Solar installation, part 1

We first met with Paul and Cindy from Magitek the day before Thanksgiving. He gave us an estimate that took our breath away, but assured us that the system would pay for itself in six and a half years. For me, the moral imperative was more important than the cost of installation—clean electricity for the rest of my life. Plus it would soon become free. Paul proposed a ground mounted system with 60 panels capable of producing 17.1 kW. I am including the numbers because people keep asking. Up to this minute, I have not concerned myself with these details; my job is to write checks. We looked at our new aerial photos of the property and picked a site west of the garden. It would not even obstruct our view of the fifth oak from the kitchen.

One difficulty was that Terry had a few dozen trees planted on the site. In the weeks that followed our meeting, he cheerfully dug them up and put them elsewhere.

Then there was the money. I tried to be tech savvy and apply for a home equity loan through my bank’s website. Everything went smoothly for nearly a month. Suddenly, the loan was denied. I got a form letter that suggested it was from a poor credit rating. I knew that I was in the top 17% of all credit ratings, so I picked up the phone in a huff. The woman who answered assured me that it was not my credit rating and checked with her supervisor to discover that the reason was that the property was listed as a working farm. I couldn’t get a home equity loan on a farm, even though the farm had no income and was my home. Go figure.

After Christmas, I did what I should have done in the first place and went to the bank to talk to a person. She referred me to a loan officer who, over the next several weeks, got me a mortgage. I signed the papers and called Cindy. She began on the permit process.

Snag. The proposed site was in the 100-year flood plain. Of course it is. We told them it was a low spot. The whole property except for the house is in the 100-year flood plain. I got Cindy’s message Friday afternoon and fretted all weekend that this was the end of our solar panels, and there I was with a $60K loan.

It turned out, however, that this was a problem that money could solve. We had to pay $550 for the variance and $300 for an engineer to revise the plan for the footings. We were in business.

By then, Paul was on vacation. We set up an appointment with him last Friday. I gave him a check that took 60% of my breath away. The other 40% will be taken away after the installation is finished.

Terry and I watched the weather anxiously for a week. The ground had to be frozen to get the heavy equipment in. Over the weekend, it got up to 60°F, but as predicted, it turned colder on Wednesday, and we had a hard freeze last night. A bonus was that during the thaw, most of the water that had been on top of the ground since the last flood drained into the creek.

Paul and Rocky showed up at 7:45 this morning. Paul had decided to rent a skid steer loader instead of using a utility truck to minimize the depth of ruts that would be left behind. The plan was to dig the holes and pour the cement today.

They began by measuring the grid. I walked out to take pictures just as Paul was going to the north entrance to meet the truck delivering the skid steer loader. Rocky put me to work holding the end of the string so he could put the measuring tape perpendicular to it.

Rocky puts in a corner

The grid marked in paint

They were ready to start drilling by 10:00. Some assembly was required, and I could tell from in the house that it wasn’t going well. Paul, Rocky, and Terry were all standing around the skid steer loader, putting the auger on and taking the auger off. Eventually, they figured out that the metal had gotten bent where a cotter pin had to attach (or something). They took the part to Terry shop, where Terry gave Paul some safety glasses and let him use a grinder to fix it

And drill they did. Paul drove the skid steer loader. Rocky lined everything up. I could tell they had done this before. Every now and then, Paul pulled the auger out of the hole and shook it to clean it and remove the soil from the hole. Boy howdy, do we have a lot of clay. Those holes ain’t going nowhere. There was gravel at the very bottom of the 6-foot deep holes. There was perhaps a foot of water in the bottom of each hole. I feared it would be worse.

A hole in the clay with a little water in the bottom

Paul took the auger off and put on the bucket. He carefully dragged the extra soil away from the holes and put it in a pile. I admired his skill, certain that if I’d tried it, I would have filled in every hole. (Note that the sound on the video is a little wonky because of the wind gusts.)

The last step was the cut collars for the top of the holes. I had wondered why they had only brought three of the casements because I assumed they were going to line the entire hole. Rocky got busy cutting each casement into smaller rings. 

The casements with the saw (right) that Rocky used to cut them into smaller pieces

The finished hole with its collar

The holes with the posts laid out next to them, ready for cement on Monday

I went out to take pictures of the finished holes. Paul said they couldn’t do the cement today. Understandably, he didn’t want to order the cement until he knew that he was going to get the holes done.  By then it was too late for delivery. They will be back on Monday. This bites from my perspective because I have to be at work. Boo!

