Reflections on the Ninth Week of Summer – Solar Connection Saga

    At ten Monday morning, gravel crunched under tires and a truck beep, beep, beeped backing down the house driveway. I set my computer on the coffee table, jumped out of the Adirondack chair, and hustled outside to meet the electricians from Energy Independent Solutions (eis). They’d work in the basement. Not the best place for taking photos, but I could position the work light to catch them installing equipment connecting the solar panel array to the electric box.

    A hefty man stood in West Creek Road smoking a cigarette. A thirty-something, slender man, emerged from the back of the truck. The smoker walked down the driveway. Both wore blue pants, eis t-shirts, and tan baseball caps.

    “Good morning. I’m Janet.”

    Unlike the members of the solar panel crew, the slender man didn’t extend his hand. His mouth stayed straight-line closed.

    “Hi, I’m Spencer,” my husband said from behind me.

    The slender man looked into the back of the truck.

    The hefty man said, “I’m Bill, and he’s Zack.” Still no handshake.

    I gave them a tour including the coil of wires outside on the butt end of a log, the basement door, light switches, the bathroom complete with a worm factory in the shower stall, and the electric panel in the basement.

    Zack said, “The job should take two days.”

    “Great, then we’ll generate our own power.” I pumped my fist. Cloudy days hadn’t bothered me, but the sixty-six sunny days from contract signing to panel installation and the additional seventeen sunny days waiting for the electricians to arrive had tested my patience more than waiting for Santa ever did.

    “No,” Bill said with a sad smile. “We’ll be turning the electricity off after we test everything. Your electric meter doesn’t run backwards so the electric company would charge you for the electricity that your solar cells produce.”

    I lowered my hand. “That would be bad.”

    Bill adjusted his baseball cap. “The electric company will install a new meter when it does the inspection.”

    To be polite, I asked if I could take photos while they worked.

    Bill looked at Zack.

    Zack stared at me for an uncomfortable fifteen seconds. “No.” He glanced over at Bill, then looked back at me. “Considering what happened in the past, don’t take any pictures.”

    Since I had forty-five photos of the friendly solar panel crew stored on my computer, Zack’s answer surprised me.

    “Why?” Spence said. “What happened in the past?”

    “I’d rather not say,” Zack mumbled and turned away.

    Spence and I climbed to the great room. While I packed my swim gear and drove to Meadville for lap swim, my mind repeated Zack’s “No . . . I’d rather not say.”

    Had he seen my July post on Roof Walkers? Maybe he objected to the pictures or to quotes like Terry saying “I was watering a tree.”

    When I returned, the electricians sat in the truck.

    “Eating lunch in your truck?” I said when I passed the door.

    Zack stared straight ahead. “Yep,” the last word he’d say to me that day.

    But he yacked at Bill which strengthened my suspicion he didn’t want me quoting him.

    Their sounds drifted up the spiral stairs to the loft where I edited Spence’s NonProfit Quarterly article about Cultural Reconstruction in America. Between the soft, high eeeeeee and the loud, low brrzzzat of drills, Zack said, “I’m angry at that asshole co-worker that left the bench at the other place. If he didn’t, I could have sat on it and wired this all up. Now I have to stand.”

    Bill chuckled.

    An AM radio station played pop music, a metal tape measure rattled, the screen door banged, and gravel crunched under feet of men fetching supplies from the truck.

    “Oh, my god,” Zack shouted. “Who put this cover on?”

    Shhhhhhhhhhhhh.

    Zack ignored Bill’s caution. “I’m telling you, Superman put that cover on.”

    Maybe Zack’s ornery personality got him in trouble with customers.

    At 3:45 doors slammed, the truck engine rumbled, and gravel crunched under the tires.

    Assuming the men had finished for the day, I crept downstairs with my camera. Two Sunny Boy inverters, an electric meter reading 00000, an electric box, and a sixty by six by six inch rectangular prism for wires were mounted on a four by six foot sheet of plywood attached to the basement wall. I clicked photos.

    Despite Monday’s cool reception, I walked outside Tuesday morning when gravel crunched under tires and a backing truck beep, beep, beeped.

    A new man, shorter, thinner, and younger than Zack, stood at the back of the truck.

    “Good morning,” I said from the top of the porch steps. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

    He smiled from ear to ear, walked up the steps, and reached out his hand. “I’m Ron.”

    On Deer Creek Road Bill smoked a cigarette.

