While wading through wetlands in the headwaters of the Everglades, where tall, serrated grasses shelter alligators and water moccasins, agroecologist Elizabeth Boughton described one of Florida’s biggest environmental problems: There’s either too much water, or too little.
An intensifying climate, overexploitation of groundwater, and a development boom have catalyzed a looming water supply shortage — something that once seemed impossible for the rainy peninsula.
“It’s becoming more of an issue that everyone’s aware of,” said Boughton, who studies ecosystems at the Archbold Biological Station, a research facility in Highlands County, Florida, that manages Buck Island Ranch. The ranch — a sprawling 10,500 acres of pasture lands and wildlife habitats across south-central Florida — both conserves water through land restoration while also draining it as a working cattle ranch. “You kind of take water for granted until you realize, ‘Oh my gosh, this is something that is in danger of being lost.’”
An entrance to Buck Island Ranch, a 10,500-acre working cattle farm in Highlands County, Florida (left). Agroecologist Elizabeth Boughton gestures to a grassy field of bluestems and sedges on Buck Island Ranch on December 16, 2024. Ayurella Horn-Muller / Grist
Like many places worldwide, the dwindling freshwater availability in Florida is being exacerbated by a warming atmosphere. Sea levels in the state’s coastal regions have already risen dramatically in the last few decades, pushing salt water into the groundwater and creating an impotable brackish mixture that is costly to treat. A report released last summer by the Florida Office of Demographic Research found that the state may experience a water supply shortage as soon as this year, with the problem escalating in coming decades.
Florida’s groundwater supply is the primary source of drinking water for roughly 90 percent of the state’s 23 million inhabitants, and is vital for agricultural irrigation and power generation. Public use by households, municipalities, and businesses accounts for the largest depletion of groundwater in Florida, while agriculture is responsible for at least a quarter of withdrawals.
Virtually all of Florida’s groundwater comes from the state’s expansive network of aquifers, a porous layer of sediment that underlies the peninsula. When it rains, water soaks into the ground and gets trapped in gaps in the rock formation — providing an underground reserve of fresh water that humans can tap into with wells and pumps.
But most Floridians live near large population centers — like Miami and Tampa — where the freshest aquifer water is too deep to access or too salty to be readily used. With nearly 900 people moving to Florida each day, the Sunshine State is only continuing to grow, fueling a thirsty rush for new housing developments.
The future of the state’s water has long looked bleak, and a ballooning population is ramping up an already-fraught situation. As leading policymakers push pro-development agendas and parcels of agricultural land are sold to the highest bidder, districts are grappling with political demands to advance water permits — often at the cost of conservation. The Florida Office of Demographic Research report found that the conservation, infrastructure, and restoration projects necessary to tackle the incoming water deficit will cost some $3.3 billion by 2040, with the state footing over $500 million of that bill. But according to Florida TaxWatch, a government-accountability nonprofit, current water projects and sources of funding aren’t coordinated or comprehensive enough to sustain the state’s population growth.
Global warming has changed the nature of rainfall in Florida, increasing the likelihood of extreme rain events in swaths of the state, but even torrential bouts of rain won’t replenish drained aquifers. Intensified hurricanes are primed to overwhelm wastewater systems, forcing sewage dumps that contaminate the water supply, while rising sea levels and floods further damage public water infrastructure. Higher temperatures that drive prolonged droughts also contribute to groundwater scarcity: Florida has experienced at least one severe drought per decade since the onset of the 20th century.
Such climate-borne crises are already playing out across the United States, and beyond. Roughly 53 percent of the nation’s aquifers are drying up as global water systems confront warming. Compared to places where groundwater is already severely depleted, like California, Mexico, and Arizona, Florida has the luxury of one of the highest-producing aquifers in the world, and more time to prepare for a dearth of supply. Still, adaptation will be necessary nearly everywhere as the Earth’s total terrestrial water storage, including groundwater, continues to decline. Record-breaking temperatures and crippling droughts wrought havoc on the world’s water cycle last year, according to the 2024 Global Water Monitor Report.
Sarah Burns, the planning manager for the city of Tampa, home to half a million people on the Gulf Coast, expects water supplies will continue to face a number of climate pressures like drought and rising sea levels. But one of the biggest factors in the city’s looming water crisis is population growth — and a hard-to-shake abundance mindset.
