The Journal. - A Data Center Offered $26 Million for Her Land. She Said No.

Episode Date: September 9, 2026

Delsia Bare and her mother, Ida Huddleston, rejected $26 million dollars for their Kentucky farmland from the builder of an AI data center. Their stance has made them folk heroes across the country but has also divided their town. WSJ’s Erich Schwartzel spent a few days with the mother and daughter to better understand their resistance. Further Listening: - The Vanishing of an Anti-AI Activist - A Data Center Revolt in Missouri Sign up for WSJ’s free What’s News newsletter. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hey everyone, it's Jess. Our colleague Eric Schwartzel is here to guest host today's episode. Here it is. Not the one up here at the top, the one down there. You got four-wheel drive. All right. Off-roading here today, Delcia. I told you's going to get rough and ready.

All right, let's give it a go. I'm behind the wheel of a beat-up Jeep driving the backwoods of Maysville, Kentucky. Riding co-pilot and guiding me is a woman named Delcia Bear. Just don't cross the bridge that's in front of us. Delcia is nearly blind from diabetes, but she's able to direct us using only the map in her head and the feel of the road beneath us. We're in exactly where you say we are.

Well, that means I've measured off of my head all these years. She's lived here on her family's land for her entire life. Like I said, hold over to the right. Hold on to something if you're in the back. You need to put a little speed to it. Okay. Oh, go on. There you go.

All right, here we go. Well done, Delcia. Nothing to it. You got us there. We're at our destination, a clearing tucked away from the road. This is where I stayed on most of my childhood. I stayed down here on horse bike all the home. It's rough and wild.

Nobody can get to you from the outside. Delcia says she spent 40-some years here riding horses. In school, they call me double Delsey, red-headed Delsey, Fat Delcy, and Cowgirl Delcy, Yeha Delcy. I walk through bullying from hell over here at Mason County School System. When I step off that bus, I'd step back up on that horse's bike

and leave them all behind. Delcia has had a number of horses in her life, but her favorite was named Rebel. Rebel was wild. But this spot is where Delcia broke him. Run and Rebel is what we call him. him. Went up and down every hill on this piece of property. It's 297 acres of hills here. That horse was a foam bath of sweat. He never stopped running. We come back up to the gate.

I still have my fingers wrapped in his mane. I don't know where the reins was at. We went back up to the house and I rode him ever since. Wow. He died 33 years later. 33. I kept that horse for 33 years. He outlisted all the men in my life. At 54 years old, Delcia says she expected life to stay as it always had on the farm. I just figured I'd be riding horses up to the time I dropped dead and chasing these cows around here, but I don't know. That's pretty much a cowboy attitude, I guess. But things changed last year when a company started buying land in Mazeville.

And at first, no one knew why. Then Delcia and her neighbors learned that it was for a kid. campus of data centers, one so gargantuan that it would be bigger than two central parks. Since then, Delcia has wound up in the middle of a contentious battle with a tech giant and with her own neighbors. This is dad's land and his grandpa's land, his dad's land, and then grandpa's dad's land. If I'd let go of it, it can't ever be bought back. If you don't have the land, you don't have nothing.

Delcia's mom, Ida, is 83 years old and lives just down the street from her. The developer wanted a portion of her property, too. Together, mother and daughter were offered a life-changing amount of money. For their land, they would receive $26 million. And they said, no. I've lived here in this home for 50 or 60 or 70 years, And I tend to try to die in it. And that's why I don't want a data center aggravating me while I'm trying to die.

I have to say that is the thing that sticks with a lot of people when I tell them this story is they have a hard time imagining turning down $26 million. Well, there must be something wrong with me and mom because it didn't seem like it was much of a problem does. Welcome to The Journal, our show about money, business, and power. I'm Eric Schwartzel. It's Wednesday, September 9th. Coming up on the show, Delcia and the Data Center. I spent two hot days in June in Mazeville with Delcia Bear and her mother, Ida Huddleston.

Debates over data centers have popped up across the country. We were there to understand why. Thanks for showing up to see if we can fight a data center. Delcia and Ida hosted me and my presentation. producer, Max Green, in Ida's home. When you pull up to her house, you notice three flags. There's an American flag, a don't tread on me flag, and another flag bearing the Christian cross.

The house itself was built by Ida's late husband. I mean, the four boards are under you. Dad screwed each one of them down, put the drill down there, screwed him back down in there after he had sunk the holes in it. And then I would sit down there with the dow on a collar. cloth and a little saw and saw those dows off in the hole. It comes from the lion. These rocks on the fireplace here?