    Zack came around the back of the truck. “We’ll work in the basement and a little outside today, on this side—”

    He pointed to the electric meter at the end of the house.

    “—and the other.” He raised and arced his hand as if pointing over the roof.”

    “Great. Let me know if you need anything.” I walked inside and climbed the loft stairs to sew mini friendship block designs into a infinity symbol shape for the center of a quilt.

    Sounds rose from the basement. A medium toned brrrrrrrrrrrr came from the drill boring through the cement wall. Men called back and forth from the basement to the end of the ramp outside, and wires rasped through the conduit until they reached a “tight spot.”

    Zack said, “I dreamed about this last night.”

    “We could use a right angle,” Ron said.

    “I’ve got that extension I bought for my drill,” Zack said. “The best twenty-six dollars I ever spent.”

    The three men mumbled until Zack spoke louder than the others. “I’m the oldest so that means I win. When I started this I was the youngest. Now, I’m oldest. That makes me feel old.”

    Rolling my eyes at Zack’s remarks, I whispered, “Glad I don’t have to work with him.” I concentrated on sewing one inch seams until I heard Bill say, “Are you okay?”

    Ron’s voice answered. “Yeah.”

    “I did that in front of an old woman once,” Zack said. “That was bad. She freaked.”

    Were injuries why Zack didn’t want photos?

    I grabbed my camera, tiptoed out the front door, and scampered into the north garden. Hustling to finish before the men came out for supplies, I clicked photos of the eis truck.

    Later in the afternoon, Bill knocked on the front door. He needed access to the modem and alerted me they’d turn the electricity off while they connected the solar panels to the electric box.

    After the blackout, the men connected the modem to the solar electric panel. “The wires are backwards,” Ron called downstairs from the great room.

    Zack shouted back. “That’s how I do it. It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as they’re all the same.”

    Ron recited a list of wire colors. “Okay. It’s right.”

    “See. It’s just fine,” Zack said. “Don’t ever doubt me again.”

    At 3:35 Bill knocked on the front door. “We’ve finished. The office will call to set up the final walk through and inspection with the electric company. They’re running about four days after we finish.”

    Only four days? Good news.

    “Would you do me a favor and take this poster back to the office?” I picked up neon green foam board, the same shade as the eis T-shirts. I had mounted four of my forty-five photos of the men installing the solar cells for the Cochranton Community Fair contest telling a story in pictures. “I won first prize at the fair for this. The office or one of the guys might like it.”

    The truck engine rumbled in the driveway.

    Bill took the poster, held it at arm’s length, and studied the pictures. “This is cool. I don’t know any of the guys. I haven’t worked at the company that long.”

    I pointed. “That’s Richard and Scott. There’s Wiley and—“

    “Oh, I recognize Terry.” Bill pointed to Terry on the deck hoisting a solar panel to Wiley on the roof. “I’ll take it to the office for you.”

    The truck engine revved.

    Bill reached for the doorknob. “It was nice meeting you.”

    Bill, with his polite, people skills, would make a much better supervisor than Zack.

    The next morning, Joe Morinville, the President of eis called. “The inspector from the electric company and Pablo from our company can come Monday at 10:00 a.m. Will that work for you?”

    “We’ll make it work,” I said. We’d get our solar energy on the day of the solar eclipse. Fitting.

    Joe’s confident professional voice said, “Fine. They’ll do the inspection then Pablo will stay to show you how everything works, and he’ll bring your final payment back to the office so have the money ready.” His tone changed to tentative. “How did everything go with the electricians?”

    Should I tell him Zack was prickly and Bill was cordial? Better not. “They were fine.”

    He let out a long breath.

    “But I’m curious about photos. The panel crew let me take photos. Zack said no considering what happened in the past. Was that something we did?”

    “No, you didn’t do anything,” Joe said. “I can’t violate the privacy of employees. Each employee has his own . . . personality. The installation crew are professionals. Zack is . . . is cautious. I saw the poster you sent to the office. People get excited and want to share their photos on social media. Then if OSHA or an insurance company sees a violation, like not wearing a hard hat, we get in trouble. I guess we should make a company policy about photos. After the inspection Monday, you can safely take as many photos as you want.”

    I thanked Joe and put the phone in its cradle. I’d wait five more days for solar power, but disregarding Joe and Zack’s reticence, I wouldn’t wait that long to share my photos.