When I first started setting aside water, I thought I was clever just buying a few cases of those clear plastic gallon jugs from the grocery store and sticking them on a basement shelf. They looked neat, the price was right, and I figured I was set. About ten months later I walked down to grab a jar of Darlene’s green beans and caught the smell of wet paper. One of those thin jugs had split along the seam and dribbled itself right down into a box of old Christmas decorations. Nothing like pulling out a soggy nativity scene to teach you that the bargain route is not always the best route.

How Much Water Really Adds Up To

Here is the thing most folks do not calculate. It is not just drinking water. You need water for cooking beans, brushing teeth, rinsing dishes, giving the dog a bowl, even washing hands after working outside. A gallon per person per day is bare minimum survival math. For Darlene and me, that is two gallons a day, which adds up to 60 gallons for one month. But let’s be real. When Wendy and Steve bring the kids back from Oregon in the summer, suddenly that jumps to six people and a dog. Now we are talking 180 gallons for the same time frame. That is a small swimming pool, and you cannot pretend it fits in a closet.

What I Actually Use For Storage

I keep three kinds of containers.
First are the big blue 55 gallon drums that I picked up used from a guy out in Jefferson City who had them for food syrup. I paid 20 bucks a piece and scrubbed them with baking soda and hot water till Darlene said the kitchen smelled like pancakes. Those sit on wooden pallets in the back corner of the basement where the temperature stays about 62 in winter and 68 in summer.

Second are the stackable 7 gallon AquaTainers from the farm supply. They have little spigots and handles, so if I need to haul one upstairs Darlene can do it herself without busting a hip. They line up like blue bricks along the wall under the basement stairs. I have twelve of them and I rotate four at a time so I do not get lazy.

Third are old glass carboys I picked up when my neighbor’s son gave up homebrewing. They hold about 5 gallons each. Heavy as sin, but I like that I can actually see the water, no guessing. I stick a square of cardboard under each one because the basement floor sweats in July.

Tricks To Keep It From Going Bad

I fill everything from the tap, but before I cap it I add a quarter teaspoon of unscented household bleach per gallon. That sounds tiny, but it keeps algae and bacteria from creeping in. I learned that trick from a retired water engineer I met at church potluck. He said city tap water is already treated, but if you are sealing it for long term storage, better safe than sorry.

Every container gets labeled with a fat black Sharpie. Month and year, no exceptions. For example, one AquaTainer says “OCT 2024” in block letters. When I empty one, usually into the chicken waterer or the garden beds, I write “ROTATED” across the front before refilling it. Darlene once asked why I bother with such neat handwriting. I told her if I drop dead tomorrow, I want her to be able to walk down and know exactly what she is looking at.

How I Fit It Into The Basement

Basement storage is not glamorous, but it works if you are smart about it. I use pallets I picked up free behind the lumberyard. Two pallets side by side hold four 55 gallon drums with about an inch between them so air can circulate. Against the west wall I stack the AquaTainers three high, with plywood cut to size between layers so they do not warp. The carboys sit in milk crates, otherwise they roll like bowling balls if you bump them. I keep a flashlight mounted by the basement stairs because when the power goes out you do not want to be stumbling over barrels trying to find a candle.

The Importance of Testing It

Once a year I make it a point to actually drink from the stored water. Last July, in the middle of a heat wave, I hauled up a carboy, chilled it in the fridge, and poured a glass. Darlene said it tasted fine, maybe a little flat, but nothing off. Flat water is no big deal, you can shake it in a pitcher and it perks back up. What you do not want is slime or cloudiness. That is why I check, because nothing would be worse than trusting your stash only to find out it went funky when you need it.

Why I Bother At All

Missouri summers can fry a person in a single afternoon. If a tornado rips through and knocks out the grid, the water treatment plant might be down for a week. If the New Madrid fault hiccups, the pipes might crack wide open. When I see Charlotte and Luke running barefoot through the yard, sweaty and red-faced, I know that in a real crisis I want to hand them a clean cup of water without thinking twice. I do not want to be the grandfather who shrugs and says, sorry kids, we have to wait for the city to fix it.

So in my basement, tucked between shelves of Ball jars full of tomatoes and the smell of Darlene’s dill pickles, there is a neat and slightly obsessive lineup of barrels, jugs, and glass carboys. Each one has a story, a date, and a purpose. It may not look fancy, but it is the kind of quiet insurance you do not appreciate until the faucet stops running.

This one is simple, hearty, and built on nothing more than water and a handful of pantry staples. I call it Rainy Day Bean Soup because it is the sort of thing I make when the weather is dreary and I do not feel like fussing. It also doubles as a good practice recipe for cooking straight from your water supply since it teaches you how much liquid you really need to stretch dried goods.

Ingredients

Method
I start with the water in a heavy pot on medium heat. The beans go in first along with the ham hock if I have one. Let it come to a simmer and skim off the foam that rises in the first fifteen minutes. That foam is harmless, but it makes the soup cloudy.

Next add in the onion, carrots, celery, and garlic. I chop them chunky because I like a spoonful that feels substantial. The bay leaf goes in now too. Cover the pot and let it simmer gently for about two hours. Keep an eye on the water level. Beans are thirsty. If it gets too low, top it off with another cup or two of water.

