A Texas woman is fighting to preserve land that was supposed to become a public park. Now it may be a data center instead

(CNN) — For years, Pamela Griffin cherished a promise from a stranger that the expansive plot of land just steps from her home in Taylor, Texas, would one day become the park she and other kids in her neighborhood always wanted.

But as the land changed hands, a 14-word sentence in a 1999 deed was not carried forward, putting the property about 25 miles outside of Austin on track to become something much different: a data center.

Like other communities confronting the prospect of a data center for the first time, many residents in this town of roughly 18,000 people are concerned about noise, water use, and power shortages.

In the months since Griffin learned about the data center plans, what was supposed to be a season of slowing down in retirement has become one of organizing, attending community meetings, and speaking at public events as she wages a legal battle to protect her neighborhood, particularly the fruits of her family’s labor.

The dispute, the 58-year-old retired learning center director says, is rooted in competing interpretations of a sentence in a deed intended to ensure the land’s future as a park and in the history of who has, and has not, benefited from land ownership in the Lone Star State.

“My daddy passed this land down to us and he told us to guard this land,” she said. “He said this will always be a homestead.”

Now, a Texas appeals court is considering Griffin’s complaint, which is attempting to stop the data center project from moving forward, all while Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton has launched an investigation into whether the original language on the property’s use was legally changed or removed and if it still carries legal weight today.

A community built over generations

During the 1950s and early 1960s, Griffin’s grandmother juggled working as a maid with chopping and picking cotton in Taylor, which was once known as a hub for cotton farming and for its cattle ranches.

As a Black mother, she seized an opportunity to buy real estate on the south side of Taylor after the passing of the Fair Housing Act, which made it illegal to discriminate during the sale, rental or financing of housing based on race, skin color, religion or nationality, and bought parcels for her eight children, hoping they would have a home for generations to come.

And they have.

Griffin, who had moved away after graduating high school, lives in the home her father built, where he raised six children – and where every corner seems occupied by something meaningful, all tucked away in its own space: framed photos, trinkets, and mementos.

As a girl growing up in the 1970s, Griffin recalls how her parents and other neighbors in the two-street patch of homes did not let their children play at the nearby Fannie Robinson Park after some of them started developing rashes or getting sick.

The park, which was once a city dump, became the town’s first park serving Black residents in 1955 after a Black physician negotiated with city and school officials to dedicate recreational space for children of color.

With limited places to play, an empty lot behind Griffin’s home bought by her father became an informal playground for her and other neighbors to enjoy.

It’s where they would chase baseballs or camp using cardboard boxes and bed sheets to stargaze under the deep, bright Texas stars, turning a mundane day into one filled with adventure and curiosity.

The lot bordered 87 acres owned by the descendants of Howard Bland, Sr., a prominent Taylor community leader, businessman and state lawmaker in the late 19th century. Because the children often walked into the land to retrieve stray baseballs, Griffin said, the Bland family recognized the need for a public park, telling her dad about their desire someday to turn the property into just that.

“The Blands understood the community in a way others did not and “was willing to help when nobody else was not,” Griffin said.

After both her parents passed away, Griffin returned to Taylor in 2019 feeling an innate responsibility to preserve her family’s legacy and the neighborhood that truly felt like home. Unbeknownst to Griffin, she would have to unravel what happened to the promise she had heard about for years and dedicate her retirement to fight for the future of the neighborhood.

A family’s wish was left out

When Griffin found a flyer on her front door last year, she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“Three 45,000 SF data centers coming to your backyard,” the flyer read, along with a map and details about public hearings for Taylor residents.

She didn’t even know what a data center was, she said. Today, it’s practically all she can think about and sees as she drives around town, spotting yard signs outside homes and posters in storefront windows.

The flyer helped her learn that plans for a data center spanning 135,000 square feet by Blueprint Data Centers – less than half a mile away from her home – had been approved. It is now one of more than 2,000 data centers in planning stages across the United States, according to the tracking firm Cleanview.

The data center would further thrust Taylor into the massive tech and infrastructure boom in Central Texas. With its addition on the city’s south side, Taylor would be sandwiched between two developments powering major components of AI: chip making and data centers. On the city’s north side, there’s already a Samsung semiconductor fabrication plant, where computer chips are manufactured.

And plans for a third facility, a separate 665-acre data center called “Project Mustang,” is sparking more concerns about growth and development, particularly as it will sit outside city limits where Taylor officials don’t have the authority to stop or regulate it. The project developer had sought to annex the property to the city but withdrew its application earlier this month.

So how did the vast, serene plot of land near Griffin’s home that was promised to be a future park land suddenly become the future site of a hub for cloud collection and artificial intelligence?

In 1999, the Bland family sold the 87 acres next to Griffin’s neighborhood to the Texas Parks and Recreation Foundation for $10. The deed had a line in the grantee’s section saying the land was “to be held in trust for future use as a parkland by Williamson County.”

By 2003, the acreage was sold to a Williamson County-based parks nonprofit for $10, and sold for another $10 to the City of Taylor about seven weeks later.

