Housing checked.
The tail vane went to a fabricator one county over.
Straightened.
Rewelded.
Mount rebuilt.
The wheel needed several new sails.
The tower did not survive.
New galvanized sections were fabricated to the original height and geometry.
The drive shaft was replaced completely.
The controller received upgrades Graham had wanted to make for years but never had an excuse to justify.
New protective relay.
Better transfer monitoring.
Independent alarms.
A configuration that could tolerate losing the mechanical input without immediately confusing the electric system.
I approved that.
I was sentimental about the machine.
Not stupid about engineering.
“Will it still run the way it did?”
I asked Graham.
“Better.”
“That's not what I asked.”
He smiled.
“Yes.”
The windmill would still turn the mechanical pump.
Still supply auxiliary reference.
Still do useful work.
The difference was that one broken component would no longer cause the same chain reaction.
That seemed like a reasonable lesson to take from the experience.
The boundary survey happened during the rebuild.
Bright permanent monuments went in.
Coordinates recorded.
Map updated.
The association's property ended exactly where I had always said it ended.
The maintenance easement followed exactly the narrow corridor my father's agreement described.
Not one foot more.
Denise came to the fence while the surveyors were working.
“So you were right.”
“I knew where my fence was.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“People are embarrassed.”
“They don't need to be.”
“Some voted for her.”
“They voted based on what she told them.”
Denise looked toward the broken wheel.
“Still.”
I shrugged.
“People are allowed to be wrong.”
She studied me.
“You're calmer than I would be.”
“No.”
I smiled.
“I just do my yelling alone.”
She laughed.
One Saturday during the restoration, I painted the tail vane.
White.
My grandfather's color.
My father always complained white showed dirt too easily.
Granddad said that was the point.
“If it's dirty enough to bother you, it's time to inspect it.”
I used an old brush instead of a sprayer.
Graham saw me.
“You know we can have that professionally coated.”
“I know.”
“It'll last longer.”
“Probably.”
He watched me continue.
“You're doing it anyway.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
The tower went up on a Thursday morning in September.
I sat on my porch with coffee.
Crane lifted the upper section.
Workers bolted it.
Wheel came next.
For almost an hour, it hung against the sky.
Then the crew secured it.
Connected the shaft.
Installed the brake.
Tail vane.
Final alignment.
Graham spent the afternoon testing.
At 4:17, he walked downhill.
“You want to do it?”
“What?”
“Release brake.”
I followed him up.
The brake lever felt different because parts were new.