The 8 data centers that could transform one Texas county

This story was supported by the Pulitzer Center.

HOOD COUNTY — Brian Crawford points to the top of a hill northwest of his family’s home garden, just past their gently sloping yard dotted with live oaks beginning to flower.

“All of this would be buildings,” said his wife, Laura Crawford.

“A slab of concrete,” Brian added.

Their property is a 118-acre paradise along the Paluxy River Valley where the couple care for a menagerie of animals including their two enormous donkeys, Little Joe and Hoss, chickens and a herd of African antelope that they inherited when they bought the property nine years ago.

Instead of green, about 600 yards away from their garden, they could soon be looking at 2,100 acres of warehouse-like structures filled with computing servers that process the digital world, flattening their scenic view into something industrial. The site plan calls for a campus that spans almost six times the size of University of Texas at Austin’s main campus. Its Florida-based developer refers to it as the Comanche Circle project, but the eventual company that will run the data center has not been publicly revealed.

This is just the beginning of the data center revolution in Hood County, a rural community of 62,000 people about an hour southwest of Fort Worth. Developers have proposed eight data centers spanning over 7,600 acres, or 12 square miles. While it’s unclear how much power all of the facilities would require, the Comanche Circle data center, plus two other smaller projects from the same developer, could use up to 3 gigawatts of electricity at full capacity, according to its developer — enough to power about 3 million homes. Some of the power could be generated by a new on-site gas plant, and some will likely come from the state’s power grid, according to the project’s concept plan.

Comanche Circle will need an initial one-time “flush and fill” starting next year of 95 million gallons of water for its seven-year buildout, and then 150,000 gallons per day — equivalent to the average use of 500 U.S. households, according to the minutes of the local water district board meeting where the developer made its request. In an email to The Texas Tribune, the developer said that the number submitted to the district board was incorrect and his three data centers combined would use “less than 50,000 gallons per day of groundwater” at full build out.

Hood County locals are relentless in their fight against the data centers, packing county meetings and town halls and voicing their fierce opposition to the facilities threatening to transform their charming, small-town community.

But, county officials say their hands are tied in their ability to stop or slow development. Two efforts by Hood County commissioners to pass a moratorium on data centers failed, as a state lawmaker warned they were acting outside of their authority. And the county has been sued twice by developers — after the commission rejected one data center’s concept plan, citing a lack of information about critical considerations like where they’d get their water from, and then tabled a vote on another.

“I was elected by the people to represent their opinion,” Kevin Andrews, a Hood County commissioner who has lived in the county for two decades, said in an interview. “But I also have to follow the law … and not get the county sued.”

Data center developers are more frequently choosing rural, unincorporated areas like Hood County because it’s an easier path to build, experts say. In Texas, counties typically don’t have the power to block development — unlike city officials who wield zoning authority.

“Texas has always viewed counties as rural toddlers that can’t be trusted with full powers,” said Robert Paterson, a professor at UT-Austin who specializes in land use and environmental planning.

Nearly half of the planned data centers in Texas are set to be built in unincorporated areas, free of city regulations, according to an analysis by the Tribune. This marks a shift as most existing data centers are clustered in cities and only 12% are currently in unincorporated areas.

At least one county, which appears to be the first in Texas, recently placed a one-year pause on data center construction, moving ahead despite the legal risks. The action has already prompted a lawsuit against Hill County and its three commissioners by a data center developer seeking $100 million in damages.

Today, Hood County has the sixth most planned data centers among Texas counties; per square mile, it ranks third. It’s been a magnet for developers because of the cheap land, available power, fiber lines and, importantly, its lack of local business restrictions.

“We love liberty and love a lack of regulation,” said Greg Harrell, chair of the Hood County GOP, at a town hall earlier this year. “Data centers are taking advantage of it… They saw an opportunity.”

The surge of development here mirrors a data center gold rush across Texas over the past year that is outpacing the speed of regulation. A Tribune analysis found the state has 335 existing data centers, with more than 248 in the works. Only Texas and Virginia, which has been the top state for data centers for the past few years, had more than 100 active projects under way as of March, according to Aterio, a company that tracks industrial development.

Massive data centers are also flooding the Electric Reliability Council of Texas, the state’s main grid operator, with requests for power. As of May, ERCOT reported that large projects requesting to connect to the grid totaled 439 gigawatts of power capacity — five times larger than the all-time peak demand on the state’s grid. Of those projects, about 89% are data centers, though energy experts say it’s unlikely that all of them will be built.

The explosion of development is driven by the newest wave of data centers, known as “hyperscalers,” designed to support artificial intelligence computing facilities with thousands of servers, which are much bigger than current data centers that were largely built for cloud storage. Amazon, Google, Microsoft and Open AI are behind planned projects in West Texas and Central Texas.

