Reflections - Internal Climate Change (Part 5)

Herb Checking Copper Pipes

The moment I’d waited for since October 22, 2021 arrived 11:00 a.m. the first Monday of 2022. I held my breath.

Zach, the Kennihan duct work and computer expert, pressed arrows on the thermostat.

Air whooshed.

Cat ears swiveled. The three tabby brothers rushed to a supply vent.

The flow center pumped water from the geothermal wells through the WaterFurnace, which transferred heat from the water to the air. A fan blew heated air through the supply vents puzzling the cats. Our geothermal system was working. The project should be completed in a day 

or two!At the thermostat, Zach brought up different items on the menu. “It’s more efficient if you leave the system on heat in winter and cool in the summer. Pick one temperature rather than different temperatures for day and for night. The heat cycle uses too much energy trying to adjust to the daily changes.”

“Spence prefers cooler temperatures at night. I want efficient energy use.” I bit my thumb nail and decided. ”We’ll compromise. Set the thermostat at sixty-eight degrees.” (20° C)

“Whatever you like.” Zach pressed more arrows. “My mom wanted our thermostat at sixty-eight. But I’m always cold. So I made it read sixty-eight when it was really seventy-two. She was happy until she discovered what I did. Then she was awfully angry.” He belly laughed.

At 12:30 Herb, the backhoe driver, pulled onto the parking pad with a fifty gallon water tank in the back of his truck. Zach helped him carry the tank inside. They set it up with clinks, buzzes, and “I need a wrench . . . are these your levels or his  . . . where’s the drill?”

Two tasks remained when they left—attaching the water tank pipes and connecting the computer monitoring program. Could they finish Tuesday? I crossed my fingers and toes.

That night the temperature plummeted to 18°F (-8° C) outside. Inside, without burning a single log, the house stayed comfortable. 

We didn’t hear from Kennihan’s until Wednesday when Jerry called with apologies. “Could Zach finish on Friday? With this weather, we’re getting all sorts of emergencies. Furnaces breaking and—”

“No problem, Jerry.” I visualized families shivering like ours had when we huddled under blankets and I read the children The Long Winter during Cleveland’s 1978 Blizzard. “We’re comfortable. We can wait.”

He sighed. “We’re still waiting for the microchip. The thermostat you have now is temporary. When the chip arrives, we’ll install the permanent one, check for leaks, and put antifreeze in the wells.”

Jerry called with more apologies Friday. “We’re still running crazy with emergencies. I’ll let you know Monday when Zach will be back and when the inspector will come.”

“Will you be here when the inspector comes?”

“If he’d give me a time like two o’clock Tuesday. Otherwise, I’d have to come watch TV all day with Ande. That would be a waste of Ande’s time.”

Snow and cold kept Kennihan employees away until Tuesday, January 11. While I scooped poop out of the basement kitty litter box mid morning, Herb stepped through the basement door carrying two large boxes of pipe insulation and said, “Hello, young lady.” He turned to Spence. “I need to see the electric panel to turn off the breaker for the hot-water-on-demand.” They huddled by the electric box and clicked off two breakers. 

Then Herb asked me for help. “I’m not good with cell phones. Jerry said you could connect me to your WiFi in case I need to call him.” He handed me his phone.

Knowing my expertise with computers and phones, Spence shook his head. “Just give him the password, Janet.”

Herb wrung his hands.

Since my phone regularly defaulted to cell rather than WiFi, I knew what to do. I selected the proper menu, typed in the password, and handed the phone back. “You’re all set, Herb.”

He grinned his thanks and went to the truck for more supplies.

Ande came down to check what kept us in the basement so long.

Herb returned with an armful of copper pipes.

Ande rushed toward the stairs, but Herb greeted him in a soft voice. The cat sat and observed Herb squirt the hose, clink tools, and rattle screws. I left Ande with his new buddy.

