The price of progress isn't 'just farmland'

Over the past several months, a number of people have reached out asking what I think about the proposed "mega-site" and its impact on wildlife and communities. Please note, the opinions in this column are my personal views as a conservationist and do not represent an official position of Black River Audubon. A "mega-site" is a large, contiguous tract of land — often hundreds or even thousands of acres — that is assembled and prepared in advance with infrastructure, utilities and zoning changes to make it attractive to large-scale industrial or commercial development. The controversial and proposed mega-site is located in New Russia Township, near the regional airport — an area that today is largely agricultural land. When land changes quickly and dramatically, it raises questions that go beyond zoning maps and economic projections. For the people who live nearby, it is something deeper. It is about their relationship to place and how we decide what matters. I feel compelled to say this up front: I am not opposed to jobs, economic growth or development. Communities need opportunity. People need work and counties need a tax base. I understand that, and I have always supported responsible development. At the same time, I am deeply committed to conservation and to taking a long-term view of how land is used. Too often, growth is treated as synonymous with progress, while environmental concerns are dismissed as secondary or inconvenient. From the perspective of birds, wildlife, and the people who live closest to the land, those interests deserve to be weighed and balanced — with a bias toward caution when the consequences are permanent. Just Farmland One phrase that comes up often in development discussions is that the land in question is "just farmland." From an ecological standpoint, that framing is misleading. This area is not designated as a nature preserve or Important Bird Area, but it is not an ecological blank slate either. Agricultural lands support a surprising amount of life. Grassland birds nest there. Raptors hunt over it. Migratory birds use it as stopover habitat and insects provide food for the nestlings of resident breeders. These landscapes matter precisely because so little else remains. "Pave it" begins to feel uncomfortably synonymous with "Drill, baby, drill" — a dismissive mantra for decisions that will shape our landscapes for generations. Grassland birds, such as eastern meadowlark, bobolink, grasshopper sparrow and Henslow's sparrow, are among the fastest-declining bird groups in North America. Species that were once common are now increasingly scarce. Habitat fragmentation — not just outright destruction — is a major driver of those declines. When large blocks of open land disappear, the surrounding landscape changes as well. Agricultural land can, in some cases, be restored or improved. Industrial development is different. Once land is graded, compacted, paved and lit at night, its ecological function is largely gone for good. That is not an argument against all development — but it is a reminder that some changes are, for all intents and purposes, permanent. Connecting Birds One challenge with how development decisions are often evaluated is that they are considered parcel by parcel, jurisdiction by jurisdiction. Wildlife does not work that way. I am reminded of past debates in Lorain where outsiders were discouraged from weighing in about the effects of developing Cromwell Park — as if birds recognized municipal boundaries. Birds depend on landscapes, not parcels. They need connectivity, darkness at night, seasonal predictability and space — often more space than we realize. Significant losses can alter migration patterns, breeding success and species diversification. The proposed development area does lie adjacent to — and functionally connected with — the Black River Mouth Important Bird Area. Changes to surrounding land can affect the value of the area as utilized by birds. Another significant issue is fragmentation, which is not just about what is removed, but about what is left behind. Small, disconnected habitats support fewer species, expose nests to higher predation and make it harder for wildlife to find food, mates and safe migration routes. Even when some land is left undeveloped, roads, buildings, lighting and noise can turn what appears to be habitat on a map into ecological islands that birds struggle to use or survive in. When birds disappear, it is rarely just about birds. They are often the first indicators that a system is under stress. What harms them usually affects water, insects, soil — and ultimately people. Not In My Backyard Whenever residents speak up about development near where they live, the term "NIMBY" is never far behind. Sometimes it fits. Sometimes it does not. There is a meaningful difference between opposition to any change and thoughtful concern from people who deliberately chose to live in a rural area, invested their savings, raised families, worked the land and built lives rooted in place. For many, rural living is not an accident or a luxury — it is an identity and a commitment. When large-scale development threatens to fundamentally alter that landscape, it is reasonable for people to ask questions, express concern and seek a voice in the process. Community engagement should not be treated as an obstacle to overcome. It is a cornerstone of democratic decision-making. An Uneven Playing Field One reality that rarely gets acknowledged openly is how uneven the playing field is in development debates. Politicians, developers and consultants do this work full-time. They are paid. They have access to legal counsel, planners, engineers and institutional knowledge. They know the process inside and out. Residents do not. Those who raise concerns usually do so after long workdays, on evenings and weekends. They try to learn complicated legal and procedural rules on the fly. They may not have access to key documents — some of which feel purposely hidden. They may not be