By Kathryn Masten
From our back porch in Vienna, the winter landscape looks almost storybook — frosted fields, a still stream, and the kind of quiet that makes you feel held.
During the Eastern Shore’s recent deep freeze, as our home stayed warm and bright, I found myself thinking back to the February night five years ago, when warmth was something we had to fight for.
In 2021, my husband, our two dogs, and I spent a freezing night in our Kia Optima hybrid — in our own driveway — in Ingleside on the Bay, a small subtropical town on the Texas Gulf Coast. We had already packed the house for our move to Vienna, Maryland, when Winter Storm Uri pushed unusually far south.
The temperature fell to 17 degrees. Gas stations ran out of fuel. The town’s water pumping stations froze. The Texas electric grid failed. For nearly two days, we had no power, no running water, and no way out. That night, the hybrid engine idled just enough to keep the car warm because our blankets were already boxed up.
Not everyone was so lucky. A graduate school friend of mine was found lifeless in her San Antonio apartment after failing to show up for work. South Texas wasn’t ready for the cold, and the consequences were devastating.
People often ask why we left Texas. I sometimes answer with a pair of photographs taken the same evening during the Texas deep freeze: one looking west from our little seaside village toward the Corpus Christi skyline, the sunset blazing across the bay; the other looking north toward the Cheniere liquefied natural gas plant, its flare burning even larger than usual as it released chemicals into the night sky.
When major oil and gas companies set their sights on a small town, it’s not hard to predict who wins. Many of our former neighbors are still fighting a relentless petrochemical buildout. We couldn’t get out fast enough.
So why Vienna?
During a COVID-era escape drive in 2020, the town surprised us. Historic homes. A waterfront gazebo. A pie shop. And — almost unbelievably — electric vehicle charging stations. The town’s comprehensive plan emphasized preserving history, protecting the riverfront, and planning thoughtfully for the future. It felt like an anachronism and a promise at the same time.
But a few days after we moved in, I heard a roar outside and opened the door to see smoke billowing from a towering stack just north of town. My heart sank. Had we escaped one industrial horizon only to land beside another?
After some research, we learned that NRG Vienna is a “peaker plant,” activated only during extreme demand in winter and summer. It was supposed to be shut down permanently, but it still fires up under heavy loads — as it did this winter. It’s not the constant flare we lived with in Texas, but the resemblance is unsettling.
A few years back, entrepreneurs proposed converting the site into a solar power hub that would connect several nearby solar farms. That idea stalled, but community solar has taken root. My husband and I now save more than $90 a month on our Delmarva Power bill through Nautilus Solar. Which is why I’ve been puzzled by opposition to the proposed Maryland Blue Crab Solar project in nearby Linkwood.
The project would surround the long-troubled Valley Proteins rendering plant—an industrial neighbor many residents have complained about for years. When I compare a quiet field of low-profile solar panels to the emissions we lived with in Texas — or even to the stack of shipping containers across from an existing solar farm on Route 50 — the choice seems obvious.
As someone who spent years fighting to stop harmful fossil fuel projects in Texas, I’m hopeful that Maryland can continue moving toward renewable energy—solar, offshore wind, and whatever comes next.
At a recent public hearing, the Public Service Commission heard mostly support for the Maryland Blue Crab Solar Project (#9782) in nearby Linkwood, including from long-time Eastern Shore farmers who see solar leases as a way to keep farms in the family.
As more renewable energy projects are proposed, my hope is that Dorchester County and the State of Maryland will be ready — ready to evaluate these projects thoughtfully, ready to protect our landscapes, and ready to support clean energy solutions that keep communities like Vienna and Linkwood safe, healthy, and beautiful.
Because when I look out at our quiet winter yard, I’m reminded of what it feels like to lose power, to lose water, to lose safety. And I’m keenly aware of how precious it is to live in a place that still has the chance to choose a different future.