Full Circle: Wind Farming, Local Style

By Adam Howard

“So you think it will stand a Mountain Wind?” my grandmother said as Kirk adjusted one of the 20 guy wires on the 100-foot-tall tower he’d just erected along the edge of the meadow.

“Course we don’t get them like we used to,” she went on. “I remember when my father used to tie a rope between the barn and the house to get out to do chores.”

Kirk’s reluctant to nod either way, knowing that this area can see winds upward of 100 miles per hour. But it’s precisely because of what locals here also call Mountain Blows that he’s here installing this 1,000-watt Bergey wind generator on the defunct farm where my grandmother was born in 1920.

Gram was part of the peanut gallery of neighbors and friends amassed on this particularly arid, but calm July day to watch the first windmill to go up in our valley in 80 years. The generator, eight feet in diameter, wouldn’t be pumping water for cattle like those traditional machines. With any luck it would power an electric water pump and provide the extra juice my growing family would need in the coming years of diaper washing, construction, television watching, computing and who knows what else.

Like my grandmother, her grandfather and his, we country people are independent sorts. So when my wife Holly and I decided to settle on the family place in 2000, we also decided to take a chance, subvert the local power grid, and install a 5,000-watt solar system to provide for our energy needs. No gas backup generator. What we couldn’t make from the sun we’d supplement with a propane fridge, water heater and range. We’d heat with wood cut locally. But we wouldn’t go without. We’d need conventional 110-volt service to run power tools, and whatever other modern conveniences even the most resourceful country-people struggle without, like running water, a septic system and ESPN.

For the first four-plus years, life was good. And even during the dark of November and December, we’d have power enough to turn on every light in the house at the same time and blast the stereo — a requisite reminder to our grid-tied neighbors — especially when they lost power during the odd storm or Mountain Blow. Construction projects were completed (some still linger) with planers, circular saws and air compressors in all but those gloomy months. And though our neighbors—mostly farm friends of several generations — questioned our solar system at first, there was always a light on at the Howard house to quell any doubts.

In May of 2004, the arrival or our first child, Hazel, would change things. Suddenly there were diapers to wash and dry and now someone would be home constantly running water, lights and watching not just football but Sponge Bob. In our tiny little corner of the country, we were faced with a California-like crisis. If we didn’t want to experience roving blackouts, we needed more power. But from what source? Not the grid, we hoped.

So we turned to the same wind that nearly knocked great-granddad down on his way to chores in the time before Rural Electrification — a time when everyone in country was off the grid, relying on Kohler and Delco gas-powered systems. But what would our neighbors think of a 100-foot tower?

We carefully researched the costs (per watt produced, wind is more economical than solar or micro-hydro for small systems like ours). And we listened to whom I like to call the modern lineman, Kirk our local windmill and solar installer. “Windmills are a great way to lock in at least a portion of your energy costs for the next 25-30 years,” he’d said. That’s true, if the thing doesn’t get blown over.

We started asking the neighbors who would be able to see machine and tower in their view-shed. Not because it was mandated by the town or state, but by plain and simple neighborliness. And to us, each of them had absolute veto power. Thankfully, given our site, that would mean asking only a handful of neighbors.

Even with consent we were nervous. What would passing motorists think? And would this even be a good site for consistent wind? But the most pressing concern was whether or not the little machine would withstand a Mountain Blow.

In the end, it was my grandmother’s approval that was most important.

“I think it’s pretty special,” she said as Kirk tied wire to the underground cable that runs to the house. “It’s the first in town. It gives you the power that you’re going to need. I can’t see why anyone would object to it really.”

Why indeed?

 

Epilogue: Turns out Howard’s wind site is great. Too great. After over two years of providing a surplus of power, the windmill quit in October. High winds had literally melted the ceramic brushes. Since then he’s been supplementing solar with a 440- watt gas generator. He hopes to get it back up as soon as it stops snowing. Likely June at this rate.