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While hurricanes often dominate summer worries, climate change is supercharging the risks from your typical unnamed rainstorm.

When a slow-moving storm soaked Vermont with two-months worth of rain on Sunday and Monday, there was a ready comparison at hand: Tropical Storm Irene. The August 2011 storm similarly caused widespread flooding and resulted in more than $700 million in damages. While damage assessments are ongoing from this week’s storm, more than 200 people had to be rescued throughout the state as floodwaters surged, and early images show extensive public and private infrastructure losses.
Governor Phil Scott referred to the recent onslaught as “Irene 4.0” on Tuesday, while the National Weather Service’s Burlington, Vermont, office has repeatedly made its own Irene comparisons to drive home the danger residents continue to face from floodwaters.
However, this was not a tropical storm, which means there’s no name or ranking to refer back to. Instead, it was the sort of no-name summer storm that has long been a feature of the region but is now intensifying due to rising temperatures.
“We're not used to thinking about summer rainstorms as being a really dangerous hazard,” Anna Weber, a senior policy analyst with the Natural Resources Defense Council, told me. “But with the effects of climate change, maybe we should be.”
For many in the Northeast, unpredictable storms are a regular feature of summer months: sheets of rain that slice through the humidity, often ending as abruptly as they began. They might even be welcomed, the accompanying clouds offering a brief reprieve from the baking sun. Such storms are more common from June to September in this area since there is typically more moisture in the air and heat, which can together create atmospheric instability.
The Washington Post described the Vermont storm as a “typical summertime weather system that encountered a powder keg of atmospheric conditions,” including a combination of pressure systems which slowed down the storm’s movement. An official at the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration told the Post that the agency’s modeling — based on historical data — would place a storm like this happening in the Northeast at a “1-in-100 chance of occurring in any given year.” But climate change is altering that calculus, with warming conditions correlating with an increase in rainfall quantities.
When it comes to thinking of “really dangerous” storms happening over summer months, it’s probably those tropical systems that come to mind. Gathering over the Atlantic Ocean, they can blow fast enough to be labeled a hurricane before heading for the coast — or, as Irene did in 2011, making their way further inland. But there’s a marked difference in how hurricanes are approached by officials and the public compared to summer storms.
For starters, due to the perceived threat tropical storms pose, they are meticulously tracked from conception to see if they fizzle out or develop into a swirling system worthy of a name. According to the NOAA, the reason you might see your name as a hurricane hashtag over the summer months is “to avoid confusion and streamline communications.” Wildfires receive location-based monikers for a similar reason.
Some researchers have advocated for expanding the label to other disasters, saying they help communicate risk. Last year, Seville, Spain started naming heat waves in hopes of better alerting the public of their risks. Greece is doing it, too. Kostas Lagouvardos, research director at the National Observatory of Athens, told The Observer he believes people are “more prepared to face an upcoming weather event” if it is named.
There is also a set scale in place for hurricanes, though it only takes into account wind speeds, not precipitation. Though it’s an imperfect system, it still offers a way for officials and the public alike to assess the potential risk — something that can be challenging to communicate with no-name storms.
“I would think that if there's a difference between a tropical or summer storm system, it is probably the surprise of people that a summer storm system could actually do something like this,” Chad Berginnis, executive director of the Association of Floodplain Managers, told me.
“Yet the data trends have been very clear now for probably a good decade that we're going to have more intense rainfall events.”
As climate change makes your average summer storm more dangerous, Weber told me researchers are trying to understand how our expectations correlate with protective actions, such as evacuating or stocking up on supplies. It’s a question researchers are posing not only to the public, but also to government agencies and emergency managers, who are tasked with communicating risks to the rest of us and setting relevant protocols in place. The Federal Emergency Management Agency shared its own concern about “conventional natural hazards” in its 2022 National Preparedness Report, explaining that the combination of existing vulnerabilities and hazards intensifying beyond current expectations could be “catastrophic.”
In Vermont, behind many of the comparisons to 2011 was the acknowledgement that the state has dealt with this sort of disaster before. Ultimately, when it comes time to address the damage, Berginnis says the approach is the same whether flooding stems from a hurricane or any other storm. Vermont officials also understood they would likely deal with a bad storm again — the state recently established a Flood Resilient Communities Fund to support locales looking to mitigate flooding damage.