“It’s all a challenging paradigm shift,” Burns said, noting that many Floridians take pride in lush, landscaped lawns, and an influx of new homes are coming to market with water-intensive irrigation systems pre-installed. This can be seen in Tampa, where roughly 18 percent of residents use 45 percent of the city’s water.
Tampa already exceeds its 82 million-gallons-per-year limit that it can directly provide without paying for more from the regional provider, at a higher cost to residents. In November 2023, the Southwest Florida Water Management District instituted a once-a-week lawn-watering restriction for households in the 16 counties it oversees, including Tampa. In August 2024, the Tampa City Council voted to adopt the measure indefinitely — a move that has already saved them billions of gallons of water.
As newcomers flock to affordable housing within commuting distance of Tampa, once-rural areas are also feeling the squeeze. The nearby city of Zephyrhills — known for a namesake bottled water brand — has temporarily banned new developments after it grew too quickly for its water permit.
“Water is the hidden problem that really forced our hand,” said Steven Spina, a member of the Zephyrhills City Council who proposed the restriction. “It is ironic that we’ve been known as the ‘City of Pure Water’ and then we’re in this predicament.”
Perhaps nowhere in Florida is more at the crux of water issues than Polk County in the center of the state. According to the U.S. Census Bureau, in 2023, more people moved to the former citrus capital than anywhere else in the nation, with subdivisions “springing up right and left.” The growth the county is seeing “has created a need to find additional water supplies,” said Eric DeHaven, the executive director of Polk Regional Water Cooperative. The entity was created in 2017 after Polk County’s worries became so acute it prompted more than a dozen local governments to assemble to protect their future water supplies.
Between 2002 and 2015, Polk County’s farm bureau reported 100,000 acres — about a third of the county’s total agricultural land — had been converted for development. Florida farms are a crucial part of the U.S. food system, but struggles from extreme weather, citrus diseases, and economic issues are driving farmers out of the industry. By 2040, half of an estimated 1 million additional acres of developed land could take the place of farms. This would further magnify Florida’s water supply issues — in 2020, public utilities were estimated to have overtaken farming as the biggest drain on groundwater resources.
“Imagine if you own this land,” said Boughton, the agroecologist. Farmers are hard-pressed to refuse offers as high as six figures per acre from developers, she noted. ”There’s so much pressure from urban development … that opportunity is hard to pass up.”
“Things are definitely changing because of climate change, but it’s also because of this,” said Merrillee Malwitz-Jipson, gesturing to new houses built across the road from her home in Columbia County, in the north of the state. As the founder of the nonprofit Our Santa Fe River, Malwitz-Jipson has spent the last two decades fighting to save the crystal-blue springs that feed it.
Collectively, the state’s springs have lost over a third of their historic flow levels, while 80 percent are severely polluted. Last year, Blue Springs, a locally beloved landmark, collapsed entirely. Because these springs are directly connected to the aquifer, says Malwitz-Jipson, such signs are omens of declining groundwater health.
It wasn’t long ago that she devoted years to try and prevent the renewal of a controversial 1 million-gallons-per-day groundwater permit for bottled water for BlueTriton — formerly a subsidiary of Nestlé — in nearby Ginnie Springs. When the effort failed, she switched gears and now advocates for adding conservation conditions to water-use permits. A 2019 report from the Florida Springs Institute found that restoring springs to 95 percent of their former flow levels would require curbing regional groundwater extractions by half.
Matt Cohen, a hydrologist who leads the University of Florida’s Water Institute, says the “devil is in the details” when it comes to permitting. “It’s very much where the implementation of those kinds of sustainability measures would be realized,” Cohen said, adding that state water management district authorities often convince applicants to use “substantially less” water. Other measures include offering alternatives to groundwater, like using reclaimed wastewater and surface water supplies.
Coordinating such conservation efforts across Florida’s five water management districts and 67 counties will take a concerted statewide approach. In November, the state unveiled its 2024 Florida Water Plan — which includes expanding conservation of agricultural lands, and investing millions into infrastructure and restoration projects, such as Buck Island Ranch — among other measures.
Still, in the face of the population boom, advocates like Malwitz-Jipson wonder if it will be enough. “I don’t know why the state of Florida keeps issuing all these permits,” she said. “We are not ready, y’all. We do not have enough water for this.”
