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years ago, we winterized it,” Jonah explained, striding toward the center of the greenhouse.
    â€œYou winterized it?” Billy parroted. When he had worked at Rose Hill Farm, the greenhouse was cold during the winter. He was able to overwinter perennials when winter hit, avoiding frost damage, by moving everything into the center of the greenhouse, but there was no heat or lights to extend the growing season. “How are you heating it? Not through kerosene, I hope. Plants are sensitive to the gas it gives off.”
    Bess pointed to a row of large black horse water tubs, each covered tightly with a metal garbage can lid, also black, tucked against the south wall. “We painted them black. The black of the tub attracts the sun’s heat and the water holds it, giving off heat during the night.”
    Billy was impressed. He felt a smile stretch his cheeks and had to work the corners of his mouth back to a line. “It really keeps the entire greenhouse warm?”
    She nodded. “But we found that two tubs worked better than one. The greenhouse stays fairly warm throughout the night.”
    â€œIf the temperature drops below zero for a long stretch,” Jonah added, “I’ll put bales of hay around the exterior. And we’ll bring our most fragile plants into the barn.” He crossedhis arms over his chest. “Last winter, we had seven days below zero, so we added plastic jugs filled with water—painted black like those horse water tubs—let them soak up the sun during the day and set them throughout the greenhouse to balance the temperature.”
    â€œAnd it kept the greenhouse heated?”
    â€œWell, not toasty, but not freezing. Water’s the best for passive solar.”
    Billy gestured with a wing-like motion. “What about lighting?”
    â€œThat’s been a little trickier,” Jonah said. “Like you said, we didn’t want kerosene or propane in here. A fellow in Lancaster just started a solar company and asked if he could use our greenhouse as a test site.” He walked to the far end of the greenhouse, where the workbench was nestled in against the wall, and pointed to a row of solar panels on the far end of the rise, facing south. “I could never have afforded those panels had this fellow not volunteered them; they’re pretty costly. They have a few glitches. Not a perfect system, but they seem to work more often than not.”
    Billy peered out the back end of the greenhouse to see the solar panels. Four of them stood side by side, above snow level, and at an angle to shed snow and rain. Amazing. Just amazing.
    Two years ago, he had proposed a recommendation to the Extension office to consider solar panels for the greenhouses. America’s developing space program had catapulted the science behind solar photovoltaic cells into viable use for homes and businesses, and he’d figured out that the panels could pay for themselves within a few years. His proposal was shot down, but that was when energy prices had dropped again and it was assumed they’d stay low. A few weeks ago, Jill told him the proposal might get a second look and could he please hurry and update it? He did, knowing it was a desperate reaction by theExtension office to combat high energy bills and the continually rising cost of gas triggered from the nation’s oil embargo in 1973.
    Billy was astounded by the progressive thinking on this simple Amish rose farm. He swiveled on his heel to face Jonah. “Caleb Zook had no objection with you working with a non-Amish?”
    â€œNo,” Jonah said, a look on his face as if such a thought had never occurred to him. “It solved a problem of lighting, helped us extend our growing season, and didn’t cost a thing. And we’re not really working with this English businessman. He comes out and fixes broken pieces, makes adjustments, asks me questions. To his way of thinking, we’re doing him a