After about two hours, taste a bean. If it is soft and creamy, you are there. Pull out the ham hock and shred whatever meat is clinging to the bone, then toss that back into the pot. Add salt, pepper, and paprika, then let it bubble for another fifteen minutes so the flavors come together.

Serving Notes
This soup feeds six hungry people, or four with enough leftovers for lunch the next day. I usually set it out with cornbread because in Missouri that is just how it is done. Luke dunks his whole piece in the bowl until it crumbles, and Charlotte prefers hers on the side with honey.

If you want to stretch it even further, stir in a cup of elbow macaroni for the last ten minutes of cooking. That will soak up some of the broth and make it more of a stew.

What I like about this recipe is it reminds you just how far plain old water can take you. Eight cups from the basement barrels, a handful of beans, and a little patience, and you have a meal that fills the house with the smell of onions and ham and feels like home.

Folks around here in Missouri do not need much of a reminder about how fast the sky can turn. On May 22, 2011, Joplin was hit by an EF-5 tornado that carved through the town like a scythe. Whole neighborhoods flattened, the hospital ripped apart, power lines tangled like spaghetti, and people wandering dazed in streets that no longer looked like streets. The official death toll was 161, but what stuck with me were the stories of the living, especially when it came to water.

When the tornado roared through, it did more than knock down houses. It snapped water mains clean through. Picture a garden hose someone has stomped on, water shooting straight up into the air, only in this case it was from underground lines that served entire blocks. Some places lost water entirely, other places had contaminated lines pulling in mud and debris. The city’s treatment plant was knocked offline for a while too. Suddenly, in the middle of the hottest part of May, tens of thousands of people had no safe water at the tap.

What Happened on the Ground

Relief crews came fast, and pallets of bottled water rolled into Joplin within hours. I remember watching the footage of folks lined up in the high school parking lot to get a case of water, each case rationed so there would be enough to go around. Shelters set up with National Guard trucks handing out gallon jugs. Firefighters pouring bottled water over kids just to cool them off in the humid heat. The need was not just for drinking. Hospitals and makeshift clinics needed water to clean wounds. People needed water to take pills. Families with pets needed bowls filled for dogs and cats that had survived the storm.

It drove home something that no prepper guidebook ever says loud enough: disaster strips away the easy assumption that water just comes out of a faucet. In Joplin, the faucet either gushed mud or hissed empty.

What I Take Away From Joplin

The first thing I learned is that city water is only as reliable as the pipes under your feet. A tornado, an earthquake, even a bad flood can crack them and suddenly your kitchen sink might be a source of illness instead of safety. That is why I keep a gravity filter on hand in my basement. I know that if the taps ever run brown, I can at least pour the questionable stuff through a filter and come out with something drinkable.

The second lesson is quantity. If you think a family just needs a gallon a day, think again. In Joplin, people were rationed bottles but still needed more for cooking, cleaning, and just cooling themselves in the thick May air. When I count my water stores now, I add extra for washing cuts, scrubbing dishes, even dampening a rag to wipe sweat from my grandkids’ faces.

The third lesson is mobility. In Joplin, some folks had water at their homes but could not stay there because the roof was gone or gas lines were leaking. They had to leave with what they could carry. That is why I keep a few smaller 7 gallon containers by the basement door. If Darlene and I ever have to bug out, I want to be able to grab water that we can actually move. A 55 gallon drum does not help if you have to sleep in the church parking lot.

Why I Still Think About It

I drive through Joplin a couple times a year, and though it has rebuilt, you can still spot the odd patch of newer houses where the old ones were scraped off the earth. Every time I see those spots I think about the folks lined up in the sun waiting for a case of water. Nobody cared about the brand or the bottle size. They just wanted it clear and cold.

That image is what keeps me honest when I am tempted to skip refilling the basement barrels or rotating the AquaTainers. I do not want to be standing in a line for a ration of water if I can avoid it. Better to be the one handing a bottle to a neighbor because I thought ahead. That is what Joplin taught me, and I have not forgotten it.

I have always said that you can never have too much water tucked away. Stored barrels in the basement are great, but nothing beats having a way to catch it fresh when the sky decides to give it for free. Missouri gets about 40 inches of rain a year on average, and I figure it is foolish not to put some of that to use. A single inch of rainfall on a 1,000 square foot roof will yield about 600 gallons of water. That is more than enough to fill a couple of barrels and keep the garden green or the chickens happy.

What You Will Need

Step One: Find a Barrel Worthy of Your Water

I bought mine from a soda bottling plant in Columbia. It had held syrup before, so I had to scrub it three times with a mixture of hot water and baking soda until the inside smelled neutral. Darlene stuck her head in and said, “No more root beer smell,” which was good enough for me. Make sure you get a barrel that is food grade, not something that held chemicals.

Step Two: Set Up a Base

Two concrete blocks set side by side make a perfect platform. The idea is to lift the barrel so you can fit a watering can or bucket underneath the spigot. Without a base, you will be crouching and cursing every time you want to draw water.

