that no longer exists.Swain sees the January fires as a preview of what strong Santa Ana events will look like going forward. Historically, many of the strongest Santa Ana events came after at least some winter rain. Now that rain is arriving later, meaning more wind events strike when the hills are still crisped from autumn, as was the case in January. But the problem in Los Angeles isn’t just meteorological: It is political, infrastructural, and deeply cultural. Miller likes to point to other parts of the country that faced similar crossroads and chose differently. After catastrophic floods in 1998, San Antonio bought out homeowners in riparian zones rather than sending them back into danger. Houston did something similar after Hurricane Harvey. These weren’t mass seizures or punitive acts; they were buyouts at market rate, voluntary and forward-looking. “What if,” Miller wondered, “you went to people who were burned out in Altadena and the Palisades and said, ‘We’re going to pay you not to rebuild’?” It’s a planner’s maxim—build up, not out—but in Southern California, the political will rarely matches the topographic reality.And yet, amid the devastation, there were signs of another kind of civic instinct. In Altadena, neighbors organized mutual aid networks at local businesses like Octavia’s Bookshelf and Bike Oven, and community leaders helped residents navigate insurance, microloans, and temporary housing. New nonprofits sprang up to support people psychologically and financially. Miller is skeptical of rebuilding policy, but he’s quick to note the human creativity that emerged in the fire’s wake—a kind of grassroots adaptation that government hasn’t yet matched.In May, Miller remembers stepping off a plane at LAX behind someone wearing a leather jacket with two mottos curved across the back: “Never forget” on top, “Rebuild Altadena” on the bottom. “I think the bottom circle erases the top,” Miller said. “If you rebuild, you have already forgotten because you are not paying attention to what happened and why it happened.”

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