Jeff Hough did not pull any punches. Standing before a packed courthouse in Pocatello, the Bannock County commissioner warned his fellow officials that what they were about to do would violate America’s founding ideals. To underscore his point, he quoted the Declaration of Independence.
The three-person commission was on the verge of voting on a restrictive ordinance designed to completely ban utility-scale solar and wind energy development across Bannock County, Idaho.
“We cannot deny the entire county the opportunity to exercise their property rights,” Hough argued to the room. “That goes against the principles this country was founded on.”
Just minutes after Hough’s emphatic speech, the ordinance passed by a 2–1 vote, leaving Hough as the lone dissenter.
Since that consequential vote in March 2024, Hough has transitioned to become the chair of the county commission and has dedicated much of his tenure to overturning the very ordinance he opposed. He will soon have a tangible chance to make that happen. This fall, Hough and his fellow commissioners are scheduled to vote on a revised ordinance featuring entirely new language that would reopen the door to utility-scale solar and wind development, alongside emerging opportunities for nuclear energy within the county.
The unfolding situation in Bannock County serves as a compelling test case for whether—and how—a rural American community can revisit its initial assumptions regarding the economic and environmental costs and benefits of clean energy, ultimately choosing to welcome the development it once officially swore off.
Nationwide, local resistance has been a mounting hurdle for the renewable sector. In 2025, nearly 1 in 4 U.S. counties had implemented some form of ban, moratorium, or significant impediment to clean energy development, climbing sharply from 15 percent of counties in 2023. According to an extensive analysis of data from USA Today and the Sabin Center for Climate Change Law at Columbia University conducted by The Daily Yonder and Canary Media, more than 60 percent of the counties enacting these bans are classified as rural, using criteria established by the U.S. Office of Management and Budget.
Bucking this broader national trend and successfully reversing the ban would put Bannock County back in play at a critical juncture when the state of Idaho desperately requires new power generation sources. Idaho Power, the state’s largest electric utility, projects that regional electricity demand will surge by 1 gigawatt by 2030, representing a massive 26 percent leap from current consumption levels.
“The need to build stuff now is critical to Idaho’s economic future,” said Aaron Menenberg, the Idaho policy manager for Renewable Northwest, a regional nonprofit organization working to decarbonize the local grid. “We can’t afford to say no to anything.”
Nestled comfortably in a high-desert valley a few hours north of Salt Lake City and roughly 100 miles west of Wyoming’s majestic Teton Range, Bannock County is geographically positioned as a prime location for the construction of new power plants. It hosts the Populus substation, a vitally important infrastructure juncture responsible for routing electrons onto the bulk transmission grid and into Idaho, Utah, Wyoming, and the broader Pacific Northwest. Constructing new power generation facilities in close physical proximity to an established major substation is significantly cheaper, and those infrastructure savings can ultimately help bring down utility costs for everyday electricity consumers.
However, from Commissioner Hough’s perspective, the most compelling argument for county residents is not necessarily utility-bill savings, but rather much-needed economic development. In recent years, Bannock County’s overall population has grown at a noticeably slower pace than the rest of Idaho. Meanwhile, the county’s smaller rural communities are watching essential local services slowly disappear, while severe droughts, exacerbated by ongoing climate change, make it increasingly difficult for generational family farms to remain financially solvent.
Hough firmly believes that renewable energy projects would inject much-needed capital directly into the local community. Neighboring counties offer compelling local proof of this financial upside: in 2024, renewable energy projects in nearby Power and Bingham counties generated $909,000 and $639,000 in local tax revenue, respectively. Hough wants to send an unequivocal message to the renewable energy industry and commercial enterprises alike that Bannock County is officially “open for business.”
“Rural America is in a transition state,” Hough noted from his office in Pocatello. “How do we make or help rural America transition to this new way of life, so that they can thrive and prosper?”
Not every local resident shares Hough’s vision of prosperity. Down in south Bannock County, his campaign to lift the ban has encountered fierce, organized opposition. The local populace is effectively split into two distinct camps. On one side are landowners who are willing to lease their private acreage to commercial solar developers or fiercely defend their neighbors’ rights to do so. On the other side are residents deeply skeptical of renewables who view leasing land to corporate energy developers as selling out—though many within this latter group ironically express strong support for nuclear energy.
Steve Criddle, a third-generation farmer and lifelong resident of south Bannock County who voiced vocal support for solar back in 2024 before the ban was enacted, described the current local atmosphere with stark brevity: “It’s confrontational.”
The roots of Bannock County’s moratorium on solar and wind development stem from an unlikely origin: Hough himself. In the fall of 2023, he attended an annual conference hosted by the Idaho Association of Counties in Boise. At the time, the massive Lava Ridge Wind Project—a proposed 1-gigawatt development slated for more than 57,000 acres of federal public land in southern Idaho—dominated the event’s conversations. County leaders from across the state expressed deep anxieties about outside clean energy developers moving aggressively through their rural communities. (The Trump administration’s Interior Department ultimately canceled the Lava Ridge project in August 2025.)
