When the Furnace Goes Out
I came inside at dusk after a day away from the house.
Chill permeated walls and floors.
My house is well-insulated and I had new windows installed last year.
Yet, it felt as if a door waved open.
The furnace had quit.
Again.
On a Saturday night.
The forecast predicted a low of 3 degrees by Sunday evening.
For several years, I have hovered over a repair person, asking questions, watching and learning.
After all, I would like to save paying for a service call if I can.
I learned how to drain the funky condenser pump.
I know how to scrape the ignitor switch.
I can unclog hoses.
I checked all of those usual culprits.
But this time, when I toggled the switch, absolutely nothing happened.
I gathered firewood and patted myself on the back that I had cleaned out the ashes from the woodstove already.
A few pieces of barnwood on top of newspaper sent the chill out the chimney.
I’m not a particularly adept fire starter.
Those barn boards are dry.
I heard the wind howling outside and thought about sparks from the chimney.
I also thought about waking up to a cold house.
I detest crawling out from under warm covers to shiver inside goosebumps.
So I piled wood into the stove, closed the damper and crossed my fingers.
By morning, the furnace had foregone the opportunity to miraculously fix itself.
I texted the repair person. I have him on speed-dial. I said I had a fire going and asked if I should check anything else.
He called to suggest reading the code for the blinking diagnostic light. It could be a stuck pressure switch.
A quick search on Google interpreted the three red blinks: a stuck pressure switch. It even showed me what a pressure switch looks like.
I unhooked a few hoses from the switch and tapped on it for good measure.
I switched the furnace on and it roared to life.
Literally roared.
The motor clunked and sputtered and sounded like my diesel truck
I stoked the fire again and looked up the price for a new pressure switch and motor along with the average lifespan of a furnace.
It turns out that furnaces last about 15 to 20 years.
This short lifespan surprised me. I think of a furnace as part of the infrastructure of a house, like the foundation and walls.
Apparently, a furnace is more like a lightbulb.
It burns out after a few hundred hours.
Now, I am debating whether to spend $500 on a couple of new parts for an 18-year-old furnace.
My other choice is to invest $3000 to $4000 in a new furnace and eliminate one more periodic hassle.
I think about my options as I chop more wood.
As I swing my axe, I feel like Travis on Old Yeller.
Chopping wood should be considered too much fun.
I take aim, swing over my head and watch pieces fly everywhere as the axe buries itself.
As I chop, I consider the sticks in my pile.
I think about the rings in the wood and the tree that grew.
Once it was cut down, that wood was milled into true 2 by 4s, not 1 ¾ inches, then nailed together as a panel in the sheep barn.
Or that tree trunk was left round and tamped into the ground as a fencepost.
Each piece has watched life and death, felt blizzards and blistering sun, as it did its job.
Now, it completes its last job – warming my daughter and me – before returning to carbon and starting the cycle all over again.
As I swing the axe once more, having the furnace go out doesn’t seem as bad as I thought.