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If you’ve had the uneasy sense that winter weather isn’t what it used to be, you’re not alone — and you’re probably right. The everyday effects of climate change on the year’s coldest months are quickly becoming too blatant to dismiss.
As annual heat records continue to topple year after year — 2023, now officially the hottest year on record, came terrifyingly close to averaging 1.5 degrees Celsius above preindustrial temperatures — winter weather is responding. In some places, it’s turning snowy days into rainy ones. In others, it’s turning cold days bitterly so.
So — what, exactly, is going on? Let’s start with the basics.
The main thing is that climate change is pushing winter temperatures higher. In fact, the average winter temperature is rising faster than that of any other season. Average temperatures in the lower 48 U.S. states from December through February rose by almost 3 degrees Fahrenheit between 1896 and 2021, compared to 2 degrees in spring and 1.5 degrees in summer and fall, federal data show.
The number of days below freezing each year is also on the decline across the country and across the planet. A decade ago, the U.S. was already seeing two weeks less snow cover, on average, than it did in 1972, according to federal data. And parts of the country, including cities in the Northeast and Northwest, are on track to lose over a month of freezing days by midcentury.
But in many places, daily highs and lows aren’t shifting at the same rate. Winter nights, for instance, are warming even faster than winter days — the total number of freezing nights has been dropping in the U.S. since the 1970s. Colder places are also warming more quickly, with the northern U.S. and especially the Northeast experiencing the most significant rise in average winter temperatures.
That dreary, muddy weather that most of the U.S. saw this past Christmas does, admittedly, happen sometimes for natural reasons. Same with the incessant rain that fell (and then turned to ice) across the Midwest and Northeast in mid-January. With every fraction of a degree the planet warms, however, events like these become more likely — or, at least, that’s what hundreds of the world’s leading climate scientists concluded in the United Nations’ latest synthesis report on the state of the global climate.
Bingo.
Some evidence suggests that climate change is actually making cold shocks more likely by destabilizing the polar jet stream, which keeps the frigid air in the far northern hemisphere from moving too far southward (and keeps warm air in the tropics from moving too far northward). As a result, the polar vortex that’s normally confined to the Arctic is liable to stretch south and blast bitterly cold air into the contiguous U.S. That’s what happened in mid-January, when temperatures in Montana and the Dakotas dropped as low as -30 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind chill bottomed out at -60 degrees. Cold air from the same weather system blew all the way to Texas.
That said, this evidence is not rock solid. Whether or not it bears out in the long term, it’s important to remember that a warmer world doesn’t mean it will never be cold.
Recent experience notwithstanding, cold snaps — short periods of abnormally cold weather — are going away, too. Their average duration dropped by six days between 1970 and 2021, a Climate Central analysis found.
One of the most predictable consequences of climate change is that, as year-round temperatures soar, an increasing share of annual precipitation will fall as rain rather than snow. That’s just what you get when it’s too warm for water vapor to freeze.
One of the less obvious consequences, it turns out, is that a warmer atmosphere holds more moisture, enabling it to dump more precipitation — whether that comes as rain, snow, or wintry mix — during a single storm. As a result, even though climate change is making certain places drier, the biggest winter snowstorms are becoming, well, bigger.
This apparent contradiction had a major impact on the parched West in 2023. Drought is expected to become the norm there as the planet warms, fueling epic wildfires and straining already limited water supplies.
But a string of record snowstorms across the West last winter replenished the region’s dwindling snowpack, feeding mountain streams and helping keep drought conditions at bay (and creating a really good year for ski towns). In California, meanwhile, a barrage of atmospheric rivers drenched lower elevations and broke snowfall records in parts of the Sierra Nevada mountains.
California and its neighbors got off to another rainy (and snowy) start in 2024 — though the recent reprieve from years of severe drought isn’t expected to last.
The best answer we can give you today is to say that yes, snow will most likely still exist. But rising generations probably won’t be able to count on snow falling — and sticking — with the regularity it did when you were their age.
Climate scientists don’t have a perfect picture of how quickly the winters we grew up with will give way to a string of months that are rainy, slushy, and unpredictable, but that’s the direction the evidence is pointing. As global temperatures continue to rise, the trends we’ve seen in winter weather over the past couple of decades aren’t expected to reverse course anytime soon.
Many of the ways climate change affects winter are hard to miss. Snow falls later and less often, and when it does come, it doesn’t last as long. That comes with a few perks for the average American — such as fewer frigid winter days — and huge downsides for the communities, ecosystems, and industries that depend on winter being snowy and cold.
The ramifications of warming winters across the U.S. also extend far beyond the end of the season. Accelerated snowmelt causes plants to green and bloom earlier, which can have cascading effects on soil moisture and drought, as well as on the wildlife that depend on these plants for food and habitat. If snowpack fails to accumulate or melts too early, streams will run dry during the hottest months of the year, when animals, plants, and people need them most.
