Last Thursday night, we had one of those late summer storms that Missouri likes to throw at you when you’re least expecting it. The kind that rolls in just after sunset, when you’ve got dinner dishes drying on the rack and the news murmuring in the background. The wind came first, sharp and quick, and then the thunder started up like an old truck trying to start after a long winter. Darlene looked at me from her recliner and said, “You checked the generator this week, didn’t you?” and I had to admit, no, I hadn’t.

Now, we’ve got a Generac 6500 that I picked up used a few years back from a guy out in Rolla who was moving to Florida and didn’t think he’d need it. I told him he’d regret that decision eventually, but I still handed over the cash and hauled it home. It’s been sitting in the shed ever since, ready for the next power outage. At least, I thought it was ready.

When the Lights Go Out

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the lights blinked twice and went dark. That old familiar quiet settled in, the kind that feels heavier than silence because you suddenly realize how much noise your house makes when it’s alive. The hum of the fridge, the ticking of the wall clock, the low buzz of the freezer out in the garage. Gone, all of it.

Darlene was already finding candles, and I grabbed my headlamp from the hook by the door. It’s one of those LED ones with three brightness settings, and every time I turn it on, Darlene says I look like I’m about to mine for coal in the living room. I headed out to the shed through the rain, feeling pretty pleased with myself for being the kind of man who actually owns a generator.

Pulled it out, checked the oil, gave the cord a tug. Nothing. Tried again. Still nothing. At this point, I was muttering things that can’t be printed in a family newsletter. Turned out the carburetor was gummed up from old gas. I knew better than that. I tell everyone I meet to use fuel stabilizer and rotate their gas every few months, but there I was, standing in the rain with a dead generator and a growing sense of irony.

Lessons from the Dark

Here’s the thing folks don’t always think about. When the grid goes down, it’s not just about having a generator. It’s about having a generator that actually runs. And it’s about knowing how to use it safely. Too many people kill themselves with carbon monoxide or backfeed into the lines because they got careless or panicked.

If you’ve got a generator, you need to keep it maintained like you would a vehicle. Run it for fifteen minutes once a month. Store fresh gas treated with stabilizer, and write the date on the can with a Sharpie. Keep it somewhere dry, but not sealed off from ventilation. And if you haven’t already, get yourself a heavy-duty outdoor-rated extension cord and know exactly what you plan to power before the lights go out.

For me, the priority list is simple. Freezer, fridge, and the coffee maker. Darlene insists on the Wi-Fi router being next in line, which I can’t argue with because once she can’t check the weather radar, she’s pacing the kitchen like a cat in a thunderstorm.

Powering the Essentials

If you’ve never run your generator under load, give it a try sometime when the power’s still on. It’s the only way to learn what you can realistically power without blowing a fuse or stalling the machine. My 6500 can handle the fridge and freezer no problem, but when I tried to plug in the microwave once, everything sputtered and went dark again. That’s when I realized those “peak wattage” ratings on the box are about as optimistic as a used car listing.

I’ve also learned that you need to have a plan for refueling. During that storm last week, I realized I only had about three gallons left in the shed. That’s maybe four hours of run time, tops. So when the rain finally eased up, I found myself at the gas station at midnight, standing under the canopy in my boots and raincoat while the attendant looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

The power came back on around two in the morning. We didn’t end up needing the generator after all. But you can bet your last can of beans that the next morning, I drained that tank, cleaned the carburetor, and replaced the gas. I even ran it for a bit just to hear that steady purr. Music to my ears.

The Smell of Coffee and Preparedness

When I finally sat down the next morning with a cup of coffee, I got to thinking about how preparedness isn’t about fear. It’s about peace of mind. When that storm hit, even though I had a few hiccups, I knew where my candles were, I knew my food wouldn’t spoil right away, and I knew we could handle it. Darlene just laughed at me when I told her I was going to write about it, but I figure if one person checks their generator this week because of my little mishap, it’s worth it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go label some gas cans before I forget again. Darlene says she’s tired of me writing “Mystery Fuel” on them with a question mark.

This one’s been a Saturday morning staple at our place for years. It started as a camping recipe, but Darlene liked it so much she insisted we make it at home too. It’s hearty, it keeps well if you’ve got leftovers, and it tastes just as good reheated over a fire as it does coming out of the oven. If you’ve got eggs, bacon, sausage, and a cast iron skillet, you’re halfway there.

Ingredients

Instructions

I like to serve this with a few slices of toasted sourdough and some black coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Darlene says it’s even better with a spoonful of salsa on top, though she puts salsa on everything so take that for what it’s worth.

The best part is you can make this ahead and keep it in the fridge for a few days. When the power goes out, it reheats just fine in a skillet over the generator or the camp stove. There’s something about that smell of sausage and bacon in the morning that makes even a dark, stormy day feel just right.

I was not there, but I have read enough logs, old newspaper clippings, and weather service summaries to feel the way the wind must have crawled under the shingles like a raccoon looking for trouble. The Columbus Day Storm of 1962 started as Typhoon Freda out in the Pacific, then lost its tropical status and came ashore as a monster of a windstorm. Folks across Oregon and Washington watched barometers sink like a lure in a farm pond. Gusts well over the century mark rolled across the coast and marched inland. Power lines snapped, timber fell like matchsticks, and towns went dark by late afternoon. When I look west on the map to where Wendy and Steve live east of the Cascades with their kids and their black lab Jasper, I think about that storm as a blueprint for what a family can face when wind gets mean and stays that way for hours.

Why Wind Beats Pretty Much Everything In Your Yard

Most people plan for rain and forget the wind. Wind strips shingles, peels back metal roofs, drives water sideways through vents, and turns patio furniture into projectiles. In 1962, a lot of damage did not come from roofs flying off in one piece. It came from small failures multiplied by hours of gusts. Ridge caps lifted, then the next line of shingles gave way, then water rode the gusts into the sheathing, and ceilings got heavy and bowed. The lesson I take is painfully simple. Roof work is preparedness. Use ring shank nails, not smooth shank. Add screws on metal panels where the manufacturer allows. Replace cracked plastic roof vents with metal. If your garage door is unbraced, add a reinforcement kit so it does not fold and let the wind pressurize the whole house.

Trees, Timber, and the Physics of Where You Park

If you have a big tree to the south or west of your house, the odds go up that a long duration wind event can push it over. In 1962, timber and power lines ended up braided together across miles of roads. I measure distance from trunk to eaves and add thirty percent for the root ball and the bounce. If that span covers your bedroom or your propane tank, adjust either the tree or the sleeping arrangement. I love a nice shade tree, but I love my roof a little more. And if you must park outside, pick the downwind side of a sturdy building, not the upwind side where everything airborne will pile into your hood.

Power Goes First, Then Information, Then Patience

A common thread in the storm accounts is how quickly information dried up. Radios lost stations when transmitters went down. Telephone service faltered. Folks did not know which roads were passable or where the nearest shelter was. That is why I keep three layers. Battery powered AM FM radio with spare alkalines, a hand crank radio in a drawer that Darlene can find in the dark, and a small ham handheld programmed to local repeaters. If you live where Wendy lives, east of the Cascades, program the repeaters on both sides of the mountains. If one side goes silent, you try the other. Tape a laminated frequency card inside the radio case. I also keep an old school corded telephone in a box. If landline service still exists in your area, that phone will work when the cordless base goes dead.

The Quiet Supply Chain Problems That Show Up After Day Two

When the wind stopped in 1962, the roads did not magically clear. Saw crews needed fuel, bar oil, and chains. Grocery stores needed generators to keep cold cases from turning into biology experiments. Ice was gone by the second day in a lot of towns. I keep a chainsaw kit in a tote labeled Saw Box, and it has exactly what I wish those crews had on every truck in those photographs. Two spare chains that are already sharpened, one round file, one flat file, depth gauge, scrench, two quarts of bar oil, a wedge, and a small bottle of two stroke oil measured for each five liter mix. I also keep leather gloves that can actually handle heat and splinters, not the cheap knitted kind that soak up water and make you miserable. If you do not run a saw regularly, set a reminder for the first Saturday of each month and cut scrap two by fours into kindling. Muscle memory matters when you are surrounded by limbs in the driveway and the gas station runs card only or cash only depending on the generator lottery.

Food That Does Not Care About Refrigeration

One detail that comes up in personal accounts from that storm is how many people tried to save their fridge by opening it every ten minutes to check on it. That is how you lose the cold. I treat my fridge like a bank vault during an outage. I do not open it unless I already know what I am grabbing. I keep a list taped to the door with the shelf layout so I can open and close like a short order cook. In the pantry I keep two weeks of shelf stable meals that do not need a single cold ingredient. Canned chili, shelf stable milk, instant rice, ramen, peanut butter, tortillas, and the kind of coffee that works with a kettle and a pour over cone. Darlene prefers the camp percolator. I rotate the pantry every August, which is when storms like to start warming up their arms for autumn. The kids in Oregon get a box in the mail with duplicates, because if the highway over the pass is closed, you eat what is in the house.

