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