Traditional strains of some fruit crops — like blueberries, cherries and peaches, for example — don’t grow properly in the spring and summer if the preceding winter was too warm. The increasing volatility of winter weather is also affecting the success rate of wintertime crops, especially in the South. By some estimates, the agriculture sector’s biggest companies could lose tens of billions of dollars in value by 2030 because of climate change.
And pests like ticks and mosquitoes are not only expanding northward, they’re also surviving the winter more easily in their historical range, causing their populations to grow and rates of disease transmission to climb.
Unfortunately, that’s one question we can’t answer — not for every instance of unseasonably warm temperatures everywhere in the world. What we do know for sure is that warmer average temperatures make unseasonable and extreme weather more likely. So in that sense, yes, odds are very good that climate change is playing a role in that thermometer reading.
But also, events rarely have just one cause. Climate change could be exacerbating a natural weather phenomenon, or you might just have gotten a brief winter reprieve. Whether one sultry February day is “because of climate change” isn’t really the point. The point is that, unless and until we stop emitting greenhouse gases into the atmosphere and start pulling them out, the weather will just keep getting weirder. There is no new normal.
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The president has paid $4 billion to kill projects that were already dying or dead.
At a certain level, it defies belief: The Trump administration is spending nearly $4 billion … for nothing.
It’s paid something for nothing at least five times now. Last week, the administration reached a $1.2 billion deal with the German energy company RWE to not build three wind farms, including a large installation off the coast of New Jersey. The Chicago-based developer Invenergy signed a separate deal in June. It’s not clear these deals are legal, yet they keep happening.
These agreements mark the formal end of the first American offshore wind boom, which began in the late 2010s and stepped up during the Biden administration. This buildout, alas, never quite found its sea legs. As recently as February 2022, you could squint at the horizon and imagine that 14 gigawatts of turbines might soon spin along the East Coast. Now, we’ll be lucky to get more than six gigawatts by the end of the decade.
That’s a lot of lost generation capacity — and as I’ve repeatedly written, its absence is going to be a problem for the northeastern United States. The Mid-Atlantic and New England, which were set to receive some of the largest offshore facilities, will still need a lot more new electricity in the years to come, especially during winters. (New York City, for instance, now avoids blackouts by relying on two aging barge-mounted power plants parked in the East River.) And while many of the developers who received President Trump’s payouts pointed to fossil fuel investments in their press releases — as if to imply that those other projects were “replacing” the lost wind farms — relatively few of the power plants mentioned will be built in the Northeast.
Yet there’s another weird aspect of these offshore deals that I haven’t focused on as much: Why are they happening in the first place? That’s the subject of a helpful new article published today by James Sallee, an economics professor at UC Berkeley. He observes that many of the offshore wind projects that the Trump administration has now paid to “cancel” were struggling financially long before January 20, 2025. Few of the farms, if any, would have been built under any administration. So why, exactly, is Trump paying off their developers?
Let’s roll the tape. More than four years ago, the Biden administration held the country’s largest offshore auction ever for a set of promising offshore-wind sites along the Atlantic coast. That brought in more than $4 billion; as part of it, a German company named RWE placed a record-shattering bid for a particularly promising area off New Jersey’s coast. The date? February 25, 2022.
As it turned out, that auction was not the most important thing that happened that week in global energy markets — or world history. A day earlier, Russian troops began their full-scale invasion of Ukraine, igniting a geopolitical firestorm that ultimately ushered in an era of tighter energy supplies, rampant inflation, and higher interest rates. Although the offshore developers could not have known it then, those three trends would reshape the economics of their projects. That’s because offshore wind farms — far more than solar, battery, or gas plants — require titanic upfront investment, as Sallee writes:
Offshore wind is extremely capital intensive: enormous costs come up front, while revenue arrives over decades. Inflation raised the cost of steel, turbines, vessels, and labor. Higher interest rates reduced the present value of future revenue and raised financing costs. Where developers signed fixed-price contracts, developers were left holding the capital cost risk when conditions changed.
Unit economics started to deteriorate, and costs ballooned. Projects started to fail as early as October 2023, when Orsted canceled its Ocean Wind 1 and 2 projects slated for the New Jersey coast. I remember talking to an energy expert at the time who mused that for the same per-megawatt cost as an offshore wind farm, the state might as well just build a new Westinghouse nuclear reactor. (Its governor Mikie Sherrill is now exploring doing just that.)
By the time President Trump took office, in other words, many offshore wind projects were already on financial life support, if not deceased. Given the real underlying shift in project economics, that should have decreased the value of developers’ offshore leases — which are, as Sallee writes, more of an option than a permit, because they give a developer the right to study an area but do not authorize construction per se.