They come out of the creek, down there on the creek. Down there on that creek farm. The wood over your head. My brother did sell one. Delcia and Ida are both widows. They oversee a farming operation that has included cattle, hay, and tobacco. In the living room, they sit and talk in matching recliners. There's a bed in the corner where Ida has slept since the stairs became a challenge.

She uses a cane to get around, and there's a chirping noise coming from the fireplace. We can't shut the bats in the chimney up. Sorry. They're talking right now. She's got babies in there. The bat does? Yeah. You're listening to baby bats talk.

They live here, too, and they don't seem to bother. They go on, go back up the chimney and take their babies and go on. I don't know if they're the Indiana brown nose or not. We've probably got endangered species in our chimney. Just don't let any of bureaucrats come to look around. No, they'll kill them. Yeah, they'll kill them. Delcia is an encyclopedia of scripture, family lore, and life on the farm.

After pointing out those stowaway bats, she started rattling through the rolodex of invasive species that have come through her property. Turn loose a crane, as they said, was endangered, and it come here and hit up all the bullfrogs. And then that allowed these invasive tiger frogs to take over your English sparrow come in. because somebody brought them and the starlings over here. And now they brought in Paraguine Falcons to eat those two up, and then they're really hard on the chipmunks to score. Songbirds, like your cardinal and your nut hatch and you're all of your woodpeckers.

I just soon hear him go, and I would a big old falcon is real small. And you can't get a good shot at it. And I could try it when I still have my sight. Thought you were about to say you have a new invasive species coming to Maysville. Oh, we do. Called the data center. Hyper data center. Hyper, they call it hyper-scale data center.

It's the Antichrist. Last year, when Delcia and Ida were approached about selling their property, at first they signed. That was the $26 million offer. But then Delcia learned the plan was to build an AI data center, and she told them to, quote, kick rocks and don't come back. If you've gotten 26 million, it's like, yeah, I won it on the lottery. It wasn't about a data center. Center, what would you do with the $26 million?

All right, here's the answer the whole world wants to know the answer to. I would have turned around and bought every piece of property along the lease creek so that nothing could ever harm it. So the 26 million isn't going to mean anything to me because the data center would ruin anything that I would want. Is that making sense to you? The company let Delcia and Ida out of their contracts. I spoke to the local official who had been securing the acreage for the project,

and he said they all knew that forcing someone to sell wasn't a way to win over the community. All told, the company has committed to paying $110 million in land deals if the data center is built. Sitting with Delcia and talking about all of this, I realized how much her opposition to the data center was rooted in her religious beliefs. I had an opinion on AI before this happened.

I'm into Bible prophecy. AI is the beast system that the Revelation is talking about that makes it possible for the beast or Lucifer to track you and everything you're doing. And if you won't worship him, then he'll come and cut your head off. That's the way this is going to go down. Delcia sees the proliferation of AI and the data centers that power it as something out of the book of Revelation, the biblical end of the world. I come up with the word anti-human, like antichrist.

AI is anti-human. Of course, I've always been interested in prophecy in Revelation. And antichrist, of course, is a word just in my vocabulary a lot whenever you're dealing with prophecy. When I was anti-human. Was Delcia always this strong in her convictions? Her dad was, too. Is that right?

Mm-hmm. How so? Well, he made up his way. mind and he believed the scriptures he's to his deathbed. My dad used to get mad at me. He didn't want me to read Revelation. He thought there was a curse that went with it.

That might be why I can't see. I don't know. He was afraid of Revelation and I just wanted to study it that much more. So I guess I have prepared my whole life for this moment. Delcia has the same concerns as people fighting data centers in other communities. Environmental impacts,

noise, and the worry that the economic benefits aren't worth the disruption. Maysville officials say they are aware of those concerns, and they've passed regulations that they say will address them. The company has also pledged to spend tens of millions of dollars on local projects, including the repair of water treatment facilities that are falling apart. But the story of Delcia's resistance has spread, and it has won her fans across the country. One of them, Kenneth Cartier, has written several songs inspired by the story,

though he had to admit he used AI to do so. We are Mason County. We're not against the future. We just want to say in the plan. They get phone calls and letters of support. We've gotten several from California, some from Boston, Massachusetts, some from New York, some from Maine, some from Wisconsin, some from North Dakota, some from Wyoming.

Kick Rock. and don't come back. That is the message from a Kentucky farmer to an AI company. They denied that offer, saying they plan to stay, hold, and feed a nation. They wanted to keep their cows

and not replace them with computers. I cannot get enough of these ladies. Yes, they're so great. But closer to home, things are more complicated. Delcia and other opponents have filed lawsuits to stop the data center, and in doing so,

have had to sue the neighbors who agreed to sell their land. When we filed the lawsuit, we had to file it against the only landowners on record that they put in the paperwork is our neighbors. It became clear during my visit that there's a lot of tension in the air in Mazeville. A lot of the fighting takes place in Facebook groups.

