This story was produced by <\/span><\/i>Grist<\/span><\/i> and co-published with The Texas Observer<\/a>.<\/span><\/i>\n <\/p>\n In the far corner of the Crockett County Senior Center, 75-year-old Cynthia Flores almost always has a puzzle going. She and her friends sort colors and look for edge pieces while they gossip \u2014 \u201cfaster than the telephone\u201d \u2014 in the Tex-Mex blend of Spanish and English they grew up speaking in Ozona, a tiny ranching and oil outpost in far West Texas. A couple of days before Valentine\u2019s Day, their puzzle surface was one of the few in the center not covered in red and pink hearts; preparations were underway for the big dance the following night.<\/p>\n \u201cLa comida esta ready,\u201d another senior said, calling the puzzlers to lunch. Flores placed one last piece, then took her seat at a long community table. The plate in front of her would have delighted a nutritionist with its lean protein and mountain of steamed broccoli. She pulled a tiny plastic container of teriyaki sauce out of her bag and poured the contents over the meat. \u201cThey feed us what we need,\u201d Flores said, \u201cbut I always fix it up.\u201d Mostly, she said, she\u2019s just thankful not to have to cook. Like many of her friends, Flores still lives at home, but comes into the center for lunch most days. After being married at 16 and preparing food for herself and her family for almost 60 years, she said she was ready for a break.\u00a0<\/p>\n Some might say Flores and her friends are living the retirement dream. The center is like a second home, with nutritious food and a full calendar of bingo, dominoes, and social events. Thanks to services like these, many of Crockett County\u2019s aging residents have been able to stay in the familiar community where they, their parents, and sometimes even their grandparents grew up. Flores has been cutting hair locally for decades, working primarily out of her house. Many of her clients now are in their 90s. \u201cI\u2019ve been blessed to work in Ozona, where I can do my own thing,\u201d she said.\u00a0<\/p>\n Ozona is the only town in Crockett County\u2019s 2,800 square miles, and technically, it\u2019s not even that. \u201cThe Biggest Little Town in the World,\u201d as it brands itself, is technically unincorporated, meaning that the county is the only municipal government for its 2,800 residents. One person per square mile means Crockett isn\u2019t the most rural county in Texas, but it\u2019s up there. Taxes and regulations are minimal. The nearest city, San Angelo (the locals just say \u201cAngelo\u201d), is 90 minutes away. The nearest metro area, San Antonio, is three hours.<\/p>\n In her chic, clear-frame bifocals and flowy duster, Flores makes aging gracefully in place in one of the most rural places in the United States look easy. It\u2019s not. In many rural communities, seniors may find it hard or impossible to get the resources they need to remain in their homes and hometowns. Older Americans are already at risk of isolation, and living in a remote area can make that worse. Not to mention, resources are thin, local hospitals and other services are folding, and groceries may be pricey, far away, or both. According to the Rural Health Information Hub\u2019s summary<\/a> of U.S. Department of Agriculture data, 10.2 percent of seniors in rural areas don\u2019t have sufficient access to healthy and nutritious food, compared with 8.5 percent in metro areas.\u00a0<\/p>\n But in Ozona, older adults like Flores are thriving. The Crockett County government has created a strong network of senior services, and ensures that they are supported \u2014 with the help of a wonky tax arrangement and some powerful new neighbors: wind companies.\u00a0<\/p>\n AAbout 15 miles north of the senior center on State Highway 163, the wind turbines start cropping up, fleets of towering structures owned and operated by a company called NextEra Energy. In Texas, wind generates 29 percent of the power distributed by the state\u2019s notoriously independent power grid \u2014 second only to natural gas. According to the state comptroller<\/a>, Texas wind generation surpassed nuclear power in 2014 and overtook coal-fired generation in 2020. As of 2023, the state led the nation with 239 wind-related projects and more than 15,300 wind turbines.\u00a0<\/p>\n In Crockett County, the turbines generate more than just electricity. Money from NextEra supports the meals that Flores and her friends enjoy at the center and helps make events like the Valentine\u2019s Day Dance possible.\u00a0<\/p>\n It all comes down to clever utilization of a section of the Texas tax code. As a way of attracting large projects like wind farms, the state offers companies a temporary property tax break \u2014\u00a0up to 10 years \u2014 in exchange for local investment. This Texas Abatement Act (also known as Section 312) means less tax revenue in the short term, but more dollars immediately flowing to community projects and programs like the senior center in Crockett.<\/p>\n While some economists say the abatements are unnecessary to recruit the companies \u2014 there aren\u2019t many places they can go where taxes would be lower \u2014 the opportunity to reduce start-up costs for wind turbines or data centers or other developments gives the county a bargaining tool.<\/p>\n Many counties and cities use funding generated from these deals to improve roads and other infrastructure that might be strained by the new development, or to fund other public projects that don\u2019t have a place in the regular budget. In Medina County, for instance, officials negotiated with incoming data centers to improve roads where locals were concerned about increased traffic.