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.