“Texas is a great state to do business. All of that really has come together to help make Texas, again, one of the national leaders in digital infrastructure,” said Dan Diorio, vice president of state policy with the Data Center Coalition.

Data center developers say their projects will bring billions of dollars of new property on the tax rolls, work training opportunities, job creation and private investment in communities. One company told Hood County commissioners it could potentially increase the county’s tax base anywhere from $5 billion to $20 billion.

However, some commissioners and residents remain skeptical, saying the benefits are uneven, and data centers create few permanent jobs after their labor-intensive construction is finished. For example, one Hood County data center proposal shows a peak construction workforce of 2,000 dropping to a permanent workforce of 220, according to the project’s concept plan.

Hood County Commissioner Dave Eagle said there are “too many unanswered questions” about data centers, and they’re being asked to greenlight plans with incomplete information about their impact on the community.

The Tribune reviewed hundreds of pages of concept plans, lawsuits and reviewed hours of testimony from commissioners court meetings to piece together information about the projects. All but one of the seven data center proposals submitted to Hood County omitted estimates for power use; only four noted a potential power source. Just five of the concept plans included projections for water consumption and six listed options for where they would get their water. The eighth project was annexed into the City of Granbury, which had not received any development plans, according to a spokesperson.

Despite the backlash from residents, some Hood County commissioners are increasingly convinced there’s little they can do to stop data centers as more proposals roll in.

“[Data centers] snuck up on us,” Eagle said at a town hall meeting in February. “We don’t understand it and we need more information.”

A Mysterious Project

In July 2025, Hood County officials first got wind of a secretive economic development pitch called “Project Patriot,” described on the commissioners’ meeting agenda as “a proposed large capital investment” that came with the creation of 60 “high-wage permanent” jobs.

County Judge Ron Massingill asked the commissioners to take a nonbinding vote signaling the officials wanted the business and would be willing to waive its property taxes.

But at the meeting, commissioners were given virtually no information about the business. It was never referred to as a data center. An economic development official for the city of Granbury, which later annexed the project into its city limits, told commissioners that she was under a nondisclosure agreement and could not answer their questions about the company.

Massingill, who did not respond to interview requests, argued to commissioners that the county had little oversight authority over business anyway, and negotiating a local tax exemption might be the only leverage they would ever have. The county, he said, could ask for “beautification of the building site” and minimize impact to neighbors.

The court voted 3-1 in favor of the letter of support, with Commissioner Nannette Samuelson dissenting. At the meeting she said, “we are setting ourselves up for big industry, losing that small town feel.”

Weeks later, Eagle, a lawyer by trade who’s been a commissioner for eight years, was invited to meet privately with a handful of data center representatives from a different project. Marketing representatives and engineers came to “razzle and dazzle” him, he said, pitching something big and transformative that would bring significant tax revenue to the county. Then, they made the same ask: a property tax waiver.

Eagle grew suspicious. The private meetings, the coded language, the missing details.

“They were trying to take advantage of country bumpkins,” he said in an interview.

He told the industry representatives he wouldn’t support their tax waiver. For Eagle, who loves the comfort and stability of the county, its French Empire-style courthouse and nearby lake, this was ringing alarm bells. What worried him was the unknown scale of data centers.

Other commissioners were contacted privately, too.

In October, Commissioner Jack Wilson placed the tax break on the agenda, but it was pulled before the court could take a vote. Wilson didn’t respond to interview requests.

The proposals kept coming. Three data center plans were submitted that December, and then four more between February and April of this year. They came with playful code names like “Fort Spunky” and “Project Panther,” masking the names of the tech companies that would operate them.

Developers said prosperity would follow. Ryan Hughes, a managing partner and founder of Sailfish Investors, the company developing the Comanche Circle data center, and two others, said in an email to the Tribune their project will bring “substantial private investment, significant tax base growth, and long-term economic benefits to the region.”

But the community would not be so easily convinced.

“Gut Punched”

That October, a white sign went up on a barbed wired fence near the Crawford’s home. It was a notice from an energy company seeking a state air permit to build a power plant. The Crawfords worried this was connected to rumors they’d heard about a data center nearby.

Their fears were soon confirmed. The Comanche Circle project was attempting to locate next to their property.

“It’s not just a rumor,” said Laura Crawford. “We felt gut punched. … How can this even be?”

A photo of the sign went up on Facebook. Ranchers, retirees, and longtime residents built an information network almost overnight. Neighbors knocked on doors and warned people about industrial buildings and massive electricity and water demands nobody could quantify.

They flooded Facebook groups with comments and huge banners that read: “Don’t data center my Hood County” at their property fencelines.

