Water shapes where people live, how communities grow, and what the future looks like. From pioneer irrigation ditches to modern reservoirs, each generation has had to answer the same difficult question: how do we grow responsibly in one of the driest states in the nation?

Drive through Heber Valley or around Jordanelle Reservoir and the transformation is impossible to miss. Projects such as Jordanelle Ridge, Mayflower Mountain Resort, Deer Valley East Village, and the Mirabel area promise thousands of new homes, hotels, businesses, and recreational amenities over the coming decade.

At the same time, Utah’s snowpack has reached historic lows. The 2026 water year began with alarming numbers. Snowpack across the state peaked weeks early and at roughly half of normal levels. Naturally, emotions run high when water and development are discussed together. If Utah hopes to build a sustainable future, the conversation must move beyond fear, slogans, and political talking points. Water policy deserves thoughtful analysis rooted in science, planning, economics, and long-term statewide strategy.

Learning to Integrate Water and Growth

For decades, land-use planning and water planning often operated separately. The result was reactive growth rather than coordinated growth.

The Utah Division of Water Resources has openly acknowledged this challenge through its “Integration of Water and Land Use Planning” initiative, which recognizes that development decisions and water decisions cannot be separated. State guidance now emphasizes that integrating the two from the beginning is far less expensive than retrofitting poorly planned growth later.

Recent legislation reflects this shift. HB 110 and SB 76¹ now require municipalities and counties across Utah to adopt integrated water-use and preservation elements into their general plans. Communities must evaluate how future development affects water supply, infrastructure, groundwater, conservation goals, and long-term resiliency.

This represents a major philosophical change. Rather than treating water as an afterthought, Utah is beginning to treat it as a foundational planning tool. That matters enormously for fast-growing counties like here in Wasatch County, where population projections continue rising. Growth itself is not inherently bad. The challenge is not whether growth happens. The challenge is whether growth happens intelligently.

A Misunderstood Water Rights Debate

Much of Utah’s water debate centers around one of the oldest western water laws: use it or lose it.

Under Utah Code Section 73-1-4², water rights can be forfeited after seven consecutive years of non-use. Historically, this doctrine prevented speculators from hoarding water they were not actively using. In the early West, when water was tied directly to agriculture, mining, and settlement, the policy made practical sense. But Utah in 2026 is not Utah in 1906.

Today, residents are encouraged to conserve water during drought years while some water-right holders worry that significantly reducing usage could weaken future claims or long-term allocations. Although modern reforms offer some protections through non-use applications and water banking, the broader system still reflects assumptions from another era.

This creates a contradiction. Citizens are asked to remove turf and limit outdoor watering while development continues expanding. Many residents understandably question whether, if Utah has enough water for resort developments, recreational facilities, new businesses, thousands of additional homes, and now data centers, there should also be enough water for farmers to irrigate crops, ranchers to care for livestock, and homeowners to responsibly maintain lawns, gardens, trees, and flower beds.

Conservation during legitimate drought years is wise stewardship, but fear-driven messaging that portrays ordinary residents as the primary problem can oversimplify a far more complex statewide issue. That tension has fueled growing skepticism toward drought campaigns, with some residents wondering whether conservation efforts are sometimes used less for stewardship and more to free water capacity for future growth.

Whether or not that perception is entirely accurate, public trust and transparency matter. Conservation remains essential in an arid state, but the system should reward conservation rather than discourage it. Until broader reforms are made to Utah’s “use it or lose it” structure, water-right holders should continue using their legally allocated water to protect long-standing rights while still practicing reasonable efficiency where possible.

One of the most important lessons emerging from Utah’s current water debate is that water cannot realistically be managed solely at the city or county level. Watersheds do not care about municipal borders. Snowmelt from the Wasatch Range feeds reservoirs, aquifers, rivers, farms, recreation systems, ecosystems, and downstream communities across enormous geographic areas. Decisions made in one county inevitably affect another.

That is why Utah increasingly needs statewide coordination rather than fragmented local battles. A city approving development may focus on economic opportunity and housing demand. Agricultural users may focus on irrigation reliability. Environmental groups may prioritize stream health or the health of the Great Salt Lake ecosystem. All are legitimate concerns. But without broader statewide integration, competing interests can easily work against one another. The Utah Division of Water Resources has already recognized this challenge through initiatives like the “Growing Water Smart” workshops³, which bring planners, water managers, and policymakers together to coordinate future development around water realities.

Treating water as a statewide issue rather than a collection of isolated local disputes may ultimately become Utah’s most important policy shift of the next decade.

Growth is Coming Either Way

One reality often missing from water debates is that growth is coming either way.

Wasatch County cannot simply freeze itself in time. Its proximity to Park City, Salt Lake City, outdoor recreation, and expanding resort economies makes continued development almost inevitable. Ignoring this reality does not stop growth. It simply reduces the opportunity to shape it responsibly. That is why zoning and infrastructure planning matter so deeply.

The question is not whether Utah can grow. The question is whether Utah chooses to grow wisely. Utah has already begun modernizing portions of its water system. Recent legislation protecting water banking, encouraging conservation, improving accountability, and funding Great Salt Lake preservation shows the state is capable of adapting. But more work remains ahead.

The “use it or lose it” doctrine deserves continued reform so both water use and conservation are fully incentivized rather than psychologically discouraged. Water-right holders should feel confident that wise stewardship strengthens—not threatens—their long-term standing. Public communication around drought also deserves nuance and honesty. Residents are capable of understanding that Utah can simultaneously face real drought challenges while planning for future growth. These realities are not mutually exclusive. Most importantly, Utah needs statewide conversations that rise above fear and polarization.