The discussions in Boise planted a seed of caution in Hough’s mind. Months prior to the conference, he had learned that several major energy developers, including Chicago-based Hecate Energy and Moab, Utah-based Balanced Rock Power, had begun quietly approaching local landowners regarding potential large-scale solar installations in Bannock County.
When Hough returned from the conference with the cautionary political tale of Lava Ridge fresh in his thoughts, he felt compelled to act. “I realized that we didn’t have any kind of ordinance,” Hough recalled. “So I knew they’d come in and do whatever they wanted.”
On October 12, 2023, spearheaded by Hough, the county commissioners voted unanimously to enact a temporary six-month moratorium on large-scale commercial energy projects. The stated intention was not to issue a permanent ban on solar and wind, but rather to buy the county sufficient time to draft thoughtful regulations, ensuring that future developments carefully balanced local economic opportunities with responsible land stewardship. A public hearing was scheduled for the following February, with a formal commissioner vote slated for March.
However, the moratorium quickly took on a life of its own. In the ensuing months, a dedicated group of concerned rural residents organized effectively to lobby for a permanent prohibition.
Rebecca Falcon led the charge. A longtime resident of Downey, a small town in south Bannock County, Falcon had been approached by Balanced Rock in September 2023 regarding a potential lease for a portion of her 80-acre property. Appalled by the prospect, she promptly turned the company away. However, Balanced Rock’s proposed Harmon Solar Project—a 300-megawatt solar facility paired with a massive 1,200-megawatt-hour on-site battery storage system—also encompassed land owned by her immediate neighbors. Stopping the project would require a collective community effort.
Falcon and a neighboring resident, Dez Hauser, who had similarly rejected overtures from Balanced Rock, encouraged other concerned community members to turn out en masse for the February 2024 public hearing regarding the future of the energy moratorium.
By the time the hearing arrived, the community had clearly divided into opposing factions. Interest was so overwhelming that the venue had to be shifted from the county courthouse to a larger local high school auditorium in south Bannock County, which still overflowed with attendees. More than two dozen speakers took the microphone, nearly all of them local residents voicing strong opposition to solar development.
When the commissioners reconvened the following month, Hough voted to repeal the moratorium, but the two other commissioners voted to extend it, framing the pause as necessary for further study. As political controversy mounted through the spring and summer of 2024, the county ultimately declined to pass comprehensive regulatory frameworks, leaving the de facto ban firmly in place. Falcon, Hauser, and their allies had successfully secured their immediate objective.
Dale Lish, a grain farmer based in Downey who recently retired from a career with the U.S. Department of Agriculture, was deeply frustrated by the outcome. Having familiarized himself with agricultural solar applications through government programs in Idaho and Washington, Lish had spoken in favor of the energy source during the public hearings.
“The approach was just no to everything, which bothered me,” Lish said in an interview on his property. “A straight-out ban—I don’t think that’s American. I think we, as private-property owners, ought to have a chance to do what we want within reason.”
In 2023, Lish had signed a one-year contract with Hecate to option roughly 400 acres of his land for solar development. Due to the county’s subsequent ordinance, Hecate declined to renew the contract in 2024 and ultimately pulled its operations out of Bannock County entirely. Representatives for Hecate did not respond to multiple requests for comment.
For the two and a half years following that fateful March vote, Hough has consistently championed private-property rights while attempting to educate the wider community on Idaho’s pressing energy needs.
While the commission will not vote on the newly drafted ordinance until later this fall following ongoing public review, at least one of Hough’s colleagues appears to have softened his stance. Ernie Moser, an incumbent commissioner who voted in favor of the ban in 2024, acknowledged in an interview that his initial fears regarding solar and wind installations are “not as big” as they were two years ago. Nevertheless, Moser, who is retiring from the commission at the end of the year, emphasized his desire to “do it right” when reshaping county policy. The third commissioner, Ken Bullock, declined to comment.
May’s primary elections provided further evidence of the county’s deeply polarized perspectives. In the Republican primary, Hough faced a fierce challenger running on an explicitly anti-solar platform. While Hough won the broader race by 14 percentage points overall, his opponent captured a staggering 70 percent of the vote within the Downey precinct. With no Democratic candidate challenging him, Hough faced no opposition in the November general election. The voting dynamics mirrored the 2024 primary, where former commissioner John Crowder—who voted for the ban—won big in Downey but lost the broader seat to Ken Bullock, an ally of Hough.
For residents like Steve Criddle, whose family roots in Downey extend back to 1876 when his ancestors first filed local water rights, the pressures of a changing climate have made traditional grain farming increasingly difficult.