Ande Watching Herb

Later that afternoon, I checked Herb’s progress. He’d cut the copper pipes and connected the water well with a circuit flowing through the hot-water-on-demand unit (now a backup), the hot water tank, the WaterFurnace, the water tank, the hot-water-on-demand unit, and into sinks and showers. Herb said. “I’m bleeding air out of the pipes.” His finger traced a section. He turned levers off, attached a red hose, and dragged it to the drain. “I don’t want air getting into the geothermal pipes.”

“Not after all Zach’s work getting the air out.”

Herb nodded. “Come over here. I want to show you something.” He held a bucket between his shins, turned the hose on, and stuck the nozzle under water. “Look for bubbles coming out. That’s a visual.” 

I saw teensy bubbles then nothing.

He watched for two more minutes. “I’m satisfied with that.” He emptied water, left the hose in the drain, and selected another pipe section.

Leaving Ande sprawled on the floor near Herb, I returned upstairs to pay utility bills online.

An hour later Herb called, “Are you up there? I’ve got something you might want to see? Well . . . feel.” 

Could I photograph a feel? I grabbed my camera and hustled downstairs. Spence followed. 

“Grab here.” Herb pointed to a copper pipe near the WaterFurnace. “It’s water coming from the well.” 

I wrapped my hand around the pipe. Brrr. Cold. Our water well is supplied from a spring. I took a picture of my hand on the pipe. 

“Now grab this.” He pointed to a parallel pipe. “It’s coming from the geothermal furnace.”

I gripped that copper pipe. “WOW!” The pipe felt as warm as a hot mug of tea. “What a difference!” 

Herb chuckled. “I thought you’d like that. I wanted you to feel it before I put the insulation on.”

Herb finished the plumbing and all the insulation. No more pretty copper pipes showed in the basement. He petted Ande and left saying, “See you later.” Would he? He could put the antifreeze in, but did he install thermostats?

The next morning Zach came for a short visit. He set up the website Symphony which lets us monitor the system—how much energy each feature is using, the temperature of the air and water, and options for the program. While he demonstrated on his phone, I spied a cute photo under rows of icons.

“Is that your child?”

His face lit as if a bank of floodlights turned on. “That’s my daughter Mia.” He cleared the icons. “She’s thirteen months. She had her first dentist appointment yesterday.” He looked at the picture with adoring eyes. “She’s my sweetie.”

She had a sweetie for a daddy too.

Zach returned to the basement to make a list of all the materials he used—a lot for the mini factory—then came upstairs to say goodbye. “It was nice working for you.” He reached for the doorknob. “The inspector will come between two and four this afternoon. Do you have any more questions before I leave?”

After all the questions I’d asked him, I couldn’t think of a single one to delay his leaving.

Hot Water Tank Connected

That afternoon, I sat at the computer in the loft processing geothermal photos. Spence’s tractor engine stopped rumbling and the basement door squeaked open. He said, “It’s in here. Footsteps padded against the cement floor. “The flow center, WaterFurnace, hot water tank, and manifold . . .”

A voice I didn’t recognize, undoubtedly the inspector’s, said, “This is wonderful!”

More footsteps. “That’s Ande. He greets everyone.”

“My you’re a pretty cat.”

Spence said, “They had to put in all new duct work. Our only heat was the wood stove.”

“Everything looks great.” The door opened and shut after a five-minute inspection.

Though we no longer have to wait for the inspector, we’re still waiting for the supply chain to cough up chips. Then the Kennihan team will check for leaks, add antifreeze to the geothermal wells, and install the permanent thermostat. Maybe that will happen before the first maintenance check. It doesn’t matter. The project is complete enough to enjoy. And we’ve adjusted to unexpected features of the system. 

I adjusted to the hot water from the tank Herb connected. The geothermal pipes release a degree of heat here and another there, raising the temperature of new tank water hotter than the hot-water-on-demand unit ever produced. My arthritic fingers revel in comfort washing dishes, and I linger in the shower, which never sprays chilly interludes like the old unit did. 

The cats adjusted to new sounds. At first, they heard the rev of an engine and hustled, with me following, to the sliding glass door to see which heavy truck made the noise. The engine silenced. No truck passed. After the fourth time, I let the cats race without me and checked the thermostat. The heat cycle registered six then dropped to two. Now the cats ignore the sounds.

