Cheap as Dirt? Not anymore.

Rarely has an industry about which so little is known found itself in so much controversy. Southwest Florida’s aggregate rock mining businesses, which provide the literal foundation for Florida roads and buildings, are being squeezed by pro- and anti-mining interests.

Aggregate—crushed stone and good-quality sand that are mined and processed for construction—is a critical component of roads and highways, concrete blocks, stone and concrete foundations, and buildings themselves. It’s essential for construction and road-building, and the demand for Florida-produced aggregate, with its lower transportation costs, outstrips the supply.

But suitable aggregate can’t be found just anywhere in the state. Its locations are limited, and miners have to work where the supplies are.

Through quirks of geology, southeast Lee County, and perhaps a small, nearby portion of Collier, is one of three places in Florida with good aggregate supplies just under the surface. In fact, one of the nation’s top 10 aggregate producers is a Lee County facility.

The dominant production area in the state is the "Lake Belt," so called for the lakes left by mining, in Miami-Dade County. The other area is north of Tampa, near Brooksville.

Southeast Lee County is also facing other critical demands—from residents seeking a laid-back, country lifestyle, and from related pressures on the 83,000-acre Density Reduction/Groundwater Resource (DR/GR) area, created in 1989 with restrictions designed to protect water supplies.

Mining, which was already under way in the area, some agriculture and one residential unit per 10 acres were the three land uses allowed to continue, other than recreation and conservation.
As the mines and the number of residents both grow, however, so do the conflicts.

Karen Newberry and her husband, Jay, moved to their 10 acres on Corkscrew Road near Carter Road in 1997, looking for a place to raise five children and have some animals.

"We came here because we liked the rural characteristics of the area," she says. "The mining was over on Alico Road. That’s why we didn’t buy land on Alico, even though it was cheaper. We knew all those speeding dump trucks used Alico Road."

But now the trucks use Corkscrew, she says, and the mines themselves are moving closer.
bout 12,700 acres in the DR/GR are now being used for mining, which could include materials other than aggregate, say Lee County officials. Hundreds of other mining operations are spread throughout Southwest Florida, but most are for fill dirt, sand or other materials, not the prized aggregate, the location of which is geologically limited to Lee and a small part of Collier, mining officials said.

"It’s hard to overstate just how essential the locally produced aggregate is for the construction industry," says Michael Reitmann, executive vice president of the Lee Building Industry Association. "If we had to start bringing more of it in from somewhere else, the costs would go up significantly. Without a good supply, the impact on the construction industry would be very significant."

Officials at Florida’s Department of Transportation (FDOT) echo Reitmann’s concerns, as high-quality aggregate is required for roadbeds.

"Lee County has a good supply, and that’s extremely important," says Ananth Prasad, chief engineer at FDOT. "Without that, the cost of transportation would go up, and since we only have limited dollars to start with, higher costs mean fewer roads."

How much would they go up with supplies from out-of-state? It depends, of course, on how far the material has to travel and whether it moves by truck, as is done for most local work, by train, or by ships if it comes from other countries. Some experts say the cost of transportation could quickly exceed the cost of the material itself.

Now, Prasad says, FDOT might pay between $10 and $15 per ton of aggregate. Sound inexpensive? Then consider this: It takes 21,000 tons to build just one mile of a typical, four-lane divided highway, he says.

Too close for comfort
The concerned rumblings about imported aggregate stem from two separate, but related, issues: strain on the existing mines in Lee County, and citizens’ opposition to expanding mining operations.

In July, Miami federal Judge William Hoeveler, citing fears of water contamination, shut down some mining facilities in Miami-Dade County. The ruling is believed to have decreased aggregate production from the Lake Belt by as much as 30 percent, and those mines account for almost half of Florida’s statewide production of about 120 million tons, according to an FDOT study.

More Lee County aggregate for Miami-Dade means higher costs for transporting the material there, and higher costs locally because the limited supply is in greater demand. Aggregate brought over from Miami-Dade can cost $12 a ton more than locally produced rock; rock from Brooksville, $14 a ton more, says Youngquist Brothers chief financial officer Richard Friday.

Lee County aggregate moves by truck. But the Miami-Dade mines rely on trains to get their rock to north Florida and out of state. Other countries also supply some aggregate for Florida and elsewhere via freighter ships, but Florida port facilities are extremely limited in how much they can handle. Improvements needed to handle greater loads could take as long as 10 years.

Meanwhile, heavy mine-related truck traffic has spurred opposition to mining in southeast Lee, a sentiment that’s grown along with the population in what was once a relatively isolated rural area. Like Newberry, many residents complain the trucks create traffic problems and damage roads.

Friday says Youngquist sends between 500 and 700 full, 20-ton dump trucks daily, on average. A production average for the company would be around 4 million tons per year, and an FDOT study indicates Florida Rock does even more than that.

"Those trucks are dangerous," Newberry says. "The mining companies will tell you they try to control them, but they just tell you what they want you to hear."

Noise and alleged damage from blasting in mines are other problems often cited by neighboring residents. And many just don’t like the ongoing industrial process in the area they sought out for new homes, sometimes ignoring or overlooking exactly who their neighbors were.

Scott McCaleb, vice president of Florida Rock, points out that when the DR/GR was established, mining was one of the few activities allowed from the very start, and it has been under way in that area for more than 30 years. In some communities, he says, comprehensive land use plans strongly discourage or prohibit residential development in areas where mining is taking place.

"There are a lot of people who want us to ban or totally eliminate mining down there," says Lee County Commissioner Ray Judah.

Newberry acknowledges a need for the aggregate produced by the mines. "There should be enough space here for everybody. They just need to stay over [by] Alico, where they’ve been historically. I don’t see why they have to spread out all over the DR/GR," she says.

Aggregate miners do not work underground like coal miners, but instead scrape and clear away surface soil, leaving acres of barren dirt that could later be covered and restored to a more natural-looking scene.

Miners and county officials say they’ve limited the blasting and pay higher impact and licensing fees to help offset road damage. The environmental issues, including the effects on water supplies and endangered species’ habitats, might be harder to mitigate, although miners insist it can be done.
Judge Hoeveler’s strongest criticisms weren’t targeted at the miners so much as at federal permitting agencies, which he said failed in their regulatory and oversight duties.

"The issue isn’t that permits are hard to get," Friday says. "People who work here live in the DR/GR. They want the resources protected. They need water like everyone else. We don’t mind being held to a hard standard. What’s difficult is the uncertainty about what the standards are, and where they’re going. It should be based on science, not fear."

Seeking a balance
Lee County is working now on plans to better manage the area and balance the competing demands for aggregate, housing and the protection of natural resources, Judah says.

There’s little question that despite some residents’ wishes, some mining will be allowed to continue. The material is simply too essential and supplies too limited to prohibit its production, Judah concedes.

Fears that local governments would make such mining too difficult, or ban it completely, have led to proposed legislation in Tallahassee that severely limit or completely remove county governments’ ability to regulate mining. The bills didn’t pass last year, but every year they’re proposed, they move a little further ahead in the process.

"My greatest fear is being preempted by the state," which likely would not be as strict as regulations the county might impose, Judah says.

Changes that could help include changing the existing zoning of one unit per 10 acres to allow higher density in clustered, "village" developments, leaving greenways for wildlife and open space, Judah says. Mining companies could provide larger buffers around their operations.

"There has to be a recognition that some mining must be allowed," Judah says. "We have to come up with ways to provide some balance, ways to allow mining while protecting natural resources and residents’ lifestyles."