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