Light That Does Not Burn Your House Down

Kerosene lamps are charming until you bump one. In 1962, a surprising number of secondary fires started after the wind when people tried to light their evenings the old way. I keep battery lanterns with warm white LEDs since the cold blue ones make a living room feel like a freezer aisle. Each lantern has rechargeable cells plus a tray of disposables in a labeled bag. Headlamps get parked on a hook by the back door. Visitors who stay the night get a headlamp on the pillow. I do not trust phone flashlights for more than quick checks. A phone is for information. A headlamp is for hands.

Water Gets Weird When Wind Knocks Out Pumps

Some towns on the coast lost water pressure when the power went out. They had water in the system, but not the pressure to move it or the clean tanks to store it once the storm stirred up sediment. This is why I keep a flat of bottled water under the bed and a pair of seven gallon jugs in the garage. I refresh them on the same August schedule as the pantry. In a pinch, a clean bathtub with a liner is a lifesaver. If you do not have a liner, scrub the tub hard, then fill it and drop in a quarter teaspoon of regular unscented bleach per ten liters, stir, and let it sit. You are better off filling early, because municipal notices can arrive late or not at all when the wind is howling.

You ever find yourself bent over the hood of the truck at dawn, coffee gone cold, swearing you put that little flashlight right here five minutes ago? Me too. This little leather pouch is the sort of thing I throw on my belt when I head out to check the generator, split a log, or tromp down to the creek to see if the kids left any bait in the water. It keeps a multi tool, a compact flashlight, and a small fixed blade handy, without rattling like a mason jar full of nails. It is simple, it is sturdy, and you can make it with basic tools in an afternoon.

What You Will Need
1 piece vegetable tanned leather, about 6 by 10 inches, 6 to 7 ounce thickness, this is stiff but workable
A scrap of thinner leather for a divider, roughly 2 by 6 inches, 3 to 4 ounce
Clover or heavy duty waxed nylon thread, two strands for strength
Two small brass Chicago screws, 1/4 inch shaft, for the belt loop attachment, or rivets if you prefer
A strip of leather for the belt loop, about 1 by 6 inches, same thickness as the main piece
Leather glue, small tube
Edge beveler or a small utility knife to round edges
Stitching chisel or awl to make holes, 3.5 to 4 mm spacing
Mallet, small
Stitching needle or two harness needles
Sandpaper, 220 grit, and a slicking bone or spoon for burnishing
Neutral leather conditioner or a small tin of neatsfoot oil, use sparingly
A ruler, pencil, and a cutting surface

Prep and Pattern
Lay that 6 by 10 piece flat on the table, grain side up. Mark a rectangle centered, 3.5 inches wide and 5.5 inches tall, that will be the front face of the pouch. Add a 1 inch flap at the top for reinforcement and a 1 inch bottom seam allowance. On the thinner scrap, mark a divider piece 3.25 by 5 inches. The divider will form two pockets, one for a multi tool and one for a flashlight or knife. I like the multi tool on the side that sits toward my body, that way the pliers snap out over the hand when I reach.

Cut the leather carefully with a sharp knife, across a straightedge. A clean cut makes the rest feel easy. Round the bottom corners slightly, maybe a quarter inch radius, so the pouch will not catch on fabric when you draw or replace stuff.

Glue and Stitch Layout
Dry fit everything like you are setting a place at dinner. Put the divider against the inside of the front face, centered, and fold the bottom seam up to make sure the tools fit. Trim the divider if your flashlight is wide. When you are happy, apply a thin bead of leather glue along the side of the inner face and press the divider in place. Weight it and let the glue tack for ten minutes.

Punch your stitch holes now, before you fold the pouch closed. I like stitching down the two sides, leaving the top open. Use the stitching chisel to make evenly spaced holes about 3.5 to 4 mm apart. Make sure the holes on the divider line up with the holes on the outer piece. Consistency here keeps your seam tight and your bag symmetrical.

Stitching the Pouch
Use a saddle stitch for durability. Thread two needles on either end of a length of waxed thread roughly four times the length of the stitching line. Start from the inside so the knot sits hidden, pull the needles through, and work evenly until the seam is closed. Pull each stitch snug, but not so hard that the leather puckers. Trim thread ends and burn the tips with a lighter if you used synthetic waxed thread, then press them flat so they do not snag.