The WaterFurnace can cycle from zero through twelve when heating air. After twelve, electric bars kick in. We haven’t needed the electric bars.

The end of January turned frigid. One morning it dipped to -12° (-24° C) outside. Frost lined the inside of the kitchen window. The heat cycle revved to seven. The logs in the house walls contracted. Pop. Pop. I walked back to the bedroom in bare feet to change out of my yoga clothes. “Whoa!” With the bedroom’s two supply vents, I felt like I’d stepped into a sauna. 

Spence followed to see why I’d yelled. “It’s hot in here. Honey, they were taking care of you. They knew you paid the bills.”

They took care of him too. Not having to cut, split, and haul wood is an adjustment he welcomes. 

The last day of January we woke to a temperature of 0.1°F (-18° C). Spence stretched his arms wide. “I love geothermal heating. I haven’t lifted a finger and we heat the whole house with the equivalent of four, one-hundred watt light bulbs.”

“What’s the heat cycle?”

He traipsed to the thermostat and held up four fingers.

“The furnace isn’t working very hard.”

“Our house is well insulated. You’ll never guess the worst leak.”

 

“The front door? The sliding glass door?”

He smirked. “The drain in the basement. I wouldn’t have known except I walked over it barefoot.”

Walking barefoot in the basement during winter? Unthinkable when the wood stove fire produced three climate zones—the tropics in the loft, the temperate zone on the first floor, and the arctic in the basement. We have experienced internal climate change! 

Screenshot of Symphony on 1-12-22

 

 Reflections - Internal Climate Change (Part 4)

 

Kennihan Truck

After two weeks of earsplitting sounds—boring, grinding, buzzing drills; banging, cracking, scraping metal, and the grating, crunching, beeping of the backhoe—Christmas weekend restored the country quiet. Our three tabby cat brothers curled in discarded wrappings for premature end-of-commotion naps. Spence invited his brother’s family for New Year’s Day. “They’ll see the geothermal system up and working.” I wanted part four of my blog to form a proper story arc rather than another slab of experience.

But the admonition Spence repeated, whenever I expressed hope, circled my mind. Anticipation is disappointment. The cats would definitely be disappointed. Maybe we wouldn’t.

Midday Monday, December 27, Zach, who is Kennihan’s duct work expert, and Justin, the quiet assistant who caught the sharp end of backhoe driver Herb’s tongue in part three, arrived. As they unpacked their tools, Spence and I set out for a health walk. Spence stared at the tilting, aqua walk-in van. “You may want to move your truck. I put gravel and dirt where the trench subsided. But it’s still sinking.”

Zach dropped his tool box and hustled to the driver’s seat. The engine revved. The tires spun. The truck tilted more. “I’ve been stuck in this truck more than once.”

Without a word, Justin fetched yellow plastic traction mats and laid them in front of the back tires.

Zach stepped on the gas. The mats shot into the air, and the truck rolled smoothly to the road.

When we returned from our walk, no yawning cats met us at the door. They’d disappeared to the loft. Sheet metal crinkled and banged in the basement. Saws buzzed. Ande tip-pawed down the stairs, flattened his ears, and scowled. He searched Spence’s face to see if he was worried. Spence wasn't, so Ande took a nap on the sofa beside Spence.

By the end of the day, the workers finished all the duct work except for one bedroom service line. They’d also installed most vent covers. I asked Zach why he only put covers on six of the seven first floor service vents. “I forgot to order the extra cover.” He blushed.

I had asked about the extra vent before. Zach had immediately declared he’d changed his plans and decided to install two vents in the master bedroom. His change of complexion  this time convinced me his colleagues had blundered in drilling the extra vent. Following his discretion, I didn’t mention my theory.

Spence had a different question. “Won’t you be cold without a coat?”

“No. I’m always cold so I wear five layers.”

