Skip to main content

The Electric Grid

In this episode - The Electric Grid . . .

Flip a switch, and a light comes on. In most cases, the electricity to power that device came from an enormous interconnected system called the electric grid. Have you ever wondered how it works?

What is the Electric Grid?

An electric grid is a network of synchronized power providers and consumers connected by transmission and distribution lines and operated by one or more control centers. When most people talk about the power "grid," they're referring to the transmission system for electricity.

The continental United States does not have a national grid. Instead, there are three grids: the Eastern Interconnect, the Western Interconnect, and the Texas Interconnect. In Alaska and Hawaii, several smaller systems interconnect parts of each state.

Electricity gets generated in many different ways: Power plants that burn oil, gas, or coal. Nuclear plants. Solar arrays. Wind farms and hydroelectric Dams where water cascades. In most places, the grid connects hundreds or more of these places to a vast network of wires and equipment. Electric current can travel along many paths within this network. Power also can flow either way along the cables. Equipment directs the current where needed. 

Two-way wires allow the use of alternating current or AC. Electric grids in most countries use AC current. AC means the current switches direction many times per second. With AC, transformers can boost the voltage or force of the current. High voltage is more efficient for sending electricity over long distances through wires. Transformers then step the voltage down to lower, safer levels before the current travels onto your home or business.

How does this affect you?

Unless you live "off-the-grid" (in a remote cabin in the mountains), you take electricity for granted every day in many ways;  your coffee pot, refrigerator, heating, air-conditioning, lighting, television, charging your phone, and so much more. Speaking of television, I'm sure you've seen commercials touting that you can eliminate your electric bill by going Solar. I'm sorry that's not possible. Why? Because your Solar system is connected to the grid.

The utility company that provides you with power has charges on your bill called "Non-bypassable" charges.

Non-bypassable charges are fees you pay for every kilowatt-hour of electricity you consume from the grid. These charges can fund energy assistance programs for low-income households and energy efficiency programs. These charges apply even if you buy your grid-supplied power from an outside power company.

According to Chris Pilong, an electrical engineer at PJM Interconnection in Audubon, Penn. There's a catch. "We need to keep things perfectly balanced." PJM runs the grid for all or parts of 13 states, plus the District of Columbia.

By balanced, Pilong means that the amount of electricity supplied at any time must match the amount used. Too much power can overheat wires or damage equipment. Too little power can lead to problems such as blackouts and brownouts. Blackouts are losses of all power to some regions. Brownouts are partial drops in the system's ability to supply power.

Why must I be connected?

I can hear you saying, "But wait just one minute, I get credit for the excess power we generate on our bill. What if I just disconnect from the grid?"

Ok, but what happens at night. How do you run your appliances and lights? The typical answer these days is battery storage. Sounds easy, but have you ever looked into what's required to use battery storage to be independent of the grid?

That's an entirely different subject. We will explore battery storage in another episode.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.

References:
https://freedomforever.com/blog/non-bypassable-charges/
https://www.sciencenewsforstudents.org/article/explainer-what-electric-grid

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...

The Endless Work of Wisdom

It always makes me smile. The moment people learn I've officially entered what I like to call the Great Un-Working (retirement), they almost immediately ask the same question: “So . . . What do you do now?" I think they're expecting me to say I'm restoring a vintage sports car, hiking the John Muir Trail, or finally becoming fluent in French.   Instead, I tell them: "I live life deliberately." That's usually the point when I get a polite nod, followed by the unmistakable look of someone wondering whether I've simply found a more sophisticated way to say, “I’m becoming a bum.” Apparently, "living deliberately" sounds suspiciously like unemployment, just better branding. The truth is, what living deliberately looks like for me right now is taking time to synthesize a lifetime of experiences into these weekly reflections. It's slowing down long enough to ask what those experiences have taught me, while keeping the door wide open to the poss...

A Tucson Typewriter Tale

One of the great joys of wandering without much of a plan is that the universe occasionally rewards your lack of organization. During my recent visit to Tucson, AZ, Robert and I were strolling through the Annex this afternoon, doing what tourists and newly minted retirees like me have elevated to an Olympic sport: meandering. The Annex is one of those places where every few steps there's another handmade candle, artisan coffee, or vintage object someone rescued from a garage sale and convinced the rest of us was always destined to become art. Then I saw something that genuinely stopped me. A young woman standing quietly behind a manual typewriter. Not a laptop designed to look like a typewriter. Not a quirky Bluetooth keyboard. An honest-to-goodness mechanical typewriter—the sort of machine that once announced every sentence to the entire office with a satisfying clack and enough force to wake nearby pigeons. With an iPhone 16 sitting in my pocket in an age when people write novels...