The other night, a thunderstorm rolled through our little corner of Missouri with all the usual flair. The kind of storm that makes the windows rattle and the dog whimper. I was halfway through a rerun of some show I’ve seen a dozen times when the lights blinked twice and then went out for good. The house went so quiet it was like someone hit the mute button on life. The refrigerator stopped humming, the ceiling fan gave one last lazy spin, and Darlene said, “Well, here we go again.”

I reached for the flashlight that’s supposed to live on the counter, but it wasn’t there. That’s when you realize how much you rely on those little routines you swear you’ve got nailed down. I found the thing sitting on top of the freezer in the garage, and of course the batteries were dead. So there I was, rummaging around in the dark, muttering things I wouldn’t say in church, while Darlene was lighting candles like she was trying to impress Martha Stewart.

How the Darkness Teaches You Things

It’s funny what you notice when you’re sitting there in the candlelight. The power had been out maybe fifteen minutes when I caught myself automatically trying to turn on a light switch. Muscle memory, I guess. We’re so used to everything being one fingertip away. You start realizing how much of your comfort depends on somebody else’s infrastructure. I could almost hear my granddad saying, “That’s why you keep a kerosene lamp handy, boy.”

I keep a little generator out in the shed. It’s not fancy, but it’s saved us a few times. When I pulled the cord, it sputtered once and gave me that stubborn silence that only machines can manage when they know you’re watching. Turns out I hadn’t checked the fuel since last winter. I had to haul out the gas can and refill it by flashlight while the rain came down sideways. Darlene stood on the porch holding an umbrella like a referee, calling out, “Don’t you spill that, Kyle!” I may have spilled a little.

The Refrigerator Rule

Once we had a few lights and the fridge running again, I remembered something I tell folks all the time but hadn’t followed myself. You don’t open that refrigerator door once the power’s out unless you absolutely have to. Every second that cold air escapes, you’re cutting down how long that food will last. Darlene wanted to check on the ice cream, and I said, “If you open that door, you’re eating the whole tub right now.” She gave me that look that said she just might.

For anyone wondering, a full fridge holds the cold better than an empty one. It’s basic physics, but it’s also common sense. If you can, keep a few jugs of water frozen in your freezer. They’ll help everything stay cool longer and you can use the water when they melt. I learned that one from a neighbor back when we lived out in Rolla. He was the kind of man who could fix a tractor with a spoon and some wire.

Batteries, Radios, and Other Lifelines

Now, about that hand-crank radio I mentioned. I finally found it in the hall closet, buried behind a pile of sweaters that Darlene insists we’ll wear someday. When I turned it on, it gave me that satisfying crackle that lets you know civilization’s still out there somewhere. The weather report said we were looking at six to eight hours of outage, maybe more if the lines were down. I’ve always said everyone should have one of those radios. No power, no cell service, no problem. You crank that handle and get the news the old-fashioned way.

Batteries are another thing people overlook until it’s too late. I keep a shoebox full of them, sorted by size. Or at least I try to. Somehow, every time I reach in for a pair of AAs, all I can find are the big C cells nobody uses anymore. I’ve started putting the date on them with a marker so I know which ones are past their prime. Small details like that make a big difference when you’re depending on that flashlight at two in the morning.

Cooking Without the Switch

Dinner that night was an adventure. Darlene had thawed out some chicken earlier, so we fired up the little camp stove I keep in the garage. Nothing fancy, just one of those single-burner propane jobs. Works like a charm every time. She whipped up a skillet meal by candlelight that tasted better than anything we’ve had in weeks. There’s something about cooking by lantern that makes the food taste more honest. The smell of that sizzling chicken mixed with the sound of the rain, and for a moment it didn’t feel like an inconvenience at all.

We sat at the kitchen table eating off paper plates, talking about how our daughter Wendy and her husband Steve handle power outages up in Oregon. They’ve got two kids, Luke and Charlotte, and they’re out east of the Cascades where it gets plenty wild. Steve’s got one of those big fancy solar setups, but even he says when the snow piles up, nothing beats a good supply of candles and a reliable thermos of coffee.

The Little Things That Keep You Ready

By the time the lights came back on around midnight, the house looked like a scene out of a prairie novel. Candles half-burned, generator humming, Jasper stretched out by the door like he was standing guard. Darlene blew out the last candle and said, “Well, that was kind of nice, wasn’t it?” And she wasn’t wrong. There’s something grounding about being reminded that you can take care of yourself, even when the conveniences vanish.