Yet over the past year, the Trump administration has reimbursed five developers largely in full, and it hasn’t gotten much in return. Perhaps that’s what the administration needed to do in order to fully kill these projects without risk of future legal sanction. Yet it is … strange. “The deals relate to development rights that look uneconomic today, even before the buyouts,” Sallee says. “The buyouts may limit how quickly offshore wind could rebound in a future economic and policy environment, but as of today it seems as though the government just spent $3.9 billion of taxpayer dollars spent to shoot a corpse.”
I wonder if that description undersells it. In a certain light, the government isn’t really shooting the corpse so much as handing it big wads of cash. Since the first of these deals were announced, I’ve struggled with what to call them — buyouts? payouts? — but Sallee’s post (which you should go read in full) made me wonder if bailout is the best option. After all, imagine if a hypothetical President Kamala Harris had reimbursed this same set of companies for the full value of their failed offshore wind bets — and used the Justice Department’s permanent and technically unlimited Judgement Fund to do it. What would journalists say then? How would Republicans respond?
Or to make the analogy truly work, I suppose, imagine that a President Harris had bailed out oil companies for some overly exuberant bet made during an earlier Republican administration, then claimed (with dubious evidence) that they would use the refunds to build renewables. That would still be an enormous waste of public money, but it would scramble the politics somewhat, perhaps evoking astonished embarrassment from her allies and delighted confusion from her opponents. Which might — to return to our world — mirror some of the response we’re seeing to Trump’s wind payouts.
As electricity prices rise, the stakes for the leaders of states like Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Indiana are only getting higher.
Governors are increasingly throwing their weight around in the technocratic and often obscure utility ratemaking process. The latest example is Virginia Governor Abigail Spanberger, who last week published a Washington Post op-ed announcing that she would intervene in the attempted acquisition of the state’s dominant utility, Dominion, by Florida utility and energy development company NextEra Energy.
Spanberger is “deeply skeptical about whether selling our primary state-regulated utility to an out-of-state company is good for the commonwealth,” she wrote. While she didn’t go so far as to oppose the merger, she did insist that NextEra maintain jobs in the state, comply with Virginia’s clean energy goals, and come up with cost savings for Virginians. And while the state’s utility regulators will make the ultimate decision themselves, she said, she wanted to use her leverage as the state’s highest ranking and most visible elected official “to make sure Virginians have a voice in the process.”
It’s not unheard of for a governor to try to influence utility regulators by picking members of state utility commissions — or simply by haranguing them. But as electricity bills rise to their highest level ever, according to Heatmap and MIT’s Electricity Price Hub, governors in particular have started responding to pressure from voters to do something — anything — about it.
In New Jersey, Governor Mikie Sherrill won office in part by promising to freeze electricity rates — then used her influence over the utility regulators to make it happen.
In Indiana, Governor Mike Braun replaced the head of the state utility regulator after his predecessor agreed to a rate increase from the utility AES Indiana.
In North Carolina, Governor Josh Stein publicly called on the state’s dominant utility, Duke Energy, to reduce a rate increase request.
And the whole PJM Interconnection market, which includes Indiana, Virginia, and New Jersey, exists under a capacity price cap worked out in litigation initiated by Pennsylvania Governor Josh Shapiro, who has also led an effort alongside the White House to procure more generation and pressured the utility PECO to withdraw a rate case.
“Governor Shapiro is maybe the pioneer of this,” Eric Miller, the interim vice president of the states program at Evergreen Action and a former climate and energy official under former New Jersey Governor Phil Murphy, told me. “Legislators, they hear from their constituents about utility issues, whether it’s shut-offs or high prices. They go to their elected officials, and those elected officials engage with the governor’s office,” he said.
Utility regulation and ratemaking exists in a netherworld between public policy and private business. Most customers in the U.S. are served by investor-owned electric utilities, but the prices they pay are set by boards whose members are typically appointed by governors after a long, quasi-judicial process.
The process by which rates are set is wonky by design, with thousands of pages of filings and analysis explaining what costs need to be recovered at what rate paid by ratepayers. “Intervening” in a public service commission decision typically involves quietly slipping a document into a large docket, to be seen solely by utility regulators and lawyers (plus a few enterprising reporters.) To the extent the public or elected officials get to weigh in, it’s often through non-governmental advocacy groups or state officials designated as advocates for the public.
That governors are now openly taking responsibility for such a painfully bureaucratic process is “an indication of just how central utility rates are to overall energy affordability concerns that governors are hearing,” Jeff Dennis, executive director of the Electricity Customer Alliance and a former Department of Energy and Federal Energy Regulatory Commission official, told me.