Working alone in the chilly basement Tuesday, Zach finished the duct work and that seventh service vent cover. When he drilled two holes in the wall beside the first floor bathroom door, Gilbert dove behind the wood stove. Ande and Rills watched Zach’s tedious behavior of fishing wires through the openings. His vacuuming wood shavings, however, made them retreat too. With the thermostat in place, he asked us about draining the condensation from the air conditioning unit. “The simplest is to run a three-quarter-inch pipe across the floor to the drain. But it will be in a walkway.”

“A trip hazard and we’re old.” I rubbed my hips. “What’s the alternative?”

“I could install a pump to take the water up and over the wall into the bathroom. But that’s an additional cost and one more machine to break.”

“Maybe we can lay a rug over the pipe for a slight ramp?” I glanced at Spence.

He shrugged. “Maybe. You decide.”

“I’ll think about it and let you know, Zach.”

“Take your time.”

With only two more work days until New Year’s Eve, time didn’t favor Spence’s plan of having the system running for his family. But Wednesday, four Kennihan employees worked. Zach teamed with Luke, the tallest, thinnest, and youngest employee. Jerry, the project boss and Ande’s buddy, paired with his father Bill, the owner of the company.

Ande and I crept down a few steps to watch. Luke’s actions of spreading drop cloths over the basement floor mesmerized Ande. Then Luke drilled in a screw and Ande hustled to the hewn log chair in the great room.

On the basement wall, above where the four front well pipes entered the house, the older team attached the manifold. It looked like the ends of pipes mounted on a board.

    

“What’s that do?” It didn’t have the attraction of a spring blossom, but I focused the camera lens on it anyway.

“The manifold takes water from the incoming pipe lines and puts it into one pipe going to the flow center.” Jerry pointed at two pipes Zach and Luke had hung across the ceiling. “Then the manifold separates the water, returning from the flow center, into the three outgoing well lines.”

That made perfect sense. Except how did the men distinguish which of the thick, three-quarter inch, black plastic geothermal pipes were incoming and which were outgoing?

Bill and Jerry muscled pipes into places the pipes didn’t want to go.

Bill and Jerry Attaching a Pipe to the Manifold

I took photos, joined Ande upstairs, and monitored progress by clinks, shuffling feet, and bantering chatter.

“You guys hungry for lunch?”

“Yeah. We could get something in Grove City.”

The chorus of belly laughs clued me that it was a company joke. Someone must have taken the thirty-six mile trip from Butler to Grove City for lunch once and earned continual jibes.

Recognizing Jerry’s voice, Ande crept down the steps.

Peeking over the railing, I saw Jerry stretch his hand up to pet Ande.

“How’s my buddy?” Jerry’s blue rubber glove freaked the cat. He pounded back upstairs. I comforted Ande so didn’t hear what the fellas decided about lunch.

That afternoon, chemical smells floated upstairs. I ventured down yet again to ask why.

“That’s from melding the geothermal pipes together,” Jerry said, “and Zach uses PVC glue to stick pipes together at the flow center.”

By the end of the day, the four front yard well pipes were attached to the bottom of the manifold. The single pipes to and from the flow center were also attached, but the two well pipes from the side yard hadn’t been attached yet.

Jerry called up to say good-bye to Ande. I carried him downstairs. Since Jerry had taken the gloves off and no one turned on a drill or hammered a brace, Ande rubbed his whiskers against Jerry’s fingers.

If the four returned Thursday, Spence might get his wish.

Only Zach and Luke worked Thursday.

Except for occasional drill buzzes and the stink of PVC glue floating upstairs, we wouldn’t have known the Kennihan team were in the basement. I crept down to investigate. Luke attached wires in the flow center. Zach installed three breakers in the electric box. Boring, even for cats which found fishing wires through the wall fascinating. I returned upstairs briefly before the real fun began.

Water sprayed. Zach murmured. Silence. This sound sequence repeated.

Ande’s ears twitched. He crept to the top of the stairs.

I went all the way down.

While Luke stared at a phone screen, Zach held the nozzle of a red hose into the top of the flow center and sprayed. “Change the speed to eighty.”