Residents debate the issue and insult one another. A lot of the individuals on the other side Keep referring to our land. It's just an old bunch of scrubby hillside. There's nothing going on there. It's a vacant land. The worst one, they said we were disgusting for suing our neighbors. There are plenty of residents in Mazeville who support the data center.

They see it as a sign of progress, a new tax base, and an employer for a town that needs it. For a long time, it was a mystery who was behind the Mazeville Data Center. But residents recently discovered official paperwork that points toward META. A meta spokesman said the company hasn't made a final decision about working in the area. When we were in Mazeville, Delcia had her suspicions. She even joked about it when I asked. Now, is there any update on the question of who is building this? I'd like to see her get a hold of Zuckerberg if it's meta.

Oh, I'd say it's her. She'd turn him over her knee. No matter who is behind the data center, Delcia says that for her, it still comes down to a single question. What would Jesus do? And it really is what I'm asking. In this case, I just don't see the Lord Jesus Christ saying, hand me the 26 million for Dad's creation. Well, it maysville need something. We may need something, but we don't need this.

After the break, a ghost story, Carl Young, and a taxidermied beaver. After leaving Delcia and I in their matching recliners, Max and I head down the street to a biker bar called The Thirsty Beaver. We're greeted by a big cartoon beaver painted on the side of the building. Prominent buck teeth drinking a draft beer. Sign that says, stop in for a damn good time. D-A-M. Damn good time, of course, yeah, yeah. And they also have a sign that says speed limit 69.

That is the first of many double entendres you'll see on the wall. Inside is another beaver, a taxidermied one that has seen better days. There are beer signs and chalk drawings all around. And on one wall, someone has also written a quote they've attributed to psychotherapist Carl Jung that feels oddly apropos. Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate. It's the thirsty beaver. And if the name offends you, I'm going to offend you.

Danielle Reeves bought the bar about a year and a half ago when she moved to the area. She's short, slight, and a force to be reckoned with. Everybody's welcome here. Everyone's welcome. Everyone's welcome. Everyone's welcome. Our welcome wants. We have one hell of a time. It's the middle of the day on a Monday.

There are a couple of people drinking at the bar, but it's pretty dead in here. Danielle thinks the data center is the kind of boost that the area needs, not just for her bar, but for all of Maysville, especially when it comes to jobs. City planning documents estimate more than 1,500 construction jobs over several years, and the company says there will be 400 full-time jobs once it's built. My kids can't get a job. My kids are leaving.

There's not a whole lot going on in this town. I don't even care if it's 100 people. That's 100 more people that need fuel, that need breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Their families are going to come here for, what, five to seven years, maybe. Wives come in, children come in. They're going to the schools.

It's employing teachers. It's filling an extra bus. And her bar is the closest restaurant to the proposed data center site. It's right across the street. Yeah. It's a huge business opportunity. for you, right?

It's intimidating. You know, I mean, it could go both ways. I mean, I've got construction and dust and dirt and noise, and, you know, maybe that'll pull out some of my regulars and locals. But on the other hand, you know, you've got X amount of people, how many times a day, and I'm here. Danielle knows not everyone here sees eye to eye with her about the data center. She tries to keep things civil in the bar,

but the fights can get ugly. Danielle says just the other day, she had to kick somebody out who wouldn't stop railing against it. I mean, I still see people picking on those who have decided to sell. So it's a big divide

with those that are defending their neighbors versus attacking. I grew up in a town about this size too, and I just keep thinking about how awkward, sad it must be, to have neighbors who you see every day kind of having this come between them in such a way. It doesn't really come up here.

It's kind of like you don't talk about certain things in the bar. And one fellow who was pretty adamant, I told him the other day, get out of here. We're not doing it because it's just like you don't talk about politics or religion. I notice a man at the end of the bar watching us. He's sipping from a shot glass, and he asks what we're doing here. We're doing a story on the data center.

What are you pro data center? Neither. No, I'm a newspaper reporter, so I... I'm just testing. This is Cody Bess. His family has a long history in Maysville. The bar we're sitting in used to be his great-uncle's grocery store, and today he has a contractor business.

Cody goes right ahead and breaks Danielle's rule. about what not to talk about in the bar. No, nobody's been able to prove to me yet how it's going to do anybody any good. How's going to do anybody good? Yeah. I mean, nobody, you know, they're talking about stuff, but there's just so many things that these people, they're blinded by this money that they haven't thought about. But with my view, like, you've given up your family farm to go live somewhere else,

and you might have a little money left, but was it worth it? Then another guy sitting at the bar chimes in. His name is John. He tells us he likes to hear the birds sing, and he's worried that the sound of a data center might drown them out. John leans over to us with a video playing on his phone, supposedly of the noise pollution that can come from data centers. You're going to tell me you got noise like this coming out of your house?