The future of the Wasatch Back will not be decided by a single development, a single reservoir level, or a single drought year. It will be shaped by decades of coordinated planning, transparent policymaking, technological innovation, and public engagement.

Water is not merely a county issue, a city issue, or a political issue. It is Utah’s issue.

Every resident—whether farmer, developer, homeowner, conservationist, skier, rancher, or business owner—has a stake in how the state manages its most precious resource. That means staying informed, engaging with local planning efforts, and thinking beyond neighborhood boundaries toward statewide solutions. Because ultimately, Utah’s water future will not depend on fear. It will depend on cooperation, transparency, innovation, and long-term vision.

WRITTEN BY
MARK AVERY & LORALIE PEARCE

I think what I sensed from a young age is that physical structures such as houses tell us about the dead even as they protect and sustain the living. The 2017 film A Ghost Story depicted a recently deceased husband returning to the home he had shared with his wife as she moves forward with her life. Far from a horror story, it was a touching meditation on loss, love, and connection to place. In one scene, the ghost remembers his wife telling him, “When I was little and we used to move all the time, I’d write these notes, and I would fold them up really small, and I would hide them in secret places around the house. These were things I wanted to remember, so that if I ever wanted to go back, there’d be a piece of me waiting.” (A Ghost Story, directed by David Lowery, featuring Rooney Mara and Casey Affleck, 2017.) The wife’s childhood gesture reflects how we as human beings feel about the places in which we live — homes are sites where we create and store memories that keep us rooted and connected to each other.

My point in telling tales of ghosts is that houses tell stories about people long gone. I was raised in a red-brick home built in 1892 — the old Duke home. That old house was filled with memories long before my family purchased it in the 1970s. I’ve lived in that place for over thirty-four years now, and it is part of me. I grew up to be a historian who researches old manuscripts, but buildings are also repositories of the past. If we listen carefully, these structures whisper tales of human aspiration, toil, and legacy. Many of the historic homes in Heber City were constructed by migrants who fled discrimination and sought a place of refuge and liberty; others by those seeking economic self-sufficiency through farming, ranching, and mining. They built homesteads with their own hands using local timber, clay, and stone, and filled them with life. If these old structures had eyes and ears — or even ghosts — they have witnessed countless births, family celebrations, and holiday gatherings; sacrifice and death. These memories are forever enshrined within their hallowed walls.

So, what obligation do we as citizens of this community have to these people and the edifices they built? Houses chronicle the lives of past occupants, yes, but the preservation of those buildings tell us something imperative about the living. Whether you’ve lived in Heber City your whole life or migrated here from someplace else, each of us understands that this place is special. We have each chosen to put down roots here because we value this valley’s physical beauty and sense of community. That community is founded on a shared or adopted past and the willingness to sacrifice for a brighter future.

Urban development is coming to Heber City as assuredly as it has to countless other places in the American West. You know the pattern: construct buildings using the cheapest materials, and then, when they decay, tear them down and build the next big thing. Because new is always better, right? Or is it? How many of us have traveled to Europe so we can walk through iconic streets, buildings, and museums imbued with centuries of history?

Financial and culture investment in old town benefits every resident of this valley.

We cherish those places because of what those societies preserved, not what they tore down. We may not have a Roman Colosseum or Cathédrale Notre-Dame, but we do have a rich history that is no less significant. Our story is much shorter than that of Europe’s, to be sure, but even a short history is fleeting if there aren’t physical markers to give it meaning.

Though we in the valley have demonstrated a resolve to preserve some of our precious open space as a reminder of our agricultural past — and I for one hope we continue to preserve more of it — we must also think about our cultural heritage. Making our urban spaces denser can certainly alleviate some of the vexing pressures of housing scarcity, but it can also, if done without careful planning, transform a unique community into a place indistinguishable from others — anonymous and without character.

Preservation can help ameliorate some of the destructive characteristics of urban transformation. Preserving historic structures creates a tangible connection to the past but also a sense of identity and place that can define and distinguish a community. Historic districts — such as the one we are proposing to build here in Heber City — project maturity, permanence, and singularity in an ever-changing world. Historic districts also promote investment in older neighborhoods, such as the one in which most of Heber City’s historic homes are located. Here I quote a report compiled by the Salt Lake City planning division: “Studies across the nation have documented that, where local historic districts are established, property values typically appreciate, or at the very least stabilize where they might have been previously declining. In this sense, designation of a historic district appears to establish a climate for enhanced stability, civic pride, and further personal investment in the area.” (A Preservation Handbook for Historic Residential Properties & Districts in Salt Lake City (Salt Lake City, UT: Salt Lake City Planning Division, 11 December 2012) 1:3, slcdocs.com/historicpreservation/GuideRes/ResidentialGuidelines.pdf [accessed 9.17.2024]) In other words, financial and culture investment in old town benefits every resident of this valley.

We — as citizens of this community — are at a crossroads as we define and shape the aesthetic and cultural values of our town for generations to come.

To paraphrase novelist and historian Wallace Stegner, “something will have gone out of us as a people” if we permit the last open spaces to be developed into fast food restaurants, condominiums, and parking lots; (For Stegner’s full sentiments, see Wallace Stegner, “Coda: Wilderness Letter,” in The Sound of Mountain Water: The Changing American West (New York, NY: Penguin Books, 1997), 146.) similarly, we will make ourselves culturally poor indeed if we neglect or tear down historical homes and buildings and lose our connection to the people and stories that defined this extraordinary place. Now is the time to demonstrate our commitment to creating a better future for Heber Valley. It starts by safeguarding the past.