Reflections on the Tenth Week of Fall – Snowy Solar Panels

First Snow - Solar Panels

    Standing in our south yard, I squinted into the glaring sunshine that bounced off the roof. Sweat dripped off my nose while the EIS solar installation crew knelt on ladder bridges, drilled into the metal roof ridges, and attached racks that would hold solar panels.

   That day, July 19, was the first time I wondered what would happen to the solar panels when snow fell. “Will we make any electricity if snow covers the panels?”

    Richard, the crew leader, paused halfway down a ladder. “No, Janet.” His voice had a lyrical African accent. “Snow will prevent the sun from reaching the solar cells.”

    My face must have formed what Spence calls a Pulitzer-prize-winning expression because a smile crinkled Richard’s dark skin. “Now, Janet. Don’t worry. The sun will melt the snow. The snow will slip off the panels, and they will produce electricity again.”

    Richard’s assurance lasted through October when gritty rain hit my face and early November when snowflakes melted on landing.

    Then, this past Monday, I woke and peeked out the bedroom window. Less than an inch of snow covered the gardens, fields, and deck. Snow lined tree branches and capped dried wildflowers. But snow didn’t cover the dirt road.

    I walked into the great room to quiz Spence. “The road’s bare. Do you think the solar panels are bare too?”

    “No.” His eyes searched the computer screen for what happened this day in history to top his RHINO website. “Cars don’t run on the solar panels.”

    “If cars had melted the road snow, there’d be bare tracks not a bare road.”

    He tapped keys and clicked tabs. “Don’t worry.”

    “I not worrying. I’m wondering.” I walked toward the bedroom. “I’ll take my camera and check.”

    Spence’s “Just relax,” echoed down the hall. “There’s not enough light to take pictures yet.”

    Changing directions, I climbed to the loft, stretched in standing yoga poses, hustled back downstairs, and grabbed my camera.

    “Eat your breakfast.” Spence set a steaming plate on the table. “The snow will be there when you finish.”

    Glancing out the window at the cloudy sky and listening to Morning Edition on NPR, I gulped a shwarma, pear slices, and oatmeal. Then I swallowed vitamin supplements with rooibos tea, pulled on my coat, and stepped into boots.

    Man chuckles followed the camera and me out the door.

    Since my boots slipped on the snowy cement porch, I hung the camera around my neck, held onto both railings, and slow-stepped to the driveway. Snow covered the north roof of the log house and the south roof of the garage. I walked around the house and stared at its south roof.

    Covered. Snow blanketed all thirty panels. Three slits marred the smooth surface where pencil thin gaps let snow fall between panels to the roof.

    After pacing the road and the south garden for the best photo angle, I walked about admiring first snow beauty–the snow crowned Queen Anne’s lace, the snow lined spruce branches, and the snow topped bird’s nest hidden in the middle of a burning bush.

First Snow - Queen Anne's Lace

    When I stepped back inside, Spence paused his computer key tapping. “That took a long time. What did you find out?”

    I gave him a two minute summary, gathered my swim gear, and left to swim laps between 11:00 a.m. and noon at the YMCA.

    Sunshine filtered through the glass block windows and created glowing patches in the pool. I swam in and out of the warm patches and visualized the solar panels on the roof. Had the clouds cleared at Wells Wood? Did the snow melt and slip off the solar panels?

    After five sixths of a mile and a hot shower, I drove home. Houses at the corner of Route 173 and West Creek Road still had snow on their roofs. But those houses faced east not south.

    I parked in the garage, swung the wet swim bag over my shoulder, and conducted a 1:00 p.m. roof check. No snow on the south roof of the garage but the house’s north roof wore the same snow blanket that it had when I’d left. I dumped my swim bag inside, grabbed my camera, and hustled to the south side of the house.

    Sunshine sparkled off clear, electricity-generating solar panels. Ragged snow clumps stuck out of the gutter. One clump dislodged and splashed onto a foot high pyramid of snow lining the far edge of the ramp. Snow melt trickled down the drainpipe.

    Several days later, I studied the data Sunny Portal collected from our Sunny Boy inverters.

    Peak production often occurred during the 11:00 and noon time frames. Tuesday, for example, the panels generated 7 kWh in the 11:00 hour and 6.75 kWh in the noon hour. Monday, with the clouds and snow cover, the peak shifted to noon, 4.95 kWh, and 1:00, 4.40 kWh. Monday’s 11:00 hour, while I swam in and out of sunny patches in the pool, totaled 0.25 kWh. Rather than generate electricity that hour, sunshine had melted snow.

    Monday had proved Richard’s, “Now, Janet. Don’t worry,” right. The sun melted the snow. The snow slipped off the panels, and they produced electricity again.

    At least his scenario worked for less than an inch of snow. How long would it take the sun to melt two, four, or even six inches of snow off the solar panels?

    Hmmm.

    I didn’t wonder what Spence would say if I asked him to unfold his heavy extension ladder and lean it against the gutters so I could climb and sweep snow off the lower panels.

First Snow - Sunshine on the Solar Panels