I can tell you the plan for the cement. There’s an attachment to the skid steer loader that holds a cubic yard of cement. Note that it has a little chute in the front for dropping it in the hole. I deeply regret that I will not be able to post a video of its operation. You will have to use your imagination.

The inside of the cement-moving attachment

And the outside

Brief respite from winter

Yesterday was beautiful—sunny and 55°F! The girls enjoyed hanging out in the sun, even though the chicken run is a mud pit.

Chickens in mud

Hilda and I took the opportunity to change the wood chips in the coop. They were getting stinky. The smell is not so bad when the temperatures are well below freezing. Once it thawed, though—hoo-boy!

Clean wood chips! Don't the girls look happier?

I couldn’t hold myself back any longer from making bread. Several factors contributed. There’s the winter depression, which I mentioned in my last post. My students did experiments with yeast fermentation this week. Finally, I needed bread to make dressing for the turkey that I’m roasting for game night today. I like to buy two turkeys at Thanksgiving and have a second Thanksgiving in February, when I feel much in need of a holiday. Because it seems a shame to put all the bread in the stuffing, I made a second loaf for me, even though I still didn’t need it.

Fresh sourdough bread

Because one Thanksgiving a year is not enough

Hilda and I went for a walk in the afternoon. We wore our Wellies because of the standing water everywhere. Just like the tundra, the snow and ice on top of the ground melted but couldn’t go anywhere because the soil was still frozen underneath.This is the trail back by the creek.

This is the trail leading up to the creek, not the creek itself. I know, it's hard to tell.

A terrible wind blew all day Friday. A dead tree came down by the creek, narrowly missing the tree stand.

A tree that blew over in the terrible wind Friday, just missing the tree stand

The creek was higher than at our last visit.

The creek

The bank showed signs of a recent flood. Here are raccoon tracks in the new mud left behind by the high water.

Raccoon tracks in the mud next to the creek

It even looked as if the grass was greening up!

Green grass!

The nice weather didn’t last, of course. It’s only February. Today is once again chilly and gray. Good thing I have a nice turkey dinner to look forward to.

Valentine's Day

We made it through the week without any trips to the emergency room. I continue to be relieved every time I feel like there is something in my eye and can actually find something to take out. No repeat of the corneal abrasion so far.
Skippy went home Friday. I dropped him off on my way to pick Jane up at the airport. It was good to see her, and good to return the cat to his rightful home. We kind of miss him,though. Nothing quite like having a cat on your lap on a cold winter evening.

Terry and I celebrated Valentine’s Day last night with a trip to Café 40 in Marengo. I didn’t want to go out today because tomorrow is a work day. I am making braised shanks and pin bones for the at-home Valentine’s supper, which is food fit for a special occasion. I will serve it with polenta or cheese grits, call it what you will. I found the beef shanks in the bottom of the freezer. They looked like not enough for a meal, which is how the pin bones got thrown in with them. Who knows what to do with pin bones? It’s one of those odd cuts you only get if you order half of the steer. As my Doubleday cookbook says, when in doubt, braise. I use a recipe for slow cooker Osso Bucco from Fine Cooking, which is made with veal shanks. I call my version, “Osso Beefo.” It’s delicious.

Slow cooker Osso Beefo

February has already been a long month, and we are only halfway through. We had some warm days, but the only effect seems to have been to make the patches of ice smoother. Terry fell flat on his back Friday. He was very careful going over the glacier in front of the polyhouse when entering. By the time he’d putzed around inside for a few minutes, he forgot to be equally careful upon exit. The tip of the ski pole that was supposed to help him stay upright skittered across the ice and down he went. His neck was awfully sore for 36 hours. He is feeling better today. I tell him there is nothing wrong with a few days of rest.

The snow started in the late morning. The snow plow just went by. It hardly seems like enough snow to plow yet, so perhaps the true purpose was to spread salt. Terry points out that the snowplow drivers have not had nearly enough overtime this winter. Without it, their income is not what they are used to. They’re glad it’s snowing on Sunday because they get to work outside their usual schedule. I’m glad because I don’t have to go anywhere today.

I have noticed lately that one sign of creeping winter depression is a perceived need to bake. I have held back from making bread this weekend. I made brownies yesterday and pancakes for breakfast today. While the later is not truly baking, it falls in the general category of carb loading. At the moment, I would most like to hibernate.