\u00a0<\/p>\n How does a tax abatement work?\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n Local governments use these to incentivize economic development. The Texas Abatement Act, also known as Section 312, allows a local agreement between a taxpayer (say, a wind energy company) and a taxing unit (a county) that reduces or exempts property taxes on new developments for up to 10 years, in exchange for direct community investments.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n Why are they useful?<\/strong><\/p>\n Federal and state funds for social programs ebb and flow as budgets and administrations change; the Trump administration slashed funding for Meals on Wheels, for instance, which serves food to seniors. A tax abatement agreement like the one in Ozona with NextEra Energy can fill that gap quickly and more directly.\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n How else can these deals benefit communities?<\/strong><\/p>\n Economic opportunities<\/strong>: Local governments can use them to attract growing industries with the hope of providing well-paying, stable jobs and more local economic support. Ranchers in Ozona are looking to the wind energy boom to supplement their depleted oil and gas reserves.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/div>\n How else can these deals benefit communities?<\/strong> (continued)<\/p>\n A bargaining position:<\/strong> Tax abatements can be a tool \u2014 alongside other things like community benefit agreements and advisory boards \u2014 to ensure massive development projects are held responsible to a community, employees, and the local economy. This is playing out in other industries: For instance, Medina County, Texas, a data center hotspot, has used tax abatement deals to improve roads.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n How else can these deals benefit communities?<\/strong> (continued)<\/p>\n Reliable funding: <\/strong>Crockett County Judge Frank Tambunga said officials have become more strategic with each deal. Instead of granting full abatements, they typically structure partial abatements that phase in over time, allowing the county to maintain some general-fund revenue.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n In Crockett County, like many places in West Texas, roads, jobs, and public projects have long been tied to oil and natural gas revenue, with its attendant booms and busts. According to Crockett County Judge Frank Tambunga, oil and gas have kept public coffers full in Ozona, even with the ups and downs of the industry \u2014 and the steadier (though usually lower) revenues from wind farms will likely add consistency to an already healthy budget.\u00a0<\/p>\n Ozona\u2019s services for seniors are usually funded by a mix of federal and local funds, as well as charitable donations. As NextEra expanded its wind farms and more turbines cropped up, Tambunga saw the opportunity to offer those aging support services a boost.<\/p>\n Tambunga is a native of Ozona. Now in his early 60s, he\u2019s well acquainted with the sorts of choices his slightly older peers are making. He hears their concerns about health care, groceries, and social isolation. When he considered what to ask for in the tax abatement negotiations with NextEra, those concerns were top of mind. But rather than push for a new public department or project, Tambunga looked to those already doing the work in the community.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cAs we negotiate, we ask that, during the term of the abatement, that they make charitable contributions to nonprofit organizations to help the local groups,\u201d said Tambunga. \u201cIt allows us to provide support for these organizations that help people within the community.\u201d<\/p>\n Eligio Martinez remembers when the wind companies first arrived in Crockett County in the 2010s. He was a county commissioner back then (at times in Ozona, it feels like everyone has taken their turn in county office), and remembers talking to other counties to figure out the best terms for the tax abatement deal. Locally, he said, the wind turbines were an easy sell. \u201cWe welcomed them,\u201d Martinez said. No one got caught up in the politics of green energy \u2014 something that Texas\u2019 oil-funded politicians regularly debate \u2014 or even the aesthetic effect of adding turbines to the wide open vistas. They saw the chance to increase their tax base and gain funding for local services, Martinez said. \u201cIf it\u2019s beneficial to the community, we\u2019re going to stick together.\u201d<\/p>\n For their part, the residents at the senior center didn\u2019t understand exactly how the turbines worked \u2014 when the massive structures first arrived, they said, locals wondered if they could run electricity directly from the turbine and were skeptical when they learned that the electricity would be sent to Texas\u2019 power grid to be used elsewhere. Energy-funded towns like theirs are used to asking: \u201cHow long will the royalties last?\u201d They\u2019re asking the same about the wind farms. They\u2019ve lived long enough to watch booms and busts in nearly every industry \u2014 ranching, oil and gas, banking \u2014 but donations from the tax abatement deals and the increased tax revenue for the school district are welcome while they last.