The November wind off Casco Bay cuts across the rooftop where Yehuda Gittelson crouches, drill in hand, securing aluminum rails to the southern slope of a colonial revival home. Forty feet below, his company van idles in the driveway, its back doors open to reveal coils of wire, junction boxes, and twenty-four solar panels waiting to go up.
“Hand me the impact driver,” he calls down to his crew partner, who’s hauling equipment up the ladder.
It’s 8:30 on a Thursday morning, and this is the second installation Gittelson has worked this week. The 28-year-old spent two years working for a wind farm development company in Aroostook County after earning his mechanical engineering degree from the University of Maine at Orono. Three years ago, he relocated to Portland and shifted his focus to solar installation.
The transition surprised some of his college friends. He had strong grades and job offers at engineering firms. Instead, he took a position that involves climbing ladders in all weather, drilling into stranger’s roofs, and troubleshooting electrical systems in cramped attics.
“I like seeing the thing get built,” he says during a mid-morning break, pouring black coffee from a battered thermos. “Wind projects took years. You’d work on permits and designs and then maybe, if everything went right, you’d see turbines go up two years later. With solar, you start on a Monday and the system is producing power by Friday.”
Maine passed legislation in 2019 setting a goal of 80 percent renewable energy by 2030 (https://www.maine.gov/governor/mills/news/governor-mills-signs-major-renewable-energy-and-climate-change-bills-law-2019-06-26). The state’s solar industry has expanded significantly since then. According to the Solar Energy Industries Association, Maine currently employs 708 people in solar-related jobs across 55 companies (https://seia.org/state-solar-policy/maine-solar). Installation companies across the state are hiring, but finding qualified technicians remains difficult.
The work requires a particular combination of skills. Gittelson spends his days calculating structural loads, navigating electrical code, and explaining kilowatt-hour projections to skeptical homeowners. He works with city inspectors, coordinates with utility companies, and occasionally negotiates with historical preservation boards when installing panels on older properties.
“You need to know your way around a roof,” he says, walking the ridge line to check his measurements. “But you also need to understand electrical systems, building science, weather patterns. And you have to be comfortable explaining all of it to people who just want to know if this thing is actually going to save them money.”
The homeowners on this job, a retired couple, are inside reviewing paperwork with the company’s sales representative. They’re installing a 7.2-kilowatt system that should cover roughly 80 percent of their annual electricity use. The total cost runs near $20,000 before federal tax credits, a number that makes many potential customers hesitate despite long-term savings projections.
Gittelson doesn’t handle the sales side. His job begins after contracts are signed. He shows up, assesses the roof structure, maps out the optimal panel layout, and gets the system operational. On a good day, the work has a satisfying rhythm. On difficult days, he’s troubleshooting unexpected roof damage, dealing with outdated electrical panels, or working through weather delays.
The pay sits around what he’d make in an entry-level engineering office job, though the ceiling is lower. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, solar installers earned a median wage of approximately $23.46 per hour in 2023. Experienced installers with NABCEP certification can earn significantly more, particularly in supervisory or specialized roles. Gittelson has his certification and has turned down offers to move into project management positions at his company.
“Maybe eventually,” he says, securing another mounting rail. “But right now I like the work. You’re outside, you’re solving problems, you’re building something physical.”
He shares a converted warehouse loft in East Bayside with two roommates. Most of his income goes toward expenses and a savings account for a cabin purchase in western Maine. The plan shifts depending on his mood. Some weeks he’s certain he’ll leave Portland within a year. Other weeks, after discovering a new restaurant or catching a show at a local venue, staying in the city seems preferable.
The afternoon brings the crew to the panel-lifting stage. Each one weighs about forty pounds and must be secured with precision. The angle matters. The spacing matters. A poorly installed system underperforms, and homeowners notice immediately when their electric bills don’t drop as promised.
Gittelson works methodically, checking each connection twice. He’s installed enough systems now that the process feels automatic, but he’s seen what happens when installers rush. Loose wiring. Inadequate weatherproofing. Panels that rattle in wind storms.
“This system is going to sit on this roof for twenty-five years,” he says, tightening a final bolt. “You want to do it right.”
The sun is angling low over the bay when the installation is complete. Gittelson runs a final systems check, confirms everything is producing power, and walks the homeowners through their new monitoring app. Tomorrow he’ll be in Scarborough. Next week brings maintenance calls on systems installed last year.
The work isn’t glamorous, and it won’t make him wealthy. But on clear winter days, standing on a roof with the ocean visible in the distance and panels humming with production, the job has compensations that office work doesn’t offer. For now, that seems to be enough.