Step Three: Drill and Install the Spigot

I mark about three inches up from the bottom of the barrel, then drill a hole with the hole saw. Slide the spigot through, smear a bead of sealant around the threads, and tighten it with the nut inside the barrel. If you skip the sealant, you will regret it the first time you see a slow drip soaking the block.

Step Four: Create the Inlet

On the top of the barrel, cut a hole big enough to fit the downspout diverter. I line the hole with mosquito screen, taping it tight so that no little critters or bugs can slip inside. Mosquitoes love still water, and nothing ruins a prep project faster than turning your yard into a breeding ground.

Step Five: Connect the Downspout

Cut your gutter’s downspout about two feet above the barrel. Attach the flexible diverter hose so it channels the rain straight into the screened hole. If you want to get fancy, you can buy a diverter kit that lets you shut it off once the barrel is full. Mine is just the basic hose, and when the barrel tops out, the extra rain spills over and runs onto the lawn.

Step Six: Keep It Safe and Useful

Rainwater is great for gardens, flushing toilets, or washing hands, but I do not drink it straight from the barrel. If push came to shove, I would run it through my gravity filter before pouring a glass. To keep it fresh, I add a couple drops of unscented bleach per gallon if I know I will not be using it for a while. That keeps algae at bay.

How It Works in Real Life

Last summer we had a weeklong dry spell. My tomatoes were sagging, the chickens were panting, and the town put out one of those water restrictions asking people to cut back on lawn watering. I just walked out back, filled two buckets from the rain barrel, and carried them over to the garden. Darlene was laughing at me because I sloshed half of it onto my shoes, but the tomatoes perked right up.

When the grandkids visited, Luke asked if we could fill Jasper’s bowl from the barrel. I filtered it first, of course, but watching him proudly pour water from something he helped collect made me realize this project is more than just practical. It is a way to teach them that water is not magic from a tap. It comes from the sky, the ground, and a little bit of forethought.

Dad asked me to share a little each week, so here is something from Oregon. Out here east of the Cascades we do not get the steady summer rain like Missouri. Our summers are hot and bone dry, and the kids know by July that sprinklers are rationed and the grass turns the color of straw. Luke and Charlotte still need to stay hydrated, and I have learned the trick is to make water exciting without dumping sugar in it.

One of my easiest tricks is what we call “fruit water.” I slice up whatever is in the fridge, usually oranges, strawberries, or cucumbers, and let the kids drop the pieces into a pitcher of cold water. Charlotte calls it “fancy water” because she likes to pick the floating slices with her spoon. It is nothing but water with a hint of flavor, but they drink it down like it is special.

Another thing I do is freeze berries into ice cubes. I fill ice trays with water, tuck a blueberry or a grape into each cube, and let them freeze solid. When the kids get home from soccer practice all red-faced and sweaty, I drop a few of those in their water glasses. They sit and wait for the fruit to melt out, and meanwhile they have emptied two full cups.

For outside play, I set up a big drink dispenser on the picnic table with a spigot at the bottom. I fill it with cold water and add lemon slices. The kids run back and forth, fill their own cups, and think it is independence. Honestly it saves me from constantly pouring glasses while I am trying to keep an eye on Jasper digging in the garden.

The last little trick is turning water into part of their routine. Every night before bed I set two small cups of water on the nightstand in their rooms. They take a sip after brushing teeth, then they always drink the rest first thing in the morning. It is simple, but it keeps them hydrated without me nagging.

Dad likes to talk about barrels and bleach ratios. I like to talk about making sure my kids never get to the point of headaches or cranky moods just because they forgot to drink enough water. If I can make plain old water feel like a treat, that is one less battle I have to fight in a busy day.

This week I want you to actually put your water plan through its paces. It is one thing to say you have barrels or jugs stacked in the garage or basement, but it is another thing entirely to make sure they are labeled, rotated, and truly usable. Here is what I want you to do.

Step one, go look at your water storage. Do not just think about it while sipping coffee. Walk down to the basement, open the garage, or wherever you keep it. Check every container. Are they labeled with the date you filled them? If not, grab a Sharpie right now and mark them. Month and year, clear as day.

Step two, pick one container and use it. Pour a gallon into a clean pitcher and stick it in your fridge. Drink it over the next couple days. Notice the taste. Is it flat? Does it smell off? If you have kids, let them try it too. My grandkids are brutally honest and will tell me if something tastes weird. That is feedback you want before an emergency, not during.

Step three, rotate. If you have containers that are over a year old, drain them into your garden, your pet bowls, or even mop water. Then refill with fresh tap water and a touch of unscented bleach if you store long term. Do not let old water sit forgotten.

Step four, practice access. Imagine the power is out and you need water in a hurry. How easy is it to get to your stash? Do you need tools to open the lid? Can your spouse or kids haul a jug upstairs without your help? If not, rearrange things so at least part of your storage is in smaller containers.

Step five, record it. Jot down what you did this week in a notebook. I keep mine on the basement shelf. It says things like “Rotated 3 AquaTainers Jan 2025.” That way I do not have to rely on memory, which gets fuzzier every year.

Your challenge is simple but eye opening. Do not just say you have water stored. