This Island Trusted Keepers to Hold the Light. Trust Us to Hold the Chimney.

Zero, and it stays zero. Lighthouse keepers walked their rounds because the light mattered, not because anyone metered the stairs — and this firm inherited the habit. The round takes in firebox, damper, throat, the flue's full rise, crown, cap, flashing and the brick standing in the weather, and it ends with the verdict told to your face. No bill follows, no pitch rides along. The one priced thing in this house is the written log: findings entered with photographs, $149, written only when you order it.

It's the whole idea of the place. A light that quits at dinner is no light at all, so the phone works keeper's hours — Thursday through Wednesday, midnight through midnight, holidays no different. The voice that answers works on chimneys: it can talk a stubborn damper open, weigh a storm-stripped cap, or start a truck toward you in the dark. One standing exception outranks everything: open flame where it doesn't belong, or the least suspicion of carbon monoxide, means everyone out and 911 rung before this number.

Different problems, not fewer. The South Shore's tract decades built fast: builder-grade fireboxes, thin block chases, factory flues now past fifty, and caps that were an afterthought if they existed. Those systems fail quietly — a rusted damper here, a cracked factory pan there — while everyone assumes a young-ish house can't have an old chimney. The round reads them like any century farmhouse, and the commonest fixes are mercifully small when caught.

It goes hunting. Gale gusts work caps loose bolt by bolt, drive rain sideways under flashing that only ever expected rain from above, and push downdrafts that shove smoke back into parlors on the exposed streets. After every named blow we field a week of calls that one bolted gale guard or one properly stepped flashing job would have prevented. If your stack takes the wind head-on, say so — the hardware gets specified for it.

Match it to the fires, not the calendar page. A hearth that burned through an Island winter has earned its cleaning before the next one; a flue that sat cold since spring gets looked at before it works again. Furnace and boiler flues keep their own yearly appointment — their failures are quiet, corrosive and invisible from the living room, which is exactly why they get skipped.

Fast enough to keep your closing date. Deals move to the head of the watch list: the free round is scheduled within days, the camera goes down whichever flue the lawyers are arguing about, and the $149 written log with photographs is in your inbox one business day after you order it — entered so attorney, lender and buyer each find their line without ringing us to translate.

Our keepers, on our books. Every tech is a direct hire — screened before day one, trained in-house, never a day-labor stranger — and works under this firm's liability and workers' compensation policies. Ask when you book, and the certificate of insurance reaches your email ahead of the truck. Your roof, our people, our paper: that order never changes.

On nothing of yours. The approach gets runners, the hearth mouth gets shrouded and taped shut, and a filtered vacuum stays breathing the whole time the brush is at work — most cleanings finish inside an hour. The soot's whole journey ends in the vacuum drum on the truck, and the only change indoors is a chimney that pulls like it's young.