\u00a0<\/p>\n There\u2019s a pragmatism, Martinez said, that comes from being so remote. \u201cWe\u2019re very vulnerable here,\u201d he said. When his mom got cancer in 2013, he saw just how vulnerable. He was lucky enough to have a job that allowed him the flexibility to take her to her chemotherapy appointments in San Angelo, but if he hadn\u2019t, he wondered how she would have made the trek over and over, being as sick as she was.<\/p>\n Read Next<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/a><\/p><\/div>\n<\/div>\n Even for more able-bodied seniors, transportation is a hurdle in Ozona. The Concho Valley Transit buses make daily runs to San Angelo, and many use them for errands, but some don\u2019t want to be out all day until the scheduled return trip. Some may have to check in for dialysis and cancer treatments at hours when the buses don\u2019t run. And for those with more complex medical conditions or advanced cancer, San Angelo doesn\u2019t have what they need. They\u2019d have to go to San Antonio, Dallas, or even Houston \u2014 all between three and seven hours away. Whoever provides that transportation \u2014 usually a family member \u2014 is taking on substantial costs.\u00a0<\/p>\n Martinez started looking for ways to raise funds to help others in his community pay for these travel expenses. He was a radio DJ, so his first idea was a music festival. He organized a day-long festival, and posted some student volunteers by the door to collect entry fees. Almost no one came to hear the music, he said, but when he checked with the students at the door, they had raised $5,000. People had simply dropped off donations. Even if they didn\u2019t want to spend the day listening to music, they wanted to help. Everyone knew this was a huge issue for rural Texans, and that most likely, at some point, they too would need to make long drives to access various forms of medical treatment.\u00a0<\/p>\n Martinez hosted a few more music festivals, but eventually realized that he didn\u2019t need to put on an event \u2014 locals were ready to donate. He created a nonprofit, In Care of Ozona<\/a> (or \u201cCoz 4 Oz\u201d), that provides gas cards and hotel funds for folks who need to travel for medical care.\u00a0<\/p>\n This year, Martinez became a beneficiary of the very programs he helped negotiate back on the commissioners court: He received two donations from NextEra, totaling $3,000 \u2014 Coz 4 Oz\u2019s entire budget for the moment.\u00a0<\/p>\n It\u2019s not just medical emergencies that create transportation woes in Ozona. Ordinary errands can be just as burdensome. As in many small towns, the local grocery store prices are high. Prices are better in San Angelo, so seniors will often carpool for the 90-minute drive, or if someone is planning to make a trip, they\u2019ll take a list of what their neighbors need. Much of the impromptu organizing runs through the senior center, said Director Emily Marsh. \u201cIt\u2019s like a huge family.\u201d<\/p>\n Back at the Crockett County Senior Center, while Flores and her friends were working on their puzzles, 69-year-old Arletta Gandy loaded trays of hot meals into her small SUV. The former grocery store manager\u2019s dangly, candy heart-inspired earrings bobbled as she heaved a box full of lunch sacks onto the back seat. She and two other volunteer drivers show up to the senior center every weekday to drive the three \u201cHelping Hands\u201d routes, delivering meals to 42 seniors around Ozona. It\u2019s a good way to get out of the house in her retirement, said Gandy, who doesn\u2019t consider herself \u201cfrom Ozona\u201d because, as she said, \u201cI\u2019ve only been here over 20 years.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n After eight years delivering meals in the community, she knows the routes by heart. She knows which recipients have dietary restrictions and which dogs will run out of the house if she opens the door too wide. At some houses she chats briefly. Others have their own rituals. One man does little more than reach out from behind his screen door, but every day, as Gandy walks back down the plywood ramp overpassing the porch stairs, he says, \u201cSee you later, alligator.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cAfter a while, crocodile,\u201d Gandy responds.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cNacho nacho,\u201d the man calls back.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cNacho nacho,\u201d Gandy replies.\u00a0<\/p>\n The Helping Hands program has been operating in Ozona for as long as Director Stacy Mendez can remember. She\u2019s been involved since childhood. \u201cI remember helping my grandmother and aunt deliver meals,\u201d Mendez said. The program began in a local Catholic church, and when the Crockett County Senior Center opened with its commercial kitchen over 20 years ago, Helping Hands moved in.<\/p>\n In Texas alone, an estimated 100,000 seniors rely on meals funded through Meals on Wheels programs like this one. Across the board, federal funding for these programs has dwindled as pandemic-era appropriations expired and the Trump administration began canceling grants and slashing federal budgets. A government shutdown in the fall further disrupted an already unstable funding stream. Last September, a $20,000 donation from NextEra came just in time, Mendez said. It kept their lean operation afloat, replacing the lost federal dollars and allowing Helping Hands to continue operating through the shutdown, while other programs around the state had to cut back services.