I made a note to replace the batteries, refill the gas cans, and make sure that radio’s easy to find next time. Because there will be a next time. Out here in Missouri, the storms come whether you’re ready or not. But if you do a little work ahead of time, you can turn what feels like a crisis into just another quiet night with the people you love, and a good story to tell once the lights come back on.

I’ve always said if you start your morning with bacon, sausage, and eggs, the rest of the day can’t go too wrong. This one’s a weekend favorite around here, especially when I’ve got time to linger over coffee and listen to the weather report. Darlene swears the smell of bacon is what gets me out of bed faster than any alarm clock, and she’s probably right. This recipe isn’t fancy, but it hits every note a breakfast should: hearty, salty, and good enough to make the neighbors wander over if they catch a whiff.

What You’ll Need

Six slices of thick-cut bacon
Four sausage links or patties (I use a local brand that comes in a brown paper wrapper)
Six eggs
Two medium potatoes, diced small
Half an onion, chopped
Half a green pepper, chopped
One cup shredded cheddar cheese
A spoonful of butter or bacon grease for frying
Salt, pepper, and a little garlic powder if you’re feeling bold

If you’ve got fresh herbs, toss some in. Darlene likes a little parsley sprinkled on top to make it look civilized. I say it’s optional.

How I Do It

Start with the bacon. Lay it in a big cast iron skillet and let it cook low and slow until it’s crisp but not burned. Once it’s done, set it aside on a paper towel but don’t even think about draining that grease. That’s your flavor base. You’ll thank me later.

Next, toss in the sausage and cook it till it’s brown all over. If you’re using links, slice them up into bite-sized pieces once they’re done. Leave a little of that grease too, but if it’s swimming in it, pour some off. We want sizzle, not soup.

Now comes the potatoes. Drop them into that same skillet and stir them around so they soak up all that goodness. Let them cook till they start to get crispy edges. Add your onion and pepper, and keep stirring so nothing sticks. You’ll know it’s right when the smell makes you close your eyes for a second.

Bringing It All Together

Once your veggies and potatoes look golden and happy, crumble the bacon back in and scatter the sausage pieces on top. Give it a good stir. Then make a few little wells in the skillet with your spoon and crack an egg into each one. Cover it loosely with a lid or foil and let those eggs cook till the whites are set but the yolks are still soft. Darlene likes hers firm, so I let hers go a little longer. Marriage is all about compromise.

Right before serving, sprinkle the cheddar cheese over the whole thing and let it melt into every nook and cranny. You can scoop it out like a casserole or serve it straight from the skillet if you want to look rustic. I like to hit mine with a little black pepper and a splash of hot sauce. Darlene prefers ketchup, which I try not to comment on.

Why It Works

What I love about this breakfast is that it’s flexible. If you’re short on sausage, just use more bacon. If you’ve got leftover ham from Sunday dinner, throw that in instead. It’s the kind of meal that doesn’t need measuring cups or fancy timing. Just your nose, your skillet, and a little patience.

Wendy called last week asking for this recipe because Luke wanted to make “Grandpa’s breakfast.” That about made my week. She texted me a picture of him standing on a stool stirring the potatoes while Jasper sat watching like a hopeful statue. I told her to make sure he saves me a plate next time we visit Oregon. Something tells me that boy’s got the right idea.

Back in the summer of 1977, I was a teenager with more hair and less sense, living in a world where disco ruled and nobody thought much about preparedness. That July, New York City went dark. A lightning strike hit a power line north of the city, and one failure led to another until the whole place was blacked out. For 25 hours, a city of eight million people had no power. No lights, no subways, no refrigeration, and no sense of order. I wasn’t there myself, but I read about it in the St. Louis Post-Dispatch a few days later, and it stuck with me.

The pictures showed chaos. Store windows smashed, streets on fire, people looting electronics they couldn’t even plug in. It wasn’t just about the power being out. It was about what happens when people lose the systems they depend on. The part that caught my attention even back then was how fast things went from normal to survival mode. In less than an hour, folks went from watching TV to guarding their front doors.

What That Blackout Taught Me

That event taught me a few lessons that have never left my mind. The first is that preparedness isn’t about fear, it’s about stability. A lot of people in that blackout didn’t have flashlights, batteries, or even a way to cook. Some folks were trapped in subway cars underground. Elevators stopped between floors. You start realizing how much we’ve handed over to electricity to do for us.

