Green Dreams Turn To Rust – Watts Up With That?

Guest Post by Willis Eschenbach (@WEschenbach on X)

Napa Valley College is not far down the road from me, a small community college in the wine country of California. So let me lay out the sunny saga of Napa Valley College’s solar field—a green fantasy that was supposed to be a model for the nation, and ended up as a million-dollar weed patch. This is the kind of story that only seems shocking if you weren’t paying attention to how the solar “revolution” actually works: splashy ribbon cuttings, loud political speeches, wild promises…and then, about a decade later, the sound of crickets and the sight of public money quietly composting.

Flash back to 2006. Napa Valley College, fueled by $7.5 million (half from taxpayers via a bond, half from utility incentives paid for by us poor ratepayers), launches what is then the nation’s fifth-largest solar project. Local and national press swarm, a congressman champions the cause, and the administrators beam with pride. This masterpiece was going to power 40% of the campus, save $300,000 a year, run “virtually maintenance-free” for 25 or 30 years, and serve as a postcard for college sustainability reports everywhere.

For a few years, everything hums along. The thing works. Solar output looks impressive in the glossy pamphlets; the college basks in eco-glory.

But then, reality shows up on the ledger. By 2017—barely a decade on—output has cratered, maintenance costs are climbing, and the system is barely limping along. In 2018, SunPower (the system’s new corporate overlord after a straight-out-of-silicon-valley company shuffle) discovers major faults and charges an extra $160,000 to patch the system together. No one seems to know—or wants to explain—when the panels finally gave up the ghost, but sometime between 2019 and 2021, the weeds won. SunPower goes bankrupt and vanishes, leaving the school with zero support, zero warranty, and a $7.5 million monument to wishful thinking.

How did it fail? Let’s count the ways.

• The 25- to 30-year “lifespan” was always a myth, an industry fairy tale pulled out of thin air and sold to unprepared bureaucrats.
• Central inverters—then the industry standard—didn’t have the staying power, leading to cascading technical failures and “planned obsolescence” on the scale of a college football field.
• Maintenance became a patchwork, as installer, module supplier, inverter company, and maintenance contractor all vanished into the bankruptcy fog one by one.
• Regulatory goalposts kept moving: by the time Napa tried to salvage the project, new grid export rules and skyrocketing fuel-cell competition made solar more trouble (and less savings) than ever.

The final insult? The only “fix” on offer is a $1 million bid just to haul the dead system away. No maintenance records, no liability info, no insurance payout, no ability—or apparently even the will—to go after the broken warranty. The school is left pondering its new “fuel cell,” which at least uses technology someone can repair.

And don’t let energy consultants off the hook. Far too few of them truly understand this stuff—and not one of them works for Napa Valley College, or any of the bankrupt companies that lined up for taxpayer cash. The colleges, schools, towns, and small governments caught riding the solar coaster are all learning the same lesson: you may want renewable energy, but you’d better get ready for a decade in the customer-service wilderness when something breaks. You’ll be lucky if there’s even anyone left to answer the phone.

Now, 20 years on, Napa Valley College is looking at new bonds, new consultants, and another round of “studies,” all while its original field rusts—too expensive to remove, too costly to repair, too embarrassing to celebrate, and too much reality for the next round of green-themed PR. They’re told “the new technology is better,” the panels cheaper, the batteries better…and you wonder how this one ends.

The Napa fiasco isn’t just an accident—it’s the logical destination for a sector riddled with hype, corporate churn, regulatory quicksand, and political FOMO. “Build it and they will come” has turned into “build it, and ten years later, call a demolition crew.” If you’re a taxpayer or a trustee, the lesson is simple: demand the receipts, don’t buy the fairy tale, and remember—a $7.5 million solar field looks invincible the day you cut the ribbon, and a total farce the day you lock the gate for good.

Another day, another green “success” sprouting weeds.

My best to all,

w.

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