Once both sides are stitched, fold the bottom seam up and skive the edges slightly where the bottom will meet the sides if there is bulk. A small skived area makes a cleaner fold. Glue the bottom seam and stitch across if you want a boxed bottom. I often leave the bottom flat and rely on good stitches, but if you plan to carry a heavier knife, stitch the bottom as well.

Belt Loop and Mounting
Take the 1 by 6 inch belt strip, fold it longways around your belt width, mark where the pouch will sit, and punch two holes that line up with the holes on the back of the pouch. Attach with Chicago screws or rivets. Chicago screws let you remove the pouch without fuss, which I like when I want to dry it or swap it between belts. Make sure the loop is wide enough for the belt you use every day, if you are like me and swap belts between jeans and work pants, make it a touch larger.

If you want the pouch to sit vertical, attach the loop centered. If you prefer a mild cant for easier draw, offset the loop toward one side by about a quarter inch. Try it on before you tighten everything down.

Edge Finishing and Burnish
Sand the edges with 220 grit to remove roughness. Wet the edges lightly with a sponge or your thumb, then rub with a slicking bone, a rounded spoon, or a folded piece of canvas. Work one section at a time, back and forth, until the edge feels smooth. Apply a small amount of edge dressing or just rub a little olive oil or conditioner to seal. Too much oil will soften the leather and loosen your seams over time, so use sparingly.

Top stitch a line across the mouth of the pouch if you want extra reinforcement, especially where the flap meets the body. The top takes the most wear as tools go in and out.

Weatherproofing and Care
Vegetable tanned leather will darken with time and use, it ages like a good pair of boots. A light coat of neutral leather conditioner before heavy use keeps it from cracking. If the pouch gets soaked in a downpour, let it air dry slowly, away from heaters or open flames. After drying, recondition lightly. Store it empty when you are not using it, sitting flat, not folded.

Fit, Retention, and Safety
You want the multi tool and the knife to slide in and hold without falling out when you jog a few steps. If the fit is loose, add a thin leather spacer glued at the back of one pocket, or stitch a small leather tab near the top for added retention. Avoid snapping closures that point the tool into your side. If a snap is necessary, place it so the tool cannot shift muzzle or blade toward your body. Always carry a knife sheathed, blade away from the exposed edge of the pouch, and keep sharpening cloths and oil tucked into a small inside pocket if you make one.

Variations and Upgrades
If you want to dress the thing up, add a welt along the opening for even more wear resistance, or rivet a small D ring to the side for a lanyard. You can line the inside with thin suede to stop metal tools from rattling. For a low profile option, make the pouch slimmer and skip the bottom stitch so the tools slide in stacked one behind the other, this reduces bulk if you are carrying on a narrow belt.

Why This Works for Me
I like this pouch because it is quiet, it does not rattle when I am walking the property, and it keeps the things I use the most within reach. Wendy sent one to Steve last year with a tiny stamped logo that said Preparedness Post, and that made me proud and a little embarrassed all at once. If you want, make two and swap them, one for the garage belt, one for your Sunday jeans.

When Dad asked me if I wanted to add a little section to his newsletter, I said sure, but I warned him I’d probably talk more about kids and canning than generators and fuel stabilizer. He said that was just fine, and that preparedness comes in all shapes. So here’s mine from out here east of the Cascades.

We’ve had one of those dry summers that turns every sunrise into a watercolor from the smoke. Steve’s been keeping the gutters clear and the hoses coiled in the truck bed just in case, but my main battlefield lately has been the freezer. We picked a lot of huckleberries this year, and Luke and Charlotte were so proud of their haul that we ended up with two five-gallon buckets full. That’s a lot of berries for a family of four and one overexcited black lab who thinks anything purple is fair game.

Freezer Space Is a Form of Wealth

Out here, our power lines still stretch through pine trees that like to drop branches any time the wind feels playful. I’ve lost count of how many small outages we’ve had this year. Nothing serious, but enough to make you think about what happens when the freezer goes warm. After the last one, I decided to do what Mom always called a “rotation day.”

That means pulling everything out, checking dates, reorganizing, and making a note of what we actually eat versus what we just like to say we’ll eat. Turns out I had six bags of frozen zucchini from last summer, still waiting for the right recipe to come along. So I thawed them out, baked them into loaves, and filled the empty space with neat rows of vacuum-sealed huckleberries.

When I told Dad, he said something like, “That’s preparedness right there, just with sugar instead of diesel.” He’s not wrong. Keeping a freezer full of food is a form of insurance, but only if you know what’s in there and you can keep it cold when the grid hiccups.