Zach Filling the System with Water and Luke Monitoring the Speed

Luke’s thumbs danced on the screen.

The machine hummed.

Water gurgled.

I leaned in for a closer look. “What are you doing?”

“We're filling the geothermal tubes with water,” Zach said, looking as serious as Spock. “Step back. Water could splash out when air escapes.”

I stepped back.

Whoosh. Splash. The fellas got wet.

Zach sprayed again. “Change the speed to one hundred.”

Standing by the WaterFurnace with the panel removed and an area of colored wires exposed, Luke moved his thumbs.

Whoosh. Splash.

“Change to one hundred ten.” Zach sprayed.

Lights flashed behind the wires.

Had I stepped onto a Star Trek set? I took several photos and climbed the stairs. Ande hovered at the top. “Do you want me to carry you down?” I stooped to lift him.

He scooted out of reach but stayed in viewing range.

We listened to the spraying, whooshing, and splashing until Luke climbed to tap arrows on the thermostat. The screen flashed blue and red then darkened.

Water in the wells. Thermostat checked. Maybe Spence would get his wish.

While Luke toted tools to the truck, Zach gave me news I should have expected. “The water will settle in the pipes over the weekend. I’ll be back Monday to top them off and turn the system on.”

Spence would be disappointed.

I emailed the family to warn them. The fabric barrier, drilling rig, backhoe, and trucks left ruts and mud, mud, mud from the township’s dirt road to the porch. December rains spread the new landscaping around. Spence put down a layer of gravel but the mud still oozed through. On New Year’s Day, five members of the Pittsburgh Wells family trudged through the mess. I provided rags for wiping bottoms of shoes if folks wanted to keep their foot gear on, and slipper socks for keeping feet warm if they didn’t. Most planned ahead and wore warm winter socks.

Although all of us were vaccinated, they tied on masks because I did. I’d caught a monster cold celebrating Thanksgiving. Two negative COVID tests later, the cough and sniffles lingered on. I had worn a mask anytime I toted my camera into the room with a Kennihan employee, and all of them, except Herb, had pulled up bandannas when I walked within range. None of them had caught my nasty cold. I didn’t want any in the Wells family to get it either. So I left the gang to cough and eat privately in the bedroom. Otherwise, our family festivities proceeded as normal with stories, laughter, and the latest news. Spence let me give the tour of the basement.

I took my sister-in-law Cindy and two nieces Sarah and Laura down first. Their eyes widened as they looked at the configuration of the WaterFurnace 7 Series flanked by the huge return boot, flow center, and filter case on the left plus the service duct work on the right. I twirled and held my hands in the air like a model showing the unit for sale. “It’s a mini factory.” I walked them to the front of the basement. “The manifold brings water from three wells and sends it to the flow center which sends it to the WaterFurnace which transfers heat from the water to—”

“Wait!” Laura’s face scrunched. “Doesn’t the hot water circulate in pipes under the ceiling?”

“No. The WaterFurnace transfers the heat from the water to the air.”

Sarah pointed at the metal ducts lining the ceiling—ten for the first floor and six for the basement. “Were any of those here before?”

“No. The only heat came from the wood stove. A few fans moved the warm air around.”

Cindy folded her arms over her chest and grinned. “Amazing.”

I led the fellas downstairs next.

Spence’s brother Bruce and Laura’s boyfriend Beau examined the valves on the manifold, opened the electric box cover, and nodded their heads when I waved my hands at the empty space between the WaterFurnace and the hot-water-on-demand system. “The fifty gallon water tank goes here. Copper pipes take the geothermal well water through the tank to release extra heat before it returns to the earth to collect more.”

Even not turned on, the geothermal system pleased the family and their excited chatter over the project satisfied Spence.

As for me, I gave up caring whether the blog about the project formed a proper story arc or a slab of experience. While I enjoyed watching and talking to the friendly Kennihan experts, I craved only one thing from this continuing saga. A fait accompli.

Flow Center and WaterFurnace Connected

End Part 4