East Texans rally against proposal to flood their land for DFW’s water supply

By Matt Houston

WFAA, January 28, 2025

DALLAS — When the wind whispers in Cuthand, nature stops to listen.

But for the gentle rustling of oak leaves, the forest is silent. Nervous white-tailed deer pause their browsing to stare.  

Even on a cold day when sound travels, Interstate 30 traffic is too distant to disturb the calm.

“This, to me, is heaven,” said Eddie Belcher, mounting a side-by-side vehicle. “The quietness. The tranquility.”

The small engine turns over, freeing the landscape from its hush. The 62-year-old starts down the gravel trail his grandfather blazed decades ago.

Hardwood trees soar above the narrow road. Small mounds, probably constructed by the Caddo people hundreds of years ago, dot the horizon along the route.

“You never know what you’re going to see,” he said. “We see bald eagles and everything from armadillos to possums.”

The path winds from the home Belcher built with his own hands, past a cabin with no electricity where his older brother sometimes sleeps.

The rocky track ends at an old home with a leaning chimney and a metal roof. 

“This here is my great-grandfather’s house,” Belcher said, pointing. “I added on the room on that side.”

Today, the house is filled with beds for weary hunters. Polaroid pictures commemorating impressive kills are pinned to the wall.

Belcher remembers sleeping in the cabin as a child. He’d play dominoes with siblings and cousins until 3 a.m., then venture out to fish or hunt at 5 a.m.

Occasionally, skunks – polecats, as Belcher calls them – traipsed through the home. The children froze to spare their noses. 

Belcher owns more than 700 acres of land in the area, inherited from both sides of his family. He intends to pass down the property to his six grandchildren, keeping the ranch in the same family for seven generations.    

But its heirs bear a burden.

“I think about this thing every day,” he said. “Everything in my family will be underwater.”

WATER SHORTAGES IMMINENT

If current water supply is not boosted, state analysts predict Dallas-Fort Worth will not have enough water to quench expected demand in five years. By 2030, Dallas-Fort Worth residents will require 221,000 acre feet of water each year.

By 2080, state analysts project Dallas-Fort Worth residents will require 1.33 million acre feet of water each year. The problem worsens exponentially as the area’s population grows.

“You’re going to see water rates go up,” said Kevin Ward, former chair of the planning committee charged with finding water for the Metroplex. “You’re going to see reductions of use. You’ll probably see restrictions on landscaping that could affect the economy.”

“That’s your initial effect,” he said. “Later, what you’ll see is growth will slow. Jobs will dry up. You won’t have people wanting to move here. You’ll see business relocations. You’ll see things you really don’t want to see.”

In the last 18 months, state leaders have sounded an alarm about potential water shortages. Though the problem afflicts the entirety of Texas, Dallas-Fort Worth faces immediate challenges.

About 300 people move to the Metroplex each day, and each person needs water. A single acre foot of water, enough to flood one acre of land with one foot of water, can supply six Texas homeowners each year.

Businesses are moving to Texas, too. Industrial consumers require even more water than municipal users.

“We still need more water than what we have in the water plan, and Texas doesn’t have it yet,” Ward said.

A POTENTIAL SOLUTION

Since the 1950s, state leaders have discussed damming the Sulphur River in northeastern Texas to form a lake. Pipes would carry water from this “Marvin Nichols Reservoir” to Decatur, where the resource would be distributed for the Metroplex’s use.

Currently, Texas does little to capture the Sulphur River’s flow. Its water eventually spills into the Gulf of Mexico. 

At low yield, Marvin Nichols would supply DFW with about 300,000 acre feet of water each year. East Texans would use the remaining 77,000 acre feet.

It would cost between $7 billion and $8 billion to construct, up from $1 billion two decades ago. The price tag would almost certainly inflate with further delay.

Though it would only meet about 23 percent of demand projected for 2080, Marvin Nichols could support 3 million Dallas-Fort Worth residents each year.

“That’s a lot of water,” Ward said.

There are few river basins in Texas that could support a reservoir. The Sulphur River is among those locations closest to the booming Metroplex, meaning the pipes transporting Marvin Nichols’ water to DFW would be relatively short and cheaper to maintain.

Ward also envisions a chain of new reservoirs, each connected by pipelines. Marvin Nichols would be the next link in that chain, he says, eventually allowing DFW to reach further east and south for its water.

“If you get that pipe put in for that one, then it might make sense to go to the next one,” Ward said. “Marvin Nichols just happens to be at that sweet spot now, as far as the dollars and cents go, where the pipes are already running… and where they’ll run in the future.”

Previous iterations of the state water plan have called for the reservoir’s completion by 2050. Ward and state analysts believe it would take at least one decade to secure the necessary permits and acquire land, plus another 20 years to construct.

To avoid missing the feasibility window, stakeholders want Marvin Nichols included in the next statewide water development plan. Regional committees, including the one Ward chaired, are meeting now to submit their recommendations.

The state water development board will present the final plan to the legislature next year.

THE IMPACT

The Dallas-Fort Worth planning group has supported Marvin Nichols’ construction. Their counterparts in northeastern Texas oppose the project, which would flood 67,000 acres in the Sulphur River Basin.

To offset the project’s environmental impact, the state would set aside another 130,000 acres for conservation. No one knows where that preserve would be, though the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers typically requires the protected land to be as close to the disruptive project as possible.

Texas likely would have to acquire all 200,000 acres by threatening eminent domain.

“Where’s my family going to go?” Belcher asked, standing next to his great-grandfather’s cabin in the center of the proposed lake. “My community? My friends? It’s not only me. It’s going to break the whole community up.”

The project would affect key industries in northeastern Texas, too.

The Ward Timber sawmill in Linden processes between 800 and 1,000 logs each day. About 40 people work inside the warehouse, all wearing earplugs to protect from the machinery’s whine.

“Everything we do here affects so many other industries around here,” sawmill manager Bret Lowery said. “You’re always going to need wood.”

Ward Timber’s largest hardwood logs become railroad ties. Medium-sized planks become flats for shipping. Scraps are collected and shipped to paper mills, where they’ll become diapers or paper towels.

Lumberjacks cut the trees, truckers deliver the raw material, sawmill workers process the wood, and local stores buy the treated product to sell.

“Our biggest concern is the loss of raw materials,” Lowery said.

The Sulphur River basin extends into a bottomland hardwood forest, known for its oak trees. Such wood is sturdier and more desirable than the pine East Texas is known for.

If the state obtains 200,000 acres of land, the local timber industry warns it will not have room to replant the trees it cuts down.

Such practice is environmentally friendly, but also financially sustainable. It is cheaper for sawmills to replenish their own supply.

Lowery said Ward Timber operates at a net positive, planting more than it cuts down.

Ward Timber would need to buy its supply from other parts of the state if Marvin Nichols is built, Lowery suspects. There will be bidding wars that drive prices up for sellers and consumers, he says.