California May Help Solar Bloom Where Water Runs Dry

Between two dusty fields in western Fresno County, one lies fallow while the other glints with rows of black panels. Growers here say they’d rather raise crops, but with aquifers declining and new groundwater limits tightening, some see solar as the only viable harvest left on a portion of their land.

California’s march to a carbon-free grid by 2045 demands vast new clean energy, ideally close to where people live and work. That has put the Central Valley—already home to a large share of the state’s utility-scale solar—squarely in the spotlight. With water scarcity poised to idle hundreds of thousands of acres in the San Joaquin Valley over the next decade and a half, policymakers are asking whether sun-fed power can grow where water no longer flows.

A new twist on an old farmland protection law

At the heart of the debate is the Williamson Act, a 60-year-old program that grants property tax breaks to landowners who commit to keep their land in agriculture for 10 or 20 years. Exiting early can trigger steep cancellation penalties, often in the millions—an effective brake on repurposing fields.

A proposal at the Capitol would allow landowners to suspend, rather than cancel, those contracts on water-stressed parcels if they host solar and energy storage. Property taxes would return to standard levels during the suspension, but the crushing cancellation fees would be avoided. The bill also recognizes a wider set of energy facilities, especially batteries that keep solar power available after sunset. A narrower pathway created in 2011 already lets some contracts be ended for solar on poor soils; this plan extends the concept to drought and groundwater realities.

Supporters argue the update reflects the new normal. Without additional water, large swaths of the valley face strategic fallowing under California’s groundwater law. They contend that leasing a portion of idle ground to solar developers can help farms stay afloat, maintain operations on their best acres, and keep crews employed. One large Huron-area operation reports that water shortages have forced it to idle roughly a quarter of its 20,000 acres in some years; a solar lease helped cover costs and concentrate scarce water where crops still make sense.

Solar’s promise—and its limits

Energy economists and ecologists alike note that placing solar on already-disturbed agricultural land can reduce pressure to build in sensitive desert habitats, and it brings generation closer to urban demand. But policy tweaks alone won’t unleash a flood of projects. Transmission constraints, local permitting delays, equipment supply swings, and public concerns about battery safety all shape the pace and location of construction. For some developers, Williamson Act penalties are the decisive barrier; for others, grid hookups or market conditions loom larger.

Farm country split over the path forward

California’s agricultural community is divided. Some commodity groups and county farm bureaus in the hardest-hit regions have lined up behind the bill, joined by labor and renewable energy organizations that see jobs and investment following the sun. Their argument: if farmers can’t plant almonds or tomatoes, they shouldn’t be barred from planting panels on the same ground.

Other agricultural and conservation voices warn that unraveling farmland protections—even temporarily—risks weakening the critical mass that makes rural economies work. They want tighter definitions of “water-stressed” and a narrower geographic scope, focused on the most overdrafted basins. They point to regions where active fields have already given way to solar, arguing that benefits often bypass local communities while threatening the scale and services that farms rely on, from truck routes to seasonal labor pools.

There’s also a slippery-slope concern: if the state loosens rules for solar today, what keeps other land uses from seeking similar exemptions tomorrow?

Jobs, justice, and trust

Beyond economics, the proposal touches sensitive questions about who wins and who bears risk as the valley transforms. Researchers estimate that water scarcity could erase tens of thousands of agricultural jobs over time. Trade unions are expanding apprenticeship programs, including Spanish-language pipelines, to prepare residents for careers building and maintaining energy infrastructure. Yet scholars caution that transitions aren’t automatic. Skills don’t always transfer, projects ebb and flow, and the number of positions created may not match the scale or location of lost farm work.

The bill would require community benefits agreements with local governments—potentially including training commitments, local hiring, funds for displaced workers, or even reduced utility bills in host communities. Environmental justice advocates say those promises must be specific, enforceable, and tailored to the needs of small towns that have long shouldered the burdens of air pollution, low wages, and underinvestment.

Residents also worry about safety and landscape change. High-profile battery fires have amplified calls for robust siting standards, especially where fire protection is limited. Others mourn the potential loss of orchards that double as informal parks and shady walking routes in places with few public amenities.

Choosing what to grow on tomorrow’s fields

California must reconcile three realities at once: scarce water that forces strategic fallowing, an urgent buildout of clean energy, and the need to sustain rural livelihoods. Steering solar toward fields that can no longer reliably produce crops could be a pragmatic compromise—if the rules protect viable agriculture, deliver tangible community benefits, and ensure safe, responsible development.

Whether the proposal succeeds or stalls, the underlying question remains: when water disappears, what should grow in its place? For many valley farmers, the answer may be measured not in bushels, but in megawatts—and in the resilience of the communities that have tended this land for generations.