Reflections - Finding the Balance

“Coming together is a beginning,

staying together is progress,

and working together is success.”

Henry Ford

 

 

Milledgeville Presbyterian Church 

 

I climbed steep cement steps to Gretchen's house with dread.

I didn’t dread Gretchen, a part-time nurse, pregnant mother of an eighteen-month-old girl, and a farmer. I dreaded her questions.

Gretchen, the young secretary-treasurer for French Creek Township, had all the paperwork I needed to do the 2021 audit. I hadn’t expected to be responsible for it, but Nancy, who had been the head elected auditor for the past twenty to thirty-years, had died a week earlier from dementia. That left me, with only four years experience, in charge of Carol and Sandi, two other auditors with even less experience. Had I learned enough from Nancy to lead the auditing team and balance the accounts?

That sunny afternoon at the end of January, unspoiled snow surrounded the two-story blue farmhouse but the steps were summer clear. After knocking three times with no response, I opened the storm door, stepped into the mud room, and called, “Gretchen!”

She jogged around a corner, slid across the kitchen floor, and led me to her office. Sitting by a desk the size of a sofa, she patted the chair beside her.

“I’m so glad the elected auditors agreed to audit the books this year. I just got the budget under control when a supervisor recommended hiring the public auditors again.”

I mentally compared the public auditors fee of $5000 to $7500 with the ten dollars per hour the state allotted elected auditors. If I couldn’t guide the inexperienced team to balance the books, I would disappoint this nine-month-pregnant woman and cost the township lots of money. I gritted my teeth.

Her eyes glistened with hope and trust. “I’ll help any way I can. Call. Email. Come over with questions.” She clicked her mouse pulling an expense ledger onto the computer screen, I’ll pull up records and we can find the answers together.” Then her voice turned grave. “I'm worried about my liabilities.”

The way liabilities rolled off her tongue gave me the shivers. I vaguely understood the word to mean money deducted from people’s paychecks and paid to various governments at year’s end, but not physically held in an account. I had no idea how to calculate the amounts.

Gretchen’s face clouded. “I use a computer program to calculate the deductions. It says I have four cents extra withholding. What do I do with the four cents? Put a penny back in the fellas’ paychecks at the end of the year?”

I patted her arm. “Don’t worry. I have to round everything to the nearest dollar on the report. You can ignore the four cents or put them in the paychecks.”

Gretchen sighed and rubbed her abdomen. “As soon as the January bank statements arrive, I’ll box the files and give you a call.”

A week later, holding her precious five-pound baby boy, who yawned and wiggled his fingers, Gretchen nodded to the township financial records on the bench in the mud room. Though I would much rather have reached for the two-day old newborn, I took a couple trips lugging the records to my car—my responsibility to guard until I returned them after the audit. As if tied to me with an invisible umbilical cord, the boxes stayed with me, traveling back and forth to auditing sessions and sitting on my dresser while I slept at night.

With the omicron variant circulating that winter, I needed to find a place for auditing which would keep everyone safe while working indoors for hours on end—a large room. The township building, a garage where trucks and tractors parked, was large enough but Carol said the diesel fumes exacerbated her breathing issues. The township building wouldn’t work.

When I’d called newly appointed auditor Sandi, to thank her for accepting the position, she’d said we could work at her church. “No one’s there during the week. The doors are always unlocked. Walk up the ramp at the back. The first door on the left is the classroom we can use.”

On a snowy-blowy day, Spence and I trudged to the Milledgeville Presbyterian Church and checked out the room. A ten-foot table sat in the middle of the airy twenty by twenty-foot space. Only a few small bookcases and a plastic couch lined the walls. Perfect.

Because of COVID the previous year, Nancy had kept Carol and I separate. Nancy also did a lot of work alone. She’d seemed a little confused when I helped her clear several discrepancies. Had she resolved the rest? This year, all three auditors had to understand the entire process in case any of us couldn’t audit next year. We needed to work together—as long as we could stay safe.

Masks would keep us safe. I dialed Carol’s phone number. She let me know, quite cheerfully, that she wouldn’t wear a mask. Thinking of the hours we’d be together inside, I braved the impertinent question. “Are you vaccinated?’”

Carol paused. A. Long. Time. “I choose not to answer that question.”

So I ordered n95 masks for Sandi and me and set the starting date for February 7, the day Sandi said she would be ready after her shoulder surgery on February 1.

She wasn’t ready on February 7. Trouble with her pain medications kept her home.

“Take as long as you need,” I told her. “Carol and I will get organized.” Best for Sandi, on her first day, not to realize how clueless Carol and I were anyway.

