By Janice Lindsay
Contributing Writer
When the world’s problems seem huge and immovable, I wonder, “What can one little person do?”
Then I remember: Radon machine.
Like many houses, mine sits near granite, which can contain trace amounts of uranium and radium. When those elements decay, they release radon gas, a radioactive substance that could cause lung cancer if inhaled over a long period of time so you probably don’t want much of it in your house. It can arrive in water from a well or soil under the house.
A few years ago, I had my well water tested. Radon. I invested in a remediation system, which treats the water before it gets into my water lines and thus into my air when I turn a faucet on.
The imposing machine in my cellar is a tank about four feet tall, and almost that much square. Pipes enter and exit, some with little valves and a couple with smaller tanks hanging from them. The tank’s top sports a little tank and a control box and valves and dials and levers and wires and pipes and gizmos that I don’t know the names of.
The machine cycles on and off. When it’s on, it roars like an 18-wheeler, only more ragged.
You get used to house noises, so you don’t really notice them until a sound that doesn’t seem normal seeps into your brain.
My brain noticed something wrong with the radon machine at 10 p.m. the night before Thanksgiving. It cycled on but not off. On, and on, and on it ran. This was not right. I assumed that no radon expert would welcome my call late on the night before a holiday. I was On My Own.
I already knew how to bypass the system in case something goes wrong. You turn two big levers that are so red that you can’t miss them. Bypass successful, water running to the house, but not through the treatment system.
Now I searched the manual for “How To Turn The Roaring Monster Off.” I assumed a complicated series of buttons or levers must be pushed or pulled in the correct order. I found lots of words that looked like English but whose meanings were a mystery, but nothing that said, “To Turn Off.” (Owner’s manuals are designed to show the owner that you’re not equipped to handle this and you’d better pay an expert to do it.)
Finally, I wrote the model number on a piece of paper, took it to my computer, and asked Google how to turn this model off.
The complicated turn-off steps for this machine were as follows: Unplug it.
Even I could do that.
After the holiday weekend, I called the radon people and learned what might have gone wrong, some of it involving replacement parts to the tune of a couple of thousand dollars.
The technician who came showed me the defective element, a stuck valve, about two inches long, cost: $25.
That tiny part brought down that whole big roaring behemoth.
Never underestimate the power of a tiny part!
In the overall scheme of world affairs, most of us are tiny parts.
Could these tiny parts make a difference? Maybe? I remember Little Valve.
I also remember a song I learned as a child in vacation Bible school. “Do not wait until some deed of greatness you may do, do not wait to shed your light afar. To the many duties ever near you now be true. Brighten the corner where you are.”
Brighten your own little corner. Sometimes that’s all we can do. It might make a difference. Right, Little Valve?
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