24 hours, seven days a week. What is that? That's a sound. That's a data center. Oh my God. Oh, that's a small one. My freaking music, God, damn it, three days a week is louder than this. Guarantee.

That's going to be 24 hours a day, seven days. Oh, for the love of God. Danielle does see some of the downsides. She points out the window and across the street toward the land where the data center may go. There are some cows grazing in the field. She says she'll miss them. But as a newcomer to the town, she thinks a lot of the pushback is just resistance to any change at all, especially for those Maysville lifers. 26 million. I buy me a damn island. I'd put the cows on it and move the house that I want it so bad.

Everybody gets my ass. I think, I mean, I think if they were here, they would say it could have been 26 billion and it wouldn't have changed their mind. I mean, I might be eat shit here in six months. Dost rocks flying. My water bill on it, my electricist. I don't know. As we're leaving, we look out to see just how close Danielle's bar is to the data center site. Do you think there's a chance that one day they'll want this property? I mean, they didn't take that.

They didn't take this. I think what they're going to try to do. I think they're going to try to push us out. I ain't going anywhere. I'm paining the ass, ass them all. I'm here for a reason. Where are they going to go if they don't have me? Danielle, you sound quite a bit like the farmers.

You don't want to leave their land. Well, they didn't have to. Danielle and Delcia have found themselves on opposite sides of this issue. But they do have this in common. Neither plans to go anywhere. In Delcia's case, that would mean leaving her late husband Mike behind. He died in 2013. and his ashes are scattered on her property.

They're at the house, where I live. Now, I don't know how it would suck him back up and take him with me, so. After her husband's death, Delcia was accused of abuse and neglect of their only son. She said it was a disagreement over corporal punishment, but she agreed to let him live with a relative to avoid a trial. That left her living on her own. You all seen cattle yet? No.

Delcia is calling the cows to breakfast. Tending to the farm has gotten tougher since she's gone blind, but she still knows where to find the cattle. We open up the back of the Jeep and empty out eight enormous bags of feed. Eventually, seven or eight black cows come running down to the feed spot. Delcia stands nearby and leans on a walking stick. Humans are destructive and brutal. The cow might kick your head clean off, but she didn't know she kicked your head off.

The humans know they do it and do it anyway. You've been kicked by a cow? Oh, yeah, lots of time. On the way back, Delcia points to a patch of grass. This is the original home place. How do you mean? The basement to the house is over behind them kennel. Where my great-grandfather lived.

That was the original plot. Today, all that remains of her great-grandfather's, are a few bricks left on the ground. The history of the land is hard to miss. Behind Delcia's house, there's a small collection of gravestones that date back hundreds of years. Collar and typhoid were common here. There was a family of cholera up there.

They're in a straight line, and they all died on the same date. Two of them were little itty-bitty baby girls. When I ask more about the people buried there, Delcia's response, as is often the case, is a journey through the lore of the land and the metaphysical. Her late husband, she says, could see the other side. When he was in Vietnam, if he shot a man, he knew if the fellow went to heaven or hell.

He saw what come to get you. When her son told her years ago about meeting two young girls on the property, Delcia started to believe he had inherited the same ability. my little son, he was up and riding the bike the lane with, is looking for rabbits and squirrels. And he said, he kept shaking me. He said, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy. I said, what? And he said, those little girls up there want their mother. I'm going, oh, son, there can't be a little girls up there. And he said, no, those little girls want their mother. Well, I just thought he was joking around, you know, or carrying on. And, of course, I didn't believe him.

I went and asked Dad about it. And he said, well, he may have did. I said, what do you mean? He said, there's a cemetery there on that property. And he said, two little girls. said their mother got influenza first and died and said then the two little girls died and said they would have died wasn't their mother because she was already dead so my son saw those two little girls

wasn't their mother while they were dying I guess so just a big old dad a sudden is going to come in here and all of those stories they're nothing. It's clear Delcia sees herself as the keeper of these stories but even without her family's farm the data center can still come to Maysville

because enough of her neighbors have agreed to sell their land. And despite all of her fighting, Delcia may wind up living next door to it. Well, it'll be less than 50 feet from your house. Well, it'll just have to be 50 feet from my house. I don't give a flip. I'm not leaving Grandma and Grandpa's land.

That's all for today, Wednesday, September 9th. The Journal is a co-production of Spotify, and the Wall Street Journal. If you like our show, follow us on Spotify or wherever you get your podcasts. We're out every weekday afternoon. Thanks for listening.

See you tomorrow.