The online group quickly evolved into a nonprofit called Protect the Paluxy Valley. The Crawfords began hosting meetings in their backyard. Laura Crawford, who is a retired accountant, said she works around the clock most days researching data center proposals and organizing local opposition. She asks residents to call their commissioners.

In January, the group flooded the county commissioners’ chambers at a meeting to consider the concept plan for the Comanche Circle project.

Residents feared the project would strain the electrical grid and drain their local aquifer. In an email to the Tribune in June, Hughes said the concerns about water use are overblown, noting two nearby golf courses are using more water per acre than his three data center proposals combined.

“It’s like 112 Walmarts on a piece of property,” said Brian Crawford at the meeting. He said there was not enough information from the developer for commissioners to make an “intelligent decision.”

Impatience filled the chambers. Many residents had already been dealing with persistent noise from nearby cryptocurrency mining operations, another industrial project the county had approved. They urged commissioners to not repeat the same mistake and to deny the project’s plan until they have more details on the data center’s impact on traffic, roads, public safety, the watershed, and noise.

At that same meeting, county commissioners reviewed a recommendation by the development commission, a citizen advisory group, to pause data center projects while they studied their impacts and their accompanying power plants. At the time, two other data center proposals had been submitted.

“I’d rather deal with a lawsuit, than destruction of our land,” said Matt Long, a member of the development commission, during the public hearing. Long lives with his wife and nine children in Pecan Plantation, a community that could neighbor one of the county’s proposed data centers. “You were elected to make hard decisions,” he added.

But when the vote came, the Commissioners Court tabled the temporary moratorium discussion and voted to grant Comanche Circle a conditional approval, requiring more detailed plans later.

This time, Eagle was the lone dissenting vote.

A State Lawmaker’s threat

By February, Eagle was desperate and feeling the immense pressure from his constituents.

“The people who voted me in. They demand that me, as their elected official, do what I can to slow this down,” he said.

He proposed a six-month moratorium on new industrial development, including data center projects. He and Samuelson believed the county needed time to better understand the scope of what was coming.

The day of the vote, it was standing room only — residents lined the walls and some who couldn’t fit were listening from outside the doors. The meeting dragged on for eight hours.

Commissioner Andrews and Massingill, the county judge, repeated that Texas counties had little authority to restrict development, warning that a moratorium could trigger lawsuits the county could not afford to fight.

“I’m going to encourage you to be brave and stand firm for the people of this county,” one resident told the commissioners.

Eagle argued that Hood County had unique legal authority to act. He pointed to a 1999 state law granting Hood County’ special powers to protect the watershed feeding Lake Granbury and the Brazos River in unincorporated areas. It’s why the commissioners reviewed concept plans to begin with. If industrial projects threaten the watershed, he argued, the county could use this tool to intervene.

Before the commissioners cast their votes, the county attorney revealed a threat from a lawmaker more than 250 miles away.

Sen. Paul Bettencourt, a Houston Republican, sent a letter to Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton that same day asking him to “investigate” any counties seeking to implement moratoriums and “explore any necessary legal actions.”

Eagle said the timing of Bettencourt’s letter wasn’t a coincidence. Samuelson urged her colleagues to stand strong: “There are times when you need courage; stand on principle even if you stand alone.”

Bettencourt, chair of the Senate Committee on Local Government, later defended the letter in an interview, arguing Texas could not allow counties to block growth with “a crazy patchwork quilt” of regulations.

“The point is simply that counties don’t have the constitutional authority to issue building moratoriums,” he said in a social media post about Hood County.

Inside the Commissioners Court, Bettencourt’s message landed hard; momentum vanished instantly.

“I can’t tell you how disappointed I am,” Eagle said before the vote. “You’ve got to wonder what kind of backroom stuff is going on.”

Commissioners killed the moratorium 3-2, with Eagle and Samuelson voting for it.

Data Center Sue

In February, the citizen group packed a town hall of about 50 people.

“There is a fence around us on what we get to do. We are working with a severe handicap,” Eagle told the group, referring to the Legislature.

The next weekend members of the group, including the Crawfords, boarded a bus before sunrise and rode three hours to Austin carrying signs that read, “Support real intelligence not AI” and “Low regulations bring big data centers.” They rallied outside the Capitol, demanding a statewide moratorium, then drove back that same day — arriving home at after sunset so they could attend Commissioner’s Court the next day when the data center moratorium would be back on the agenda.

The second moratorium vote failed exactly like the first.

But in that meeting, commissioners passed a resolution asking Gov. Greg Abbott to call a special legislative session to address the concerns about the industry’s massive electricity and water demands. They also directed staff to ask Paxton to clarify whether Hood County has the legal authority to temporarily halt development under its watershed protection law.

