Reflections - Internal Climate Change
Ande on Papers

I love wood stove fires. Dancing orange flames lick crackling logs, and radiating heat makes the great room toasty. But wood stoves have drawbacks. They create the tropics in the loft, the temperate zone on the first floor, and the arctic in the basement. They also need firewood. Cutting, splitting, and hauling firewood would sooner, rather than later, wear Spence out.

Spence didn’t care about the temperature zones or the work of harvesting wood. He’d asked our son what improvements he would like in the log house. Air conditioning.

And although our Quadra-Fire wood stove burns with 90% efficiency, other systems are more environmentally friendly.

Equalizing heat, reducing firewood harvests, installing air conditioning, and saving the environment equaled geothermal energy.

Of the dozen geothermal heating and cooling companies we contacted, only two still did that work and were willing to drive to Wells Wood. The first belonged to a volunteer fireman in Middlefield, Ohio. While driving to an appointment one evening, he called me on his cell phone and, without seeing the house, said he’d charge $40,000 for the job using horizontal wells, five feet deep. If he hit rock, however, that would damage his drill head so the cost would increase.

If he hit rock? Spence constantly tills up rocks in the garden. Of course the contractor would hit rock.

His cheery voice vibrated through the phone. “We’re a boutique company. Call when you’ve thought it over. I’ll come out with the contract and pick up your deposit. Don’t delay, though. A lot of customers are ahead of you.”

Spence didn’t have to think. “No. The price is outrageous. He’s pompous to make the plan without seeing the house. And calling himself a boutique is an excuse to charge more money.”

Jerry, from Kennihan Plumbing and Heating in Butler, Pennsylvania, put on a mask and slipped covers over his shoes before stepping inside. “You don’t have to wear a mask. I make my workers wear masks so I do too.” His eyes sparkled as if he was smiling behind the black fabric.

Ande, our feline ambassador, ran to greet Jerry.

He bent and scratched the cat’s ears. “Who are you, buddy?”

“He’s Ande,” I said then pointed. “That’s Rills and that’s Gilbert. They will be curious but stay out of your way. Ande will follow you around unless you make loud noises.”

As I gave Jerry the three-floor, Ande followed. Jerry’s metal tape measure crinkled in and out of its case. He jotted notes. Ande stayed four to five feet from the contractor until he sat at the kitchen table and pulled papers out of a folder.

Ande jumped onto the table and sat on the papers.

“I need that one, buddy.” Jerry eased the paper from under the cat. “You can sit on the other one.”

Rills hid under the sofa. Gilbert curled in my hewn log chair.

Jerry talked and sketched. “We’ll drill three vertical wells, each two hundred twenty-five feet deep where the temperature is about seventy degrees Fahrenheit.” (21° C). His pen traced water flowing up the wells and into the 7 Series WaterFurnace, a heat exchanger that transfers heat from the water to air. From there he drew squiggles indicating heated air blowing through ducts then swirls in a tank. “The water lets off extra heat in a water tank before flowing down the well.” Jerry said we’d get a 26% tax credit for the project and a one time credit from Penn Power bringing the price to 5% less than the boutique’s before the extra charges for hitting rock were added.

“Get in touch when you decide.” Jerry petted Ande and left.

As the front door closed, Spence looked up from reading emails on the sofa. “I like Jerry. He knew what he was talking about. He was kind to the cats. He listened and made the plan flexible for us.”

We decided.

Jerry's Scribbles

That was October 22. Jerry didn’t get back with the final plans and a contract until November 19, a Friday. Ande lay by Jerry’s feet while he sat at the kitchen table and explained the parts of the system. On a lined sheet of paper he scribbled probable placement of wells outside, ductwork connected to the WaterFurnace in the basement, and first floor vents. He also jotted random temperatures for the thermostat and wells.

While I signed the contract and wrote a deposit check, Jerry bent to scratch Ande’s ears. “How’s my buddy doing?”

After Jerry left, Spence fetched a permit application from the township building. We filled it out over the weekend, and he returned the application to the township secretary-treasurer Monday morning.

At 2:00 that afternoon, Jerry arrived to introduce Spence, Ande, and me to Todd, from Dillan Well Drilling, Inc. We left Ande inside and searched for well placements outside. Clutching the porch stair railing, I made a confession. “I’ve been enjoying thinking of Todd and Jerry.”

This time I saw Jerry’s wide grin. “Tom and Jerry,” he said. The contractors chuckled.

Todd studied the area between the driveway and north garden.

Spence pointed at the Penn Power meter and drew an imaginary line to the garage. “The electric line is buried there.” He ambled down the driveway and pointed again. “You can’t see the water pump from here. It’s behind the burn barrel.”

The contractors’ foreheads scrunched in puzzlement.

Hustling across the field, I stood with a foot on either side of the pump and waved both hands over my head.

The contractors squinted then walked toward the electric box.

I scampered back.

Todd shook his head. “I can’t get all three here.”

I shook too—from the cold. I’d dashed out without a coat. Spence brought me a jacket. But my ears, bare with my hair still in a yoga ponytail, chilled to achy pinches.

The contractors paced, stretched metal tape, and surveyed lawns on both sides of the house. Jerry likes to exceed the minimum distance standards for geothermal wells—at least fifteen to twenty feet from the house and from each other. If we didn’t mind moving the yew bush by the parking pad, they could put one well in the south yard and two on either side of the buried electric line in the north yard. That would mean a single straight trench on the side and a t-shaped trench in the front.

Todd planted mini red flags to mark the wells.

Jerry spray painted the grass white—an X by each flag and trench lines from the flags to the house.

Todd stuffed the tape measure into his jacket pocket. “We’ll start digging the week of December 13. Weather permitting.”

That gave us three weeks for Pat, the township inspector, to approve the permit. No worries.

Or so I thought.

Friday, December 3, Gretchen, the sweet, expecting-a child-in-January, part-time visiting nurse, township secretary-treasurer, emailed:

Do you guys have a Plan Document (drawling) and details of what geothermal system they will be installing? Also when do you plan on putting this system in?

I emailed back:

December 13. We don’t have a plan or drawings.

Spence corrected my email:

We have the contract with Jerry’s plans. I’ll bring you a copy.

Varying the intensity on the copier, he duplicated the yellow paper and chose the best, still fuzzy, version.

The next morning we took our exercise walk to Gretchen’s house in Milledgeville. Since the supervisors had personally instructed us not to bother Gretchen because they didn’t want yet another secretary-treasurer quitting, Spence stuffed the copied contract, which listed the six main features of the geothermal project, through the handle of her side door.

The following day, the inspector sent Gretchen a snarky reply:

They Need to Include a Building Plan (3-Copies)., To Review & Approve. I'm Sure they know what they will be Installing, however, I Do Not. Drawings Need to Be Furnished, by, Code, . .

And he ranted four lines longer in the same capital letter, extra punctuation fashion.

Spence forwarded the problem to Jerry.

Tuesday, December 7, Jerry emailed detailed plans to Gretchen. Three days later Jerry called. “Has the permit gone through?”

“Not yet.” I sighed.

Spence emailed Gretchen.

She called him.

Spence gave me her report. “The inspector has all the information he needs. He’ll probably issue the permit over the weekend.”

That would mean we’d have the permit by December 13 when the work started. Phew. I told Jerry when he called again.

“The drillers can’t make it on Monday,” he said. “Weather delayed another job. They’ll start Wednesday.” But Jerry said he’d come up with Zach, the expert of ductwork, Monday and scout out placements for vents. Before Jerry hung up, he said, “Tell Ande I said hi.”