With prices as high as they are, “the stakes are higher, and so the governors feel like in order to fulfill their campaign promises or their job as the top elected official in the state, that they’ve got to be directly heard,” he said. In Virginia, for example, typical bills have grown over 45% in the past five years, and by almost 12% in the past year alone.
When it comes to assigning responsibility for high electricity prices, Americans are most likely to blame their state government and their utility (and, increasingly, data centers), according to Heatmap polling.
Governors, who have a direct mandate from the public, can exert a unique countervailing force in a process that many critics argue is weighted towards utility interests. “Despite a lot of fences to prevent regulatory capture and rent seeking, it happens,” Miller said, “and having an executive weigh in directly can shake that up.”
There are risks, however, to governors getting more directly involved in the ratemaking process. One is that it could encourage short-term thinking, leading to measures that hold down prices at the expense of potentially necessary investments to maintain reliability or building out the infrastructure necessary to bring on new sources of power like wind and solar.
On top of that, “There’s certainly always a risk that the proceedings get more political,” Dennis told me. But he noted that ultimately, it’s utility commissions making the decisions, and they’re obligated to provide a record of filings and data to support their decisions.
Governors getting involved more formally could also have upsides, Dennis said, by shining a spotlight on the process that ultimately affects every resident and business in the state. “It brings a lot more spotlight to how utilities are making decisions about investments and how customers are impacted by those decisions, and I don’t think that that’s necessarily a bad thing.”
Governors also have a different set of mandates and responsibilities than the utilities do. While utilities have a mandate to provide reliable electric service — and thus spend whatever they can convince their regulators is necessary to do so — Miller argued that governors have to balance reliability and affordability for their constituents.
“The regulatory monopoly that utilities have is a political creation made by the elected officials in that jurisdiction.” Miller told me. “It is well within the authority of those same elected officials to decide to take a very hard look at whether that model is delivering the type of outcome that they want.”
A proposed change in how the agency implements an obscure Cold War-era law would impose onerous reporting requirements on renewables and pipelines.
Democrats in Congress claim that a new Trump administration proposal will have a chilling effect on the energy sector by subjecting renewables and fossil fuel pipelines alike to an obscure, rarely cited Cold War-era law requiring detailed information on foreign farmland ownership be submitted to the Agriculture Department.
In late June, the Agriculture Department released a proposal to change implementation of the Agricultural Foreign Investment Disclosure Act of 1978, which requires companies to provide information to the federal government on foreign investors in farmland holdings, acquisitions, and sales. If finalized, the new rule would expand the definition of “agricultural land” in regulation to include all renewable energy facilities and pipeline corridors by explicitly tying the term to those industries’ formal codes under the North American Industry Classification System.
Top Senate Democrats on Monday argued that taken together with expanded investor reporting thresholds and land boundary mapping requirements, this rule change “may exceed what is necessary” to deal with national security issues around farmland ownership.
One of the letter’s signatories, Pennsylvania’s John Fetterman, has previously joined the GOP in railing against foreign companies purchasing U.S. farmland as a potential national security concern. And indeed, there certainly exists a broader bipartisan anxiety around Chinese influence on essential industries, e.g. mining and critical minerals. That Fetterman is now joining climate hawks Martin Heinrich and Sheldon Whitehouse in opposing the administration’s move is a striking moment of unity, especially as Fetterman bats away beltway rumors that he’ll flip parties.
The letter demands a briefing from the Agriculture Department that includes the proposal’s “anticipated impacts on the energy, infrastructure, and agricultural sectors,” as well as the legal basis for changing its definition of “agricultural land.”
“[W]e are concerned that USDA’s proposed rule may exceed what is necessary to address those objectives, have unintended national security consequences, and may create substantial compliance burdens on agricultural producers, landowners, infrastructure operators, energy developers, and investors that could undermine efforts to address rising energy and food prices without a corresponding national security benefit,” the letter reads.
As I have previously written, the USDA is an increasingly vital organ in the Trump administration’s war on renewable energy projects, and focusing its laser beam at project development on what it calls “prime” farmland. Trump also recently tapped country music star John Rich to be his “special envoy for American landowners,” which directly led to the USDA working with people fighting solar on farmland in upstate New York.
The Trump change goes after pipelines as well as renewable energy, although logic suggests that solar development could be more vulnerable due to the sheer acreage often required for utility-scale project construction and property setbacks.
The Agriculture Department responded to my request for comment with a statement: “As Secretary [Brooke] Rollins has noted before, the regulations governing the Agricultural Foreign Investment Disclosure Act of 1978 are extremely outdated and need to be updated to better reflect today’s conditions. USDA looks forward to considering all public comments before finalizing the rule.”
Editor’s note: This story has been updated to include the statement from USDA.