“We don’t get enough moisture anymore,” Criddle said. The non-irrigated fields where he historically grew wheat now produce meager yields, forcing him to transition portions of his land to cattle grazing and take on odd jobs to keep the farm afloat. During a late June drive through his fields, Criddle noted that an alfalfa parcel that once yielded 800 bales of hay produced merely a dozen this season. With more than 87 percent of the county experiencing extreme drought after a winter of record-low snowfall, he has been forced to buy feed for his cattle—a necessity he never faced before last year.
Lish, who also farms without irrigation, pointed to the regional scarcity of groundwater as the valley’s fundamental vulnerability. To accumulate sufficient moisture to grow wheat, Lish must leave his fields fallow every other year.
As climate change and economic pressures have reshaped agriculture, the social fabric of Downey has frayed. The town has watched its rural hospital, bank, pharmacy, movie theater, grocery store, and farm-equipment shop close their doors over the decades.
When Hecate approached the Criddles in 2023 proposing a solar lease, they listened. While they did not ultimately sign a contract, they recognized how stable lease payments could provide the financial security needed to invest in the farm’s long-term survival for their 11 grandchildren.
Lish, who did sign a contract with Hecate, defended his decision, noting that projected solar lease revenues were four to five times higher per acre than traditional wheat farming. “We love this land too, and we’re not going to do something that’s going to be harmful,” Lish said. “We’re just looking at something that’s going to help us continue on to multiple generations.”
Lytton Bastian, another multigenerational Bannock County farmer and father of six, faced similar considerations. He owns over 2,000 acres in the valley, and Balanced Rock expressed interest in leasing an 840-acre parcel of his least productive ground currently used as a gravel pit and seasonal cattle pasture. In 2021, Bastian signed a five-year contract with Balanced Rock that provides modest quarterly payments, which would increase significantly if the county lifts its ban and allows solar construction to proceed.
While critics like Falcon argue that taking agricultural land out of production threatens the local heritage, Bastian countered that no prudent farmer would lease away prime, irrigated ground. His contract is set to expire at the end of the year, and he believes its renewal depends entirely on whether the county lifts the ban.
Katarina Bagri, a senior development manager at Balanced Rock leading the Harmon Solar Project, confirmed that the company is prepared to move forward if the restrictions are lifted. Beyond individual landowner revenues, Balanced Rock previously offered the city of Downey $100,000 in direct community benefit payments, funds that will be permanently lost if the project cannot be built.
Despite the economic arguments, residents like Falcon and Hauser remain steadfast in their opposition to the visual and spatial footprint of solar installations. The existing Populus substation and its surrounding transmission lines already dominate the scenic valley views from Falcon’s property, and the prospect of additional energy infrastructure is deeply unwelcome.
Furthermore, local activists have raised concerns regarding battery storage safety and long-term site decommissioning. In late 2025, volunteer fire departments in Downey and Lava Hot Springs formally warned county commissioners that they lacked the specialized equipment and training necessary to combat potential battery energy storage facility fires.
Balanced Rock representatives have countered by emphasizing that the draft ordinance under consideration includes strict regulatory guardrails, requiring developers to post financial surety bonds and submit comprehensive decommissioning plans to restore project sites to near-preconstruction conditions after a projected 35-to-40-year operational lifespan.
Paradoxically, while opposition to utility-scale solar remains intense in south Bannock County, the local populace exhibits an overwhelming enthusiasm for nuclear energy. In a county survey conducted in January, over 90 percent of more than 700 respondents expressed favorable views toward nuclear power development.
Southeast Idaho is home to the Idaho National Laboratory (INL), a premier federal facility leading advanced nuclear research. Bolstered by recent federal initiatives and private-sector partnerships involving artificial intelligence and advanced reactor designs—alongside Bill Gates-backed TerraPower constructing the nation’s first utility-scale advanced nuclear plant just across the state line in Kemmerer, Wyoming—local excitement for a nuclear economic boom is palpable. Commissioners recently hosted an educational forum with INL experts to explore opportunities in small modular reactors and microreactors.
Yet, despite local enthusiasm, commercial deployment of advanced nuclear technologies faces substantial engineering, regulatory, and supply chain hurdles, with experts noting that viable commercial small modular reactors remain years away from widespread reality.
For Commissioner Hough, the reality is a matter of timing. While he shares the community’s long-term enthusiasm for nuclear power, he stresses that nuclear facilities are years from breaking ground, making intermediate renewable energy projects an essential stepping stone for regional economic development and power reliability.
As the county commission prepares for its crucial vote this fall, the ultimate outcome remains balanced between the urgent demands of regional energy growth, the property rights of local landowners, and the deeply rooted preservationist impulses of a rural community navigating a rapidly changing American landscape.