State authorities realized at least two days ahead of the storm they would require additional resources, NPR reported, and they began reaching out to other states for help. On Tuesday, President Biden approved Governor Scott’s request to declare a state of emergency, making Vermont eligible for assistance from the Federal Emergency Management Agency. Both flooding and hurricanes are hazards identified in the Stafford Act, which dictates which natural disasters can receive such federal support. During a press conference Thursday, Governor Scott announced he would also be requesting a major disaster declaration, which, if approved, would unlock additional federal aid once the recovery process begins in earnest.
Unfortunately, Vermont is not there yet: Scattered thunderstorms are forecasted to begin Thursday and last throughout the weekend.
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The data center boom is everywhere you look in U.S. economic and emissions data.
This is an edition of Heatmap Daily, an evening review of the day’s news written by our executive editor. Sign up for it here.
It isn’t exactly a new thought, but I’ve been struck recently by how many trends in America’s economic and environmental data are fundamentally about the data center boom and the return of electricity demand:
First, the Energy Information Administration reported this week that U.S. emissions grew by more than 2% last year, driven by surging electricity demand and an increase in coal-fired generation. What caused that higher power demand? New factories and data centers — as well as record summertime cooling demand.
Second, many of the new factories driving that higher power demand are themselves producing goods that are … let’s say … data center-adjacent. There are the enormous new semiconductor fabs, of course. But Ford and General Motors have also set up new production lines (or repurposed old ones) to manufacture grid-scale batteries to meet power demand.
Third, take a look at the recent U.S. spending on private non-residential construction — in other words, everything American companies are building that is not houses, condos, or apartments.
The construction industry’s spent almost $60 billion on data centers over the past year, which is more than it spent on all other office buildings combined (and more than it spent building warehouses, too). Just a handful of categories — data centers, power plants, electricity infrastructure, and certain kinds of electronics manufacturing — now make up a third of all U.S. private non-residential construction investment. They’ve never made up such a large share of construction spending since data collection began in 2014.
As The New York Times recently noted, the American economy is unusually dependent on the American stock market right now — and the stock market is unusually dependent on artificial intelligence. This week, investors started to balk at the enormous spending hyperscalers are planning to keep building out the AI boom; Alphabet’s shares dropped 8% this week after it boosted its planned 2026 capital expenditure and signaled 2027 will be even bigger. If the data center boom started to slow down in earnest, then more than just that budget will change.
Speaking of which, my colleague Emily Pontecorvo wrote earlier this week about how many businesses are struggling to even estimate their carbon emissions from artificial intelligence. The carbon accounting startup Watershed recently unveiled a new formula to help companies get a sense of their AI-related emissions.
But even that formula is still limited by the amount of data hyperscalers publish — and they don’t publish that much. Google, for instance, is the only AI company that has (laudably) provided estimates of its emissions on a per-prompt basis. Yet no company has published its per-token emissions, or how emissions sync up with particular models or regions.
So Emily asked Google: Why aren’t you — or any other model provider — disclosing this kind of data yet?
The tech company didn’t get back to us until after we’d published Emily’s story. But its response was interesting enough that I wanted to quote some of it here.
The problem is “industry consensus,” Cooper Elsworth, a Google spokesperson, told us. “There is currently very little consensus on how to comprehensively and fairly measure the serving environmental impact of generative AI (such as text generation),” he wrote. “Without standardized, ‘apples-to-apples’ frameworks, it is difficult to compare different providers accurately.”
That’s partly because energy use — and emissions data — can vary from site to site and depend on “custom-built hardware, software compilers, and advanced inference techniques.” And he claimed Google doesn’t always have the measurement hardware in place to provide such specific estimates: “Providing precise, repeatable data requires highly advanced measurement infrastructure,” he said. “For example, software-based energy monitoring tools often suffer from sampling biases. For our study, we had to step away from top-down averages and directly measure actual energy at the physical power supply unit (PSU) level across our deployed fleet. Not all providers have the telemetry or data sets required to benchmark their operations at this level of granularity.”
Read Emily’s story to understand the other reasons why estimating — or even “guesstimating” — AI-related carbon emissions is so challenging.
A conversation with Emma Uridge of the Kansas Health Institute.
This week’s conversation is with Emma Uridge, analyst with the Kansas Health Institute. Uridge spent copious hours analyzing state and local laws on data center development to best understand how policymakers are responding to the potential environmental public health impacts of large AI infrastructure, including power and water. The report, which came out this week, also goes in depth into those health impacts. I reached out to her to discuss what she sees as must-watch territory for our readers on this emerging policy arena.