Abbott did not respond to questions about a special session, but spokesperson Andrew Mahaleris said, “Meeting the water and energy needs of Texans remains the Governor’s top priority, and these facilities are required to bring their own water and to disconnect if Texans don’t have what they need. Governor Abbott will continue to work with the Legislature to protect Texans and ensure their voices are heard.” Paxton did not respond to requests for comment.

The commissioners started testing their limits.

In March, commissioners voted unanimously to amend their development regulations, adding stricter requirements for large industrial projects, including data centers.

They expanded the requirements needed in concept plans, including detailed disclosures on water sourcing, energy use and infrastructure, environmental and drainage impacts. They also shrunk the footprint of a new development: buildings, parking lots and other structures could only cover 10% of a property, down from 50%.

Long, who helped craft the rules in his role on the development commission, admitted that the strategy was to make the rules strict enough “so none of them come, no more come in.”

The changes had immediate consequences.

“Fort Spunky,” an 862-acre campus that has requested to pull 100 megawatts from the grid and requires up to 20,000 gallons of water per day, had previously had its concept plan approved by the commissioners. But the plan was brought back to the floor after a local water utility board denied the developer’s request for water. Commissioners argued that without a guaranteed water source the project needed to be reconsidered.

“The fears … are all detached from reality,” said Kevin Pratt, an executive with the developer Pacifico Energy, at the meeting. “The court, through political pressure, keeps moving those goal posts over and over.”

Commissioners revoked the previously approved concept plan, 3-2.

While the decision was met with cheers from the crowd, Massingill warned, “we’re all in for litigation.”

About three weeks later, the lawsuit was filed.

The company claimed the county lacked legal power to deny the project based on concerns about water.

The law firm Husch Blackwell, representing Pacifico, stated in the lawsuit that the commissioners’ decision was “unlawful and premature.” The company asked the court to block the county’s actions, and is seeking monetary relief of no less than $250,000.

More developers came after Hood.

Commissioners twice delayed voting on two other projects, dubbed “Project Red and Project Yellow,” that together would cover 677 acres neighboring two existing power plants.

The commissioners demanded more transparency from developers about their operations and required them to comply with the county’s new development regulations before they would vote.

They were hit with another lawsuit, accusing the county of illegally delaying the data centers. The lawsuit claimed that the two projects would increase the county’s tax revenue by $3 billion and create 60,000 jobs.

On April 6, Hughes, whose Comanche Circle data center had already received conditional approval, joined the chorus of legal threats to send a letter arguing that they should have never been forced to submit a proposal for review to begin. Texas counties only possess powers explicitly granted by the Legislature, he wrote, and Hood County did not even have powers to require a concept plan.

“Political opposition to data centers does not create new county powers,” said Hughes in an email to the Tribune. The lawsuits remain pending.

Purgatory

Last month, more than 160 people filled a ballroom in Hood County overlooking the Brazos River for another town hall, hosted by Mark Lowery, a Republican running for county judge — the official who leads the commissioners court. He is running unopposed and describes himself as “a solid no” for data centers, unlike Massingill, who chose not to seek reelection.

The ballroom’s seats quickly filled. Residents aren’t giving up. They still want to fight. After speaker introductions, the brainstorming began to “right this ship,” as one person said, and to keep exploring ways to stop data centers.

For now, counties like Hood remain stuck in purgatory, watching rapid development overwhelm their communities while waiting for state policy to catch up. Many believe change won’t come until at least 2027, when lawmakers reconvene in Austin. Some state officials have expressed interest in expanding counties’ regulatory authority over data centers. In the interim, lawmakers have been charged with studying the development of data centers and examining the total water usage of data centers in the state.

The development commission has recommended reviving the Hood County data center moratorium proposal, but those efforts have so far been unsuccessful in being added to the commissioners’ agenda.

But on May 12, nearby Hill County approved a one-year pause on the construction of new data centers in unincorporated areas, citing public safety and public health concerns, a vote that commissioners took despite the same risks Hood County officials are facing.

“The data center folks have found a sweet spot in the state that has limited regulations,” said Hill County Commissioner Jim Holcomb. “I think it’s imperative … that we tap the brakes and we get our arms around what we’re faced with.”

Christine Leftwich, the Hood County clerk, said her county’s failure to do the same has “been the biggest disappointment.”

“Hood County should have been the tip of the spear,” she added.

Alex Ford, Apurva Mahajan, Emily Foxhall and Taylor Goldenstein contributed to this report.

Disclosure: Facebook, Google, Microsoft and University of Texas at Austin have been financial supporters of The Texas Tribune, a nonprofit, nonpartisan news organization that is funded in part by donations from members, foundations and corporate sponsors. Financial supporters play no role in the Tribune’s journalism. Find a complete list of them here.