The forecast says it will be in the 60’s by the end of the week. I could use an early spring.

This Tuesday will be the second in the Bioneers Speaker series, which I promised to include in my blog and didn’t until now. Last week’s speaker was excellent, and the next two should be just as good. Here's a link with more information: www.mchenry.edu/bioneers

Corneal abrasion

This week I learned about corneal abrasion. It is a special kind of pain. It can happen in the middle of the night, and you might never know what exactly caused it. In my case, I woke up Monday morning feeling like there was something in my eye. I even got out a flashlight to try in vain to locate it. I thought perhaps it was an invisible cat hair. I went to work as usual. The pain just got worse and worse. My eye watered. The corresponding nostril ran. Despite all the leakage, my sinuses backed up causing a headache. I barely made it through lecture, wondering if the students noticed my distress. How could they not? On the way home, I contemplated stopping at urgent care. I decided against it, thinking that once I got home, I could wash whatever was in my eye out and be all better.

I borrowed Hilda’s eye wash cup and solution. The wash brought a little relief. I got through dinner. An hour later, however, the eye started to swell. I made Terry put his pants on and take me to the emergency room. There it was discovered that I had a scratch on my cornea. How? I had not even set foot outside the house all day Sunday. I was not around sand, glass, or metal shavings. It is unnerving to not know the cause because I don’t know how to prevent it, and I sure don’t want to go through it again. Ever. The doctor gave me a little good news, which was that it shouldn’t hurt that much while I slept and that the cornea healed very fast. In a day or two, it would be all better. He gave me some antibiotic drops to keep the eye from getting an infection.

I went to work Tuesday even though I felt like I had a knife stuck in my eye. I thought about apologizing to my class for my appearance and lack of concentration. I decided to follow Julia Child’s advice—never apologize. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, the cornea healed. It took another day for the sinus headache to subside.

It’s a good question for the next time you play Heinous Choices: Would you rather have a toothache or a corneal abrasion? Here’s what I’ve got so far:

Corneal abrasion	Toothache
Wicked pain that obsesses every thought	ditto
Makes you very cranky	ditto
Requires trip to doctor for diagnosis (minus)	Requires trip to dentist for diagnosis (minus)
Goes away on its own in 48 hours (plus)	Needs filling, root canal, or extraction (minus)
Externally visible distress (minus)	Cannot be detected by casual observer (plus)
Impaired vision makes driving a challenge (minus)	Okay to drive (plus)
Less painful during sleep (plus)	No possibility of sleep (minus)

Overall I guess I’d have to pick the corneal abrasion. Still, it would be a heinous choice.

Skippy is settling in. He still doesn’t like being in the cage while we are working, but he comes up to sit on my lap every night. Sometimes he faces me.

Skippy on my lap begging for pets,

Sometimes he sleeps with his head on my arm.

.... sleeping on my arm,

Sometimes he nestles down between my legs.

...stretched out between my legs,

He likes jumping up on the back of the chair. He did that once when I wasn’t in the chair and scared himself when the chair rocked.

and on the back of my chair staring at something invisible on the ceiling

Yesterday Hilda was in the basement to ride the exercise bike. She inadvertently stopped next to Skippy’s kennel to talk to me on her way back upstairs. Skippy stood up on his back legs and reached through the cage to goose her.

Hilda and I walked to the creek again yesterday. The water was higher because of the rain we had last week. There were some treacherous icy spots as well. We had to be very careful.

The creek

The hens enjoyed the sunny day.

The girls out for some sun and fresh air Friday afternoon

You may recall that the heated water bowl that we’d been using with the chickens was less than satisfactory. Every morning it looked like the girls had a pool party. There was water all over around the bowl, and poop and wood chips in the bowl. We had to empty and clean the bowl each day and start over. Gracie’s head feathers were routinely matted down with wetness. I’m not sure why she has to stick her whole head in the bowl to get a drink. She’s always been a spaz-tart

I saw a new heated waterer in a catalog, and Hilda ordered it. It’s going to make life easier. The chickens get water by pecking at a silver knob. When the knob goes in, the water drips out. We installed it yesterday, wondering if they would learn to use it. Lizette was investigating as soon as I put water in it. She always was the first to drink. This morning I saw several of hens drinking. There were dribbles of water underneath each dripper. About half of the water we put in yesterday was gone. Gracie’s head was dry and fluffy. I’m sure that is a relief to her. All I had to do was add more water to the top. Easy peasy!