I arrived a few minutes before Carol, turned up the thermostat, and set out folding chairs—one at each end of the table and one in the middle. I took the middle because it gave more room for the boxes. I strapped on the n95 mask.

 

Boxes of Township Financial Records and n95 Mask

Carol kept her coat on and sat at the far end of the table. “I mean no disrespect to Nancy. She was great. Kind and smart.” Carol tapped her pen on the table and switched to a teacher-voice which surprised me since she’d been a hospice nurse. “We’ll have no Nancys here. She did lots of work on her own. But sometimes, well…you know.” Carol tucked her chin to her chest and looked over her round glasses. “Agreed?”

“Definitely.” I placed my hands on the table, fingers spread wide. “We work and learn together.”

“Okay. We do this together.” Carol returned to her regular voice. “When I worked with Nancy I was her monkey. I just did what she told me. I had no idea what I was doing. I have no idea where to begin.”

“We should start backwards.”

Carol raised her eyebrows.

“You know how Nancy pointed at numbers on a report at the end and we had no idea what they meant?”

Carol narrowed her eyes. “Yeaaaaaaaaaah?”

Grabbing the blank thirty-page worksheet for the audit and a copy of last year’s audit, I said, “Let’s highlight the boxes Nancy filled in last year and sort by categories.”

Carol looked at me as if I’d said we’d sail to Hawaii and buy pineapples for tomorrow’s breakfast.

“Really. The paper lists codes for kinds of revenues and expenses. So, when we check the bills against the computer ledger and the bank summaries—we’ve done that before, you remember…”

She nodded, looking a little less puzzled.

“Then we’ll understand why those codes matter. We’ll make sure every transaction has an appropriate code—a three hundred if a revenue and a four hundred if an expense.”

Carol saluted me with an orange highlighter. I used pink. As if painting an orange and pink sunset, our spirits raised a little with every box we colored. Progress.

She clicked the top onto the marker. “Now what?”

“Let’s start with the state funds. Gretchen filed that report at the end of January so we’d get our liquid fuels revenue.” I handed Carol the bank statements and a folder of bills. I kept Gretchen’s state report and opened a notebook to list the amounts of bills under code numbers. “Cross your fingers her numbers are correct. We can’t change them now.”

Carol smirked. “You mean pray. We’re in a church.”

We plodded along until a woman leaned against the door jamb.

“Hello,” I said. “We’re the auditors. Sandi said we could work in your church.”

“I know. I’m Nadina. I came to practice the piano for the church service this weekend. I hope I won’t bother you.”

Carol and I straightened. “No,” we said in unison.

“We’d love to hear you play,” I said.

Carol nodded like a bobblehead.

“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” floated from the sanctuary across the hall. I relaxed as mellow as if I’d just finished a yoga routine instead of reading the prices for anti-skid and sharpening plows.

The next day Sandi joined us with her right arm in a sling and an ice pack for her shoulder. She shrugged off her coat, plopped onto the chair by the door, and rested her sling against a pillow on her lap. “It’s okay. I’m left handed. What do we do first?”

She wore a mask that day and for several days afterwards but eventually gave them up. I didn’t question her choice. More important things to do.

Distributing the state papers among the three of us, we finished checking the expenditures—all had paper trails and four hundred codes. “Get your calculators, girls.” I waited while phone and tablet apps booted. Sandi called the numbers for items in the machine repair code.

She hesitated when she finished, then asked, “What did you get, Janet?”

“Fourteen thousand, eight hundred seventy-six dollars and eighty-six cents. Is that what you two got?” I looked up from my tablet. Sandi and Carol grinned at each other.

“Yes.” Carol swept her finger from herself toward Sandi. “We communicate with our eyes.”

Bonding already? Terrific. We totaled the rest of the expenditures and checked the revenues. Now for the big test—balancing the state fund.

While I held my breath, Sandi called numbers.

We all tapped the beginning bank balance.

Added revenues.

Subtracted expenditures.

And got the ending bank balance?

Yes!

The state fund balanced.

I raised my fists over my head. “WOOHOO!”

Carol and Sandi exchanged indulgent smiles.

“We’re half done,” Sandi said calmly. “We can finish this week.”

Slipping the folders into the portable file box, I snapped it shut. 

This time Carol and I exchanged looks—creased foreheads, concerned eyes, and pressed lips. The general fund had more than twice as much money as the state, many more transactions, and Gretchen hadn’t balanced it for an official report. Pesky problems had plenty of room to hide. Should I dampen Sandi’s enthusiasm on her first day of auditing?

   

Church Sign

End of Part 1

 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