\u00a0<\/p>\n Other Texas counties could also use the renewables boom to meet local needs. The number of Texans 65 and older is expected to more than double from 3.9 million in 2020 to 8.3 million by 2050, making it the state\u2019s fastest growing population, according to AARP<\/a>. That\u2019s a concern for hunger advocates like Jeremy Everett, director of the Baylor Collaborative on Hunger and Poverty, because seniors are already one of the most food-insecure groups, after young children. But while kids can get food through their schools, such hubs don\u2019t usually exist for seniors, especially in rural areas. In 2026, Meals on Wheels reported<\/a> that nearly 14 million seniors worried about having enough food.<\/p>\n \u201cWithout the ability to safely and reliably access affordable food, senior adults may no longer be able to live in the rural communities they have called home,\u201d Everett said.\u00a0In Crockett County, money from the wind farms is helping to address that issue. The county is also working with the Baylor Collaborative on Hunger and Poverty to identify ongoing gaps. Especially in times of economic uncertainty, a coalition-based approach to senior hunger is vital, said Everett. No one sector can meet every need, so partnerships between local governments, industry, and nonprofits are key. \u201cThat\u2019s how strong food systems are built from the ground up,\u201d Everett said.<\/p>\n There\u2019s another group of Crockett County seniors who benefit from the wind farms: ranchers. Steve Wilkins\u2019 family has owned and operated the 6,000-acre Flying W Ranch for four generations, and he and his wife Belinda now breed Brahman beef cattle and lease part of their land to hunters. Belinda also sits on the board of the senior center.\u00a0<\/p>\n As of Valentine\u2019s Day, Wilkins reckoned he was probably a month or so away from signing a deal to lease part of his family ranch to a wind company. Most of the ranches around them have already done so. \u201cI\u2019ve kind of been dragging my feet on it,\u201d Wilkins said. He\u2019s not sure how he feels about wind energy, but these days ranchers have to be pragmatic. Many also lease to oil and gas companies \u2014 one of the more lucrative ways to keep a ranch intact. But in \u201cmature regions\u201d like Crockett County, many oil wells have already been producing for decades, putting them near the end of their productivity. Natural gas can have a similar lifespan, but big profits tend to drop sharply after the first six months to two years.\u00a0<\/p>\n Wind, of course, is not a finite resource. Theoretically, the region could keep producing wind and reaping the benefits indefinitely, or as long as demand for electricity continues apace. Still, there\u2019s skepticism about how long it will last, Belinda said. If the wind boom comes and goes,\u00a0they\u2019ll just have to keep adapting, as they always have.\u00a0<\/p>\n In any case, the wind farms are a longer-term investment. Wind money doesn\u2019t start flowing to the ranchers immediately, Wilkins said. The companies told him that it could be seven or eight years before they start seeing royalties. At 70, Wilkins said, that\u2019s of little use to him. But ranchers are also used to seeing land management in generational terms. \u201cMaybe my kids can keep the ranch,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n In the hours leading up to the Valentine\u2019s Day dance, Jerry and Willa Perry checked in for their weekly appointment at Flores\u2019 in-home salon. Jerry removed a red MAGA-style cap that said \u201cMake Texas A Country Again\u201d and placed his hearing aids inside while Flores trimmed his white hair. Willa, his wife of 70 years, looked on smiling. \u201cI can\u2019t wait to get you home,\u201d she joked, raising her eyebrows playfully. Jerry smirked \u2014 although he could not hear her, he got her meaning just fine.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n Flores charges on a sliding scale from about $12 to $40 to make sure all her clients can afford to stay coiffed. She makes enough to stay in the house, which she rents. But at her age, she said, she knows that she\u2019s just one medical emergency away from needing full-time care, which she\u2019ll likely find at the county\u2019s local public nursing home.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/p>\n After finishing with her last clients, Flores changed into a billowy red pantsuit, pearls, and bedazzled sneakers. The dance didn\u2019t start until 6 p.m., but she and several other regulars were there by 5 to get a good table. Emily Marsh and Belinda Wilkins enlisted their help setting out food on the long buffet. By the time the DJ fired up the first cumbia number, about 60 seniors were seated around the dance floor with plates of chips, cookies, and veggies with dip.<\/p>\n County Judge Frank Tambunga (left), Cynthia Flores (right), and other locals dance during the Valentine\u2019s Day dance at the senior center in Ozona, where the DJ, the decorations, and part of the budget are courtesy of the wind blowing across Crockett County. Reid Bader \/ Grist<\/strong><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/figcaption><\/div>\n Things started slowly, but began to pick up when a country two-step song came on. Judge Tambunga and his wife got up to dance, and other couples immediately followed. At the next cumbia, Flores rustled up a group of single ladies to take the floor. A couple songs later, she led a conga line.\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/p>
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