The second lesson was about community. There were neighborhoods that turned ugly, but there were also ones that came together. People shared candles and food, cooked on their grills, and kept watch over each other’s homes. Those little pockets of calm reminded me that being prepared isn’t just about what you’ve stored, but who you know and how you look out for one another.

Why It Still Matters Today

I think about that blackout whenever we lose power here in Missouri. Darlene and I might be sitting in the dark, listening to the rain, and I’ll remember those pictures of New Yorkers cooking on car hoods by candlelight. It reminds me to keep fuel for the generator, matches for the lamps, and spare batteries for the radio. It also reminds me to check on the neighbors who don’t have as much stored away as we do.

It’s been nearly fifty years since that night, but the lesson is timeless. The grid can fail in an instant, and when it does, all those conveniences disappear. What stays is what you’ve planned for, what you’ve practiced, and who’s sitting next to you when it happens. That’s what I took away from reading about that night back in ’77, and it’s what keeps me steady when the lights go out here at home.

I’m a firm believer that if you can’t make it yourself, you ought to at least know how it works. A few winters back, after a nasty ice storm knocked our power out for two days, I decided to try my hand at a little homemade heat source I’d read about years ago in a Boy Scout manual. It’s cheap, simple, and something you can throw together in ten minutes with things you probably already have sitting in the garage.

This is what I call the Coffee Can Heater. It’s not meant to warm your whole house, but if you’re huddled in one room waiting for the lights to come back on, it can take the edge off and keep your fingers from going numb.

What You’ll Need

One metal coffee can (the old-school kind, not the plastic ones)
One roll of toilet paper
One small bottle of rubbing alcohol (70 percent works fine)
A lighter or matches
A flat, heat-resistant surface like a tile, brick, or cookie sheet

If you’ve got a smaller can, you can scale it down. The key is that it’s metal so it won’t melt or catch fire.

How to Build It

Step one is to take the cardboard tube out of the center of the toilet paper roll. The easiest way is to just squeeze the roll a little and twist the tube until it slides out. Then you’ve got a neat little circle of paper that will fit right into the coffee can like it was made for it.

Next, pour the rubbing alcohol slowly over the toilet paper until it’s saturated but not swimming. You don’t want a puddle at the bottom, just a good even soak. I use about half the bottle for one roll. You can always add more later if it dries out.

Now comes the fun part. Set your can on that tile or cookie sheet, light the top, and you’ll get a small steady flame that throws off more heat than you’d think. It burns clean too, so it won’t fill the room with smoke. I always crack a window just a bit, though, because I like to play it safe.

How to Use It

This little heater is great for taking the chill off a small space. I’ve used one in our living room when the temperature dipped below freezing. You can also set a small pot over it to heat water or soup. I once warmed up a can of chili on mine while Darlene read by flashlight and called it “our pioneer supper.” It made us both laugh, which was half the warmth right there.

When you’re done using it, just blow it out like a candle. Once it’s cool, you can put the lid back on and store it in a cabinet. It’ll keep for months, ready to go the next time the lights give up on you.

Why I Keep One Handy

I’ve tried a lot of homemade gadgets over the years, but this one earns its keep. It’s simple, dependable, and costs next to nothing. Wendy made one with Luke and Charlotte last winter up in Oregon for a school project. She said Luke told his class, “My grandpa taught me this in case the power goes out.” That about made me swell up with pride.

It’s the kind of project that reminds you self-reliance doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s just a can, a roll of toilet paper, and a little common sense standing between you and a cold night.

Out here in eastern Oregon, we get a kind of cold that Missouri doesn’t know. It’s the kind of dry, biting cold that sneaks in under the door and finds every weak spot in your house. Last January, right after New Year’s, we got hit with a stretch of subzero temperatures that froze half the valley. Steve was working a long shift at the mill, and the kids were still home from school when I noticed the water pressure starting to drop. Then came that awful silence when you turn on the faucet and nothing happens.

I’ll admit, I panicked for about five minutes. Charlotte started crying because she thought we’d never be able to flush the toilet again, and Luke—ever the problem solver—was already outside tapping on the pipes with a wooden spoon. I had to laugh at that one. Then I remembered what Dad always says: “Don’t panic, just think it through.” So I filled a couple of big pots with snow and set them on the wood stove to melt. That covered washing and dishes for the time being.

