It isn’t like one of
those holiday scenes with a flurry of snow swirling, caught inside
a vigorously shaken globe of winter wonder. It’s only a glass
cylinder about the size of a three-pound coffee can, attached to my
telephone post. A silver disc spins inside it. Vaguely resembling a
CD player, it’s known in the utilities business as an
electric meter. It measures my indulgences. A long time ago, an
employee from the electric company used to stop by to read its
numbers. Eventually, customers were asked to read their own
numbers. Then about 10 years ago, the electric company replaced my
old meter, and when I looked out my window after dark, a tiny red
light winked back at me from under the glass, steady as an
omnipotent eye. Now my meter reads itself.
Benjamin
Franklin’s early experiment with electricity involved a kite,
a key and a lightning bolt. Frankly, he was taking far more chances
than I would take. My experiment required only a flashlight and a
steady hand. It involved going outside one night to watch the meter
spin.
I’ll admit I didn’t come to any
earth-shattering conclusion other than noticing how each revolution
was costing me money, so I went back to the house and turned on
every big name-brand appliance I owned, then plugged in every
Christmas light. In other words, I cranked it up, just to see how
much faster the meter moved. It whirled.
Next, I went
back into the house and shut everything off. I assumed the meter
would slow down, which it did, but I was surprised to see that it
never stopped. I returned inside the house and unplugged each and
every cord from its wall socket; it continued to spin. Something —
maybe just the pull of the moon — wouldn’t allow my meter to
quit. Who knows? It’s even possible that, like a hamster in
its cage, I had been expending enough energy running back and forth
house to keep the wheel turning.
Since this experience,
my first consumer-based experiment, I’ve located more than a
few permanent electrical leaks in my home, most of them approved of
or even sponsored by corporate manufacturers and, more than likely,
the electric company.
It’s shocking to see how many
electrical devices absorb a continuous flow of electricity just to
keep in touch. And once they’re plugged in, they beep, flash
their little lights, wobble and whir, making all the sounds to let
me know they’re pleased. In other words, they are
manufactured like parasites, to attach themselves to the grid and
suck it dry until the device overheats, or the power company goes
belly-up, whichever comes first.
Granted, most of these
devices require only a trickle of juice to keep, say, that tiny red
LCD light on the TV, DVD player, or surge protector glowing, or the
numerals on yet another digital clock crisp enough to read. I
counted 14 clocks in my house, which helped me decide that
it’s time for my family to start paying attention to how much
electricity we use. The silver disc spins silently, which is
probably best, because if it generated a high-pitched whine the
faster it spun, I’d have all the neighborhood dogs in my
yard, while cities like Phoenix or Las Vegas would have their
entire populations running for their Civil Defense shelters.
The best answer for the West still comes from the
prospect of generating one’s own electricity through solar
power or any of the alternatives bandied about, such as tapping
underground heat or wind. All of the technology has been around for
decades, but some people must still believe it’s a
tree-hugger’s dream. I mean, I thought America would be
mass-producing fuel-efficient cars right after President Nixon
lowered the national speed limit to 55 mph.
What I need
at my house is a static electrician, someone who can wire the
carpeting in my living room and hallway so that the electrical
discharge I’m constantly firing off into the unknown can be
harnessed. If I’m lucky, and if I actually drag my feet the
way the government is doing, maybe I can generate enough
electricity during the next cold spell to sell my surplus power
back to the electric company.
David Feela is a
contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High
Country News in Paonia, Colorado (hcn.org). He teaches
and writes in Cortez, Colorado.
Republish our articles for free, online or in print, under a Creative Commons license.