After being under city ownership for a few years, the property was sold in 2009 to the city’s economic development arm, the Taylor Economic Development Corporation, in exchange for $15,000 and 39 acres, which include the 16-acre tract meant to “act as buffer between the proposed data center and the nearest neighborhood,” according to the city.

In 2025, the remaining acreage was sold to Blueprint Data Centers’ parent company for $10 million, city officials said.

The language stating the Blands’ intended use of the property is in the 1999 deed but it’s absent from all subsequent exchanges. It’s unclear why it was not included.

The City of Taylor was “unaware” of the Blands’ wishes when it acquired the land in 2003, a city spokesperson told CNN.

The Blands intended for the property to become a park, the spokesperson said, but “no legally enforceable deed restriction was placed on the property. Because there was no deed restriction, his (land donor) wishes did not transfer with the deed.”

Blueprint Data Centers, its parent company NCP Travis BPP Project LLC, and the Texas Parks and Recreation did not respond to multiple requests for comment about the project and the sales they were part of.

CNN has attempted to reach a representative for the Williamson County parks nonprofit that sold the property to the city of Taylor, as well as the two surviving members of the Bland family listed in the 1999 deed.

Determined to challenge the data center project, Griffin started doing her own research on the land and was surprised when she learned the family’s good faith gesture wasn’t just lore, it was in writing.

She and her siblings filed a lawsuit last year against NCP Travis TPP Project, LLC to permanently stop construction of the planned data center, arguing the property should remain park land under the original deed, the suit says. For them, it wasn’t about money, she said, their legal fight is about having the ability to live and thrive within the community they helped build.

“My family was willing to stand up for this community and help this community because that’s what we’re supposed to do as neighbors,” Griffin said. “We all neighbors. We supposed to take care of each other.”

A Williamson County judge dismissed their case in October 2025, saying the siblings don’t have the legal right to bring a lawsuit because they don’t own the land and have no direct financial stake in it.

Attorney Chris Osborn, who is representing the siblings, said the case was dismissed before it ever answered the bigger question of what the land was supposed to become. He said if the appeal is denied, the Bland family could potentially bring their own challenge because of their direct tie to the land.

Paxton, the state’s attorney general, announced last week his office was launching an investigation into whether the 1999 deed was lawfully modified.

“I will not allow any person or entity to disregard the rule of law or obligations owed to the public,” Paxton said in a statement. “If the Taylor data center development is unlawful, I will do everything in my power to stop it and hold those who have violated the law accountable.”

In a statement to CNN, the City of Taylor acknowledged Paxton’s investigation and said it will cooperate with the investigation but declined to comment further about the ongoing litigation.

An inheritance in question

Many Taylor residents are concerned the Blueprint Data Centers’ facility could bring a myriad of issues to the area, including light pollution, air emissions from backup generators, heavy water and electricity use, and fire risks.

In response to their concerns, city officials have said the proposed data center would use a closed-loop cooling system with minimal water demand, comply with local ordinances and include environmental and safety measures to combat some of those concerns.

Over the next 10 years, the project is estimated to generate millions of dollars in revenue, which the city says could be used to reduce property taxes, improve schools, and increase teacher salaries, among other things.

But residents like Griffin said other developments should have been prioritized, including a grocery store or a gas station, which are not easily accessible in the area.

People living near AI data centers have reported hearing a persistent humming sound coming from the building around the clock, and that’s also a major concern for Griffin. Her disabled son, who lives in nearby Round Rock, often visits to escape the bustling traffic, chain stores and rapid growth that have quickly defined many of the outskirts of Austin.

“He can walk the land … and be comfortable and it helps his disability, but once they build that thing (data center) and that noise, he can’t deal with noise,” Griffin said.

Carrie D’Anna, who also lives on the south side of Taylor and was the community member who made and delivered the flyer to Griffin’s door, said some residents have considered moving elsewhere, but not everyone has the financial means to do so. She and Griffin also doubt anyone would want to live in such proximity to a large industrial-scale development.

“Nobody has come and knocked on the door and said: ‘Hey, can we pay you to move?’ That’s not happening. Instead, we’re trapping people in poverty (against their) will,” D’Anna said.

Jerrod Kingery, a city spokesperson, said authorities are considering regulations that would restrict the construction of data centers in industrially zoned areas, require more separation between projects and establish standards in addressing water use, emissions, noise and setbacks.

For now, Griffin’s father’s dream of having more of her siblings living on the land their grandmother acquired is in jeopardy. Griffin’s sister is now refusing to build a home on the family lot that remains vacant, given its backyard would literally be a hop, skip and jump from the data center, Griffin said.

After spending their lives building a home, raising a family, acquiring land and creating wealth opportunities for their children, Griffin said her family probably never imagined future generations would have to keep fighting to protect what was left for them.

“My parents thought we was set,” Griffin said.

But Griffin says it’s all worth fighting for because some promises are meant to live beyond those who make them.

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