Lizette investigates the new heated waterer

Cat sitting, continued

Rocky continued to cower beneath the towel for four days with no visible signs of performing any bodily functions, eating and pooping in particular. “I’m afraid he will die of constipation before you get home,” I told Jane Monday night.

Rocky cowering under the towel.

“That would be something of a relief,” she replied, since all Rocky ever does at home is hide in the basement, “but I know you would feel bad about it. Maybe you should just take him back to my house. He only eats dry food anyway. You can check on him once a week.”

I skipped the optional meeting I had Tuesday afternoon to take Rocky home. As I predicted, I only had to put the cat carrier in the kennel, and he crawled right in. Jane emailed me twice and texted once with instructions on where to find the covers for the furniture, where litter boxes had to be moved from the garage into the house, could I check on the box turtle’s water as long as I was there, and so forth. Email has become our preferred communication method. Phone conversation has been difficult while she has been in Florida. For some reason, the calls get dropped after 4 minutes.

I left Rocky in the carrier until all was ready in the house. I opened the carrier door, and he shot out across the living room and to the basement, never to be seen again. I checked on him again when I had to be in Elgin two days later for a doctor’s appointment two days later. The dry food had gone down, and there were two poops in the litter box. All good.

Skippy was happier too. The boys get along okay at Jane’s, but being together in a kennel put a strain on the relationship. Skippy complains about being in the kennel and takes exception to only having five minutes of pets and belly rubs in the morning. I remind him that if he was at the real kennel, he wouldn’t get out at all.

We have lap time after supper when he’s in the mood. Sometimes he just paces around the chairs and does random walk-overs. At other times he settles in quite well. He loves the red blanket.

Skippy lays claim to my lap

And settles in between my legs.

In other news, Gracie and/or Nadia have started laying again! We have had two white eggs this week.

The return of white eggs from the Silver Crested chickens

Hilda and I had a lovely walk to the creek today. It was 40° and calm. It almost seemed like spring except for the winter sun. We are hoping that we don’t get smacked with another ice storm Tuesday, but the El Nino pattern is likely to produce another warm wet front colliding with a cold one.  Not much we can do about it.

 

The winter sun on a cloudy afternoon

House guests

We’re cat sitting for Jane’s two cats while she is in Florida for a few weeks. Skippy is friendly and sociable, but has to be watched because he chews on wires. Rocky is the quintessential fraidy-cat.  Even Jane hardly ever sees him.

Jane drove up Thursday afternoon before to deliver the kennel, food, and other cat supplies. We got the kennel set up and tried to figure out what to do about cat beds. We ended up with one bed on top of another, thinking that the extra insulation would be good on the cold tile floor.

There was some question about rounding Rocky up when it was time to come to my house. When I was done at work Friday, I went to Jane’s to pick the cats up. When I arrived, Rocky was nowhere to be seen. When Jane spotted him upstairs earlier, she shut the door to the basement. Experience suggested that once he was downstairs, he could never be found. He was doing a darned good job hiding upstairs. We checked under and behind all the furniture. No Rocky. I looked under one of the reclining chairs in the living room one more time. I pulled out the foot and saw that the fabric beneath hung down suspiciously. I reached under and determined that it was filled with something of considerable mass. I tried extracting the cat from the front but only managed to get grease spots on both sleeves of my good yellow oxford. I knew I should have brought my play clothes. We folded the foot up to the chair again and tipped the chair forward. From there, it was possible to grab Rocky by the nape of the neck and extract him.

Skippy was an easy grab. We put the carriers in my car, and off I went. I put both cats in the kennel overnight to give them some time to get used to their new surroundings. Rocky claimed the bed, which made it obvious that there was no room for Skip. I took the top bed out. Both of the boys cowered in the corner behind the remaining bed.

Skippy (all gray) and Rocky (gray and white) cowering in the corner of the kennel behind the cat bed

I put the second bed in next to the first bed. Not having anywhere else to go, they both lay on the larger bed. 

The boys share the large cat bed

As they grew a little more comfortable, Rocky took the smaller bed, and Skippy stayed on the big bed. I put a towel over Rocky because he likes to hide. Since then, I have only seen him out this morning when I first got up. He took one look at me, and crawled under the towel. I am much too scary for him.