Teaching the Kids What “Prepared” Means

Charlotte asked me the other day why I keep flashlights in the kitchen drawer and another one in the bedroom. I told her it’s so we can always find our way, even if the lights go out. Luke said that sounded boring, but when the power blinked off that night for about ten seconds, he raced to the drawer and pulled out the flashlight like a firefighter on a call. I could barely stop laughing.

I’ve been trying to teach them that being prepared isn’t scary. It’s not about waiting for something bad. It’s about being comfortable no matter what happens. When the wind picks up, we check the candles. When there’s a wildfire nearby, we pack the go bags with snacks and games, not just gear. When the garden starts to fade in September, we dehydrate the last of the tomatoes.

They’re learning it in the small ways, which I think is how you make preparedness part of family life instead of something that feels like a chore.

Smoke and Supper Time

Cooking during smoke season is a whole new challenge. The air’s been thick enough some evenings that we try to keep the windows sealed. I’ve started making one-skillet dinners to keep the heat down indoors. Last week it was potatoes, bacon, and eggs in the cast iron, finished with a sprinkle of the huckleberries for dessert. Steve raised an eyebrow at that combination, but he cleaned his plate.

Dad would probably turn it into a full chapter about cast iron seasoning and calorie density, but for me it’s just about using what we have. When you’ve got kids, you learn that dinner is half nutrition, half morale boost.

Passing the Torch, or Maybe Just the Flashlight

Every time I talk to Dad, he asks if the generator’s been tested. He says it like a joke, but I know he’s half serious. I think about how much of what I do now comes from the habits he and Mom built into me when I was little. The candles, the pantry, the checklists, even the way I listen for the hum of the freezer like it’s a heartbeat.

Charlotte told me last week she wants to start a “junior preparedness club” with her friends, where they learn to make trail mix and use walkie talkies. I told her Grandpa would love that idea.

So here’s to small lessons passed down the line. To full freezers, clear gutters, and kids who know where the flashlight drawer is. Dad says preparedness starts with practice. I think it starts with making it part of your day without even noticing you’re doing it.

This week I want you to try something that sounds simple but reveals a lot about how ready you really are. I call it the Five-Minute Grab and Go Drill. It’s a test I run about once a season, just to see if I can get my act together when the clock is ticking. You don’t need to buy a single thing, you just need a timer and a little honesty.

The Setup
Pick a time when everyone in your household is home. Don’t warn them too far ahead or it’ll turn into a planning meeting instead of a real test. Set a timer for five minutes and say, “We’ve got to leave right now. There’s a gas leak down the road and the sheriff says we need to go.” That’s it. No panic, no yelling, just action.

The Goal
The goal isn’t to make it to the car with your arms full like a yard sale gone wrong. The goal is to see how quickly you can gather the essentials: identification, medications, cash, important papers, a few days of clothes, water, and something to eat. If you have pets, they count too. Jasper would never forgive Wendy if she forgot his leash.

What You’ll Learn
You’ll find out fast what works and what doesn’t. The last time Darlene and I ran this, I realized our passports were in a file drawer that takes both hands to open, and the flashlight near the back door was dead. Darlene pointed out that we didn’t have any bottled water in the car, which made me glad she was on my team and not grading me.

You might notice that your go bags aren’t really ready, or that the first aid kit is buried behind the camping stove. You might even discover that your family members have different ideas about what counts as essential. That’s a good conversation to have now, not later.

After the Drill
Once the timer goes off, call a timeout and take notes. Don’t judge, just write down what slowed you down or what you forgot. Then spend the next few days fixing those gaps. Put copies of IDs and insurance cards in a small zip bag inside your go bag. Add a phone charger, a spare pair of socks, and a list of emergency contacts on paper. Keep your cash and meds in a spot that’s easy to reach.

If you’ve got kids, turn it into a game. Luke and Charlotte do their own mini version at Wendy’s place, racing to see who can grab the family flashlight and radio first. It turns the idea of preparedness from scary to something practical, like a fire drill or brushing your teeth.

Why It Matters
Real emergencies never announce themselves politely. You don’t get a week’s notice and a packing list. You get a knock on the door or a weird smell in the air, and then you’ve got five minutes to move. Practicing the act of leaving on short notice builds a kind of muscle memory that doesn’t fade.

So that’s your challenge for the week. Five minutes on the clock, no warnings, no excuses. See what you can grab and how fast you can be out the door. When you’re done, you’ll know more about your level of readiness than any list on the internet could tell you.