Our conversation was lightly edited for clarity.
What is actually being done on policy when it comes to data centers — beyond moratoria of course?
So first I’d like to just talk about the point of moratoria. It’s helpful to talk about how these policies emerge in the first place. One area where moratoria are helpful is when a data center is proposed but the county has no approach for how they’d like to potentially regulate them. That’s temporary, most of the time. It lets local governments conduct research on the various impacts and also negotiate community benefits, ones that can mitigate any potential negative impacts — like Lancaster Pennsylvania, which instituted a community benefit agreement that maximized the potential benefits of development while mitigating what large data centers can do. That agreement looked at capping municipal water use at 20,000 gallons per day and requiring 100% clean energy. It had financial penalties for non-compliance. The company also committed $20 million to their local economic development and clean energy fund. There are ways to negotiate with developers.
We also see amendments to existing zoning. Data center proposals are increasingly popping up in rural areas, many of which are unzoned, so there’s no way a county can negotiate unless there’s a moratorium in place.
Other policy solutions include different performance standards or requiring on-site renewable energy, like what Jefferson County, Missouri, looked at. Also setback requirements, mandatory noise buffers, ending by-right zoning.
Where are local governments getting ideas for regulating data centers?
A lot of the technical information comes from developers. That can in cases be seen as a biased source of information. I wouldn’t say there’s a dedicated group providing assistance to local governments when a project is proposed — which is a similar story to wind industry development, where we have only a handful of consultants who provide technical advice. It can be really helpful to get a multi-disciplinary approach to hearing information. It can be helpful to have the utility commission, public health folks, those in academia, as well as the developer.
As of right now, especially in rural areas, local governments have a hard task of balancing pushback while getting the most accurate, evidence-based, neutral information to make decisions. That balance can be contentious.
What is the federal government doing on data center policy? How is the Trump administration approaching it?
A few things there. In the early days, the drive was for AI expansion and to be competitive with foreign adversaries. Now due to the amount of public pushback in red and blue localities and a more cautious approach.
I’m not seeing a lot of actual policy movement at this time.
I know the EPA is looking at the chemicals used in cooling data centers because when that water is cycled through the system, some of it is discharged into the water system, so they’re looking at the Toxic Substances and Control Act for monitoring that.
How much of an impact does this minimal federal role have on industry behavior?
Y’know, this isn’t specific to data centers. This is true for all kinds of large-scale development: there’s a need to require some sort of federal monitoring and regulation.
That’s where I see an emerging role for public health. At the federal level, there could be policy movement towards requiring some sort of environmental monitoring at data centers to make sure they’re operating responsibility. Looking at specific water use relative to water availability and what happens when there’s a time of severe, persistent drought. With air quality too — we’ve seen areas where the grid isn’t as reliable so their diesel generators are kicking on more and affecting air quality for residents.
We’re just not seeing all of that right now. We need corporate disclosure.
What do you see as the most important public health impacts from data center development?
It varies by localities. The most discussed obviously is water usage. One thing I’d note about my conversations with folks enthusiastic around emerging tech is, there are still questions that need to be asked about the capacity of localities to support a data center. Like a small town in Kansas may only be using 40% of their water for their utility needs. If a data center came online, how much of that water goes to the data center?
One area underexplored within the public health discipline is energy poverty and energy security. The ability of a household to meet the needs of everything energy provides in our lives. It’s known we have an aging electric grid but we’re not talking enough about large-scale blackouts when the grid is not sufficient to support some of these new data centers.
Plus more of the week’s big development fights.
1. Laramie County, Wyoming — Meta is fighting the fine it received in the Cheyenne data center water pollution controversy, and the conflict between the tech giant and the city’s small board of public utilities is continuing to spill out into the public.
2. Niagara County, New York — This county just rejected a solar project’s highway work permits in a show of retaliation against the state’s Office of Renewable Energy Siting.
3. Barron County, Wisconsin — The anti-solar protest is the new campaign stop in deep red Wisconsin.
4. Chesapeake, Virginia — A large battery storage project on the Virginia coastline is on the rocks amidst rampant local opposition.
5. Lewis County, West Virginia — West Virginia is now a key battleground in the fight over transmission, as a line spanning all of West Virginia and Maryland — and cutting through Data Center Alley in Virginia — causes compounding consternation.