aware of important deadlines. A single procedural mistake — filing something incorrectly, missing a technical requirement — can unravel months of effort. I have seen this repeatedly. People stand up to protect their communities not because it is easy or convenient, but because they feel they must. And more often than not, they lose — not because their concerns lack merit, but because information, time and resources are unevenly distributed. That is not a failure of effort. It is a structural imbalance. Sometimes it is even worse. Even when a government body or corporation loses a community battle, they often return — better funded, better positioned, sometimes with better messaging or better deception. The players may change. The rules may change. What are communities supposed to do — spend decades of their lives fighting these battles? Give up and move? Meaningful public participation requires more than a microphone at a meeting and a time limit. Too often, once elected, public officials forget that they represent the people of their communities, becoming entrenched in institutional perspectives and assumptions about what progress is supposed to look like. Data Centers and Their Impacts Another layer of this discussion that has surfaced in community conversations is the possibility that large-scale computing facilities — data centers — could be among the types of development that the mega-site is designed to attract. Whether that proves to be the case or not, it is worth considering what that kind of development typically entails. Modern data centers often require vast tracts of land — not just for buildings, but for power, cooling and supporting infrastructure. In some cases, they also demand significant water use — raising legitimate environmental questions. Mega-site development, regardless of the end user, tends to follow a familiar pattern: removal of vegetation; grading, compaction and soil sealing; large buildings, parking lots and access roads; increased traffic and noise; and extensive nighttime lighting. Most importantly, it results in long-term fragmentation of the surrounding landscape. Once land is paved and built, it is difficult and often expensive to return it to its natural habitat in any meaningful way —and certainly not in my lifetime. Across the country, proposals for data centers have drawn scrutiny and heavy resistance from communities because of the long-term impacts of land conversion and energy demand. Promises and Progress From the moment many politicians step up to a microphone, the message is almost always the same: Economic Development. It is often delivered with such vigor as though it is the first time anyone has ever said it. But development is too often treated as an unquestioned good, as if every open field or quiet stretch of land is simply waiting for its turn to be transformed. Not every landscape should be viewed primarily as an opportunity for growth. Farmland and natural areas have value precisely because they are not developed. They provide clean air and water, space for pollinators and birds and room for wildlife to survive. They also provide people with breathing room — places that support physical and mental well-being. For those who live in these areas, the land is part of their history, culture and identity. It may be the reason they chose to live there in the first place. Many communities continue to struggle with stagnant wages and widening wealth inequality even after decades of development. When that happens, we are left asking whether the environmental costs we accepted actually delivered the prosperity we were promised. I frequently wonder where the urgency for "jobs" and "economic growth" goes when the conversation turns to inequality. If improving people's lives is truly the goal, this is where the focus should be. Outside of nature, one of my societal concerns is wealth inequality — specifically the point at which our economic systems begin to break down. I would love to hear more politicians working to address this. We now have a billionaire class, along with a lack of understanding not only of exponential numbers, but also of how greater economic equality can improve the lives of others. If a billionaire spent $5,000 per day, it would take approximately 547 years to spend the entire fortune (without interest or investment returns). Put another way, a family earning the median household income would have to save every penny for roughly 13,000 years to reach a billion dollars. The top 10 percent in the United States own about 70 percent of all wealth, considerably more than the bottom 90 percent combined. And as we hear of possible trillionaires, consider that their fortune would equal 5.3 million median households, or every household in Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania combined. It would take them 547,945 years to spend that $5,000 per day. An investment return of 5 percent would be a staggering $137 million per day. Nobody needs or deserves such excess when so many people are struggling to survive. Pardon the digression, but the point is that there are real ways to improve quality of life without paving over the landscapes that define our communities. Progress should not be measured solely by what we build, but also by what we choose to protect. The Bigger Picture The real concern, for me, is not any single project. It is the cumulative impact. One development may seem manageable on its own, but scale and precedent matter. Ohio — and regions like northern Ohio — has experienced losses of wetlands, native prairie and grassland, forests and agricultural land. Each additional large development shrinks what remains, increases fragmentation and makes the surrounding landscape less viable for wildlife. Over time, these incremental losses add up, pushing bird species that are already in decline closer to local extirpation. When farmland and communities are sacrificed in the name of "economic development," we should be honest that this is not just a planning decision — it is a moral and ethical one.