The Makeshift Plumbing Department

When Steve got home, he went straight to the crawl space with a headlamp and a hair dryer. That man can fix almost anything with determination and an extension cord. We wrapped the pipes with old towels, ran a little portable heater under there, and kept the wood stove roaring. By midnight, we had a trickle again, and I could’ve hugged that faucet if it hadn’t been dripping ice water.

We decided then and there we were going to get ahead of this next winter. Steve spent a weekend insulating every inch of pipe he could reach, even the ones in the well house. I filled a few extra water jugs and tucked them away in the pantry. It’s not glamorous, but it beats washing your face with melted snow.

What the Kids Learned

Luke and Charlotte took it better than I expected. Luke kept saying he felt like he was on one of those survival shows Grandpa likes to watch, and Charlotte made a game out of “pretend camping” in the living room. We set up sleeping bags by the fire and told stories while Jasper lay there snoring like he’d been working all day.

Funny thing is, by the third night, the kids weren’t even complaining. They were helping gather wood, feeding Jasper, and taking turns stirring the pot of soup on the stove. I caught Luke writing in his little notebook about “the week we lived like pioneers,” and I figured maybe this whole thing wasn’t such a bad lesson after all.

Passing It Down

I called Dad later that week to tell him the story, and he just chuckled that quiet laugh of his and said, “Sounds like you handled it just fine, kiddo.” He was right. We got through it because we kept calm, worked together, and remembered the basics.

Now every time I hear the wind howling around the eaves, I check the pipes, make sure the firewood’s stacked high, and keep those extra jugs filled. Dad always says preparedness isn’t about expecting the worst—it’s about being ready for the ordinary troubles that catch most people by surprise. Out here in Oregon, I’m learning that one day at a time.

This week’s challenge isn’t about buying anything new. It’s about testing what you already have. I call it the 72-Hour Family Drill, and it’s one of the most eye-opening things you can do for your household. The idea is simple: live for three days as if the power, water, and internet were gone. You keep your phones for emergencies, but no screens, no grocery runs, and no sneaky takeout.

When Darlene and I first tried this a few years ago, I thought it’d be a breeze. I figured we were ready for anything. Turns out, I couldn’t find half the stuff I thought was organized, and the other half was expired. The flashlight I swore worked fine had dead batteries, and the crank radio was buried behind a pile of Christmas decorations. That first night, Darlene just raised her eyebrows at me and said, “So this is what prepared looks like, huh?” Point taken.

How to Do It Right

Pick a weekend when you can stay put and tell everyone what’s going on. If you’ve got kids, make it sound like an adventure, not a punishment. Shut off the main breaker if you’re feeling bold, or just agree to act like the power’s out. Turn off the faucet and only use stored water. Cook with your camp stove or grill. Keep track of how much fuel, food, and patience you use.

After the first twelve hours, you’ll start to notice the gaps. Maybe you’re low on candles, or the dog food bin’s almost empty, or you forgot how fast those little propane cans run out. That’s the point. This isn’t about perfection, it’s about discovery.

Make It Real, Not Miserable

When we did ours, we used the kerosene lanterns for light and cooked eggs and sausage on the propane stove out on the porch. Darlene even pulled out a deck of cards she said hadn’t seen daylight since the Reagan years. By the second day, we’d settled into a rhythm—coffee on the camp stove, radio news at breakfast, reading in the evening. It wasn’t fancy, but it felt good knowing we could make it work.

If you’ve got kids, let them handle parts of the plan. Luke and Charlotte love when Wendy does her version of this out in Oregon. Luke gets to be the “energy captain,” keeping track of the flashlights, and Charlotte’s in charge of water rations. It teaches responsibility in a way that sticks better than lectures ever do.

After the Drill

When it’s over, sit down and talk through what worked and what didn’t. Did your food supplies hold up? Did anyone run out of clean socks? Was there enough light after sunset? You’ll come away with a list of things to fix before the real thing ever hits.

Darlene keeps a little notebook labeled “Next Time,” and every time we do the drill, we add something new. Last time, we realized we needed a backup can opener and more baby wipes. Little things, but they make a difference when modern life takes a break.

Give this challenge a try before the next big storm or grid hiccup. You’ll be surprised by what you learn, and even more surprised by how much calmer you’ll feel once you’ve done it. Preparedness isn’t a hobby around here, it’s just how we live.