Skippy on his bed; Rocky under the towel

On Saturday morning, as a precaution, I closed the doors to the closets, store room, kitchen, and bedroom before opening the kennel to put in fresh food. I was particularly concerned that neither of the cats got into the store room. Della had peed back there once, and the presence of cat urine is a big sign to other cats that says, “Public Rest Room.” When it happened, I cleaned the area with every cat pee treatment known to man. To this day, when temperature and humidity conditions are just right (or just wrong), I can still smell it. It is a good bet that a cat can smell it any time.

Skippy was more than ready to be free. As soon as I opened the kennel he was out. And he took off to the one place I hadn’t thought of—under the stairs. Oh well, I thought, he’ll come out eventually. In my next thought, I solved a mystery from long ago.

When we first moved into the basement with Della, there was a period of time when I smelled cat pee at the bottom of the stairs. It couldn’t be, I told myself. The bottom of the stairs was outside the basement door. Della had never been there. I now realized that the pee had not been in front of the stairs, but underneath them. I also had the sinking feeling that it would behoove me to get Skippy out before he had a chance to mark his territory.

The space under the stairs is filled with remnants of the house construction plus a table saw. I rolled out the table saw and discovered that my path was blocked by a shelf about two feet off the floor.  I moved the paint cans that were under the shelf and crawled past the assorted lumber and rolls of leftover linoleum. Skippy was as far back as he could be. As I approached, he tried to crawl behind the drywall, but didn’t get far.  He turned around to face me again. Flashlight in one hand, I grabbed his front feet with the other and began inching my way backward, dragging him through the dust and cobwebs.

He went back in the kennel for a time out. I went to the bedroom to put my clothes in the laundry basket. Newly attired, I did what I could to blockade the area under the stairs. I let Skippy out again, and he proceeded to dust behind the dressers. Still, he didn’t get under the stairs. Eager though he was for attention, he would not hop up on my lap, even though I had his favorite red blankie spread over my legs. I sat on the floor, and he circled around me, purring and rubbing his head and back on my outstretched hand.

When I got tired of keeping track of his whereabouts, I put him in the kennel again. He was NOT pleased. Interestingly, he did the same thing many of us do when we are angry and frustrated. He picked a fight with his roommate. Growls and hisses ensued. After a brief boxing match, they settled down again.

He ran out again this morning as soon as I opened the kennel. He disappeared while I was making my tea. I was distressed to see him reappear on top of the table saw. He had climbed over my barricades. I gave the problem to Terry suggested that perhaps something could be done with the netting that we use to keep the birds from bashing into the window during nesting season. He collected the materials and in a few minutes had it installed. We’ll see how that goes.

The net under the stairs

We had a breakthrough this morning. Skippy hopped up on both our laps. He didn’t stay long, but I think that will change. He could be out of the cage longer if he would just settle down where we could see him. It’s hard to explain things to a cat. The first days are the hardest. We will get into a routine before long. I hope.

Martin Luther King Day

Two words for the weather today: clear and cold. Here is the weather station when I got up at 5:00. Note the sad face which goes with the low humidity. Note also that it was chilly in the kitchen until the furnace got geared up for the day.

The weather station was sad today

Nothing to be done but make a nice bowl of hot oatmeal. I put in some dried apples that I made last fall along with raisins that came from a much warmer place.

Oatmeal for breakfast

I had Martin Luther King Day off for the first time since I was a Federal employee. Frankly, I think Dr. King would have wanted us to be in school. It is hard to argue with a 3-day weekend, but having this Monday off means that the class schedule will end with Monday right up to Finals week.

Classes start tomorrow. I am in my usual I-don’t-want-to-go-back-to-work funk. I love my job. I am one of the truly fortunate persons who can make a decent living pursuing my passion. I might even change a life or two in the next 16 weeks. What I don’t like is rushing around in the morning. I like to lie in bed for a little while before getting up. I like to sit down in my jammies and have a cup of tea before I start my day. I like wearing sweats instead of teacher clothes. I like doing my little writing projects, feeding the chickens in the daylight, putzing in the kitchen.

Tonight I will pack my lunch and lay out my clothes, hoping that the pants will still fit after 5 weeks on holiday. I’ll get right up when the alarm goes off tomorrow morning, unload the dishwasher, exercise, do the chicken chores in the dark, take a shower, eat breakfast, brush my teeth, and head out into the cold world with a pint of tea in a sippy cup. Rush, rush, rush.

Yet every semester goes faster than the one before it. In the blink on an eye, it will be May and time to plant potatoes. We’ll get though another winter somehow.