“Try the switch.”

I flipped it.

It came up quiet and did not shake the floor, which my grandfather’s never quite stopped doing.

And the two of us stood in a workshop by a creek in Silver Plume on a Saturday in April with a machine running, four feet from four holes in the concrete that you can no longer see unless somebody tells you where to look.

He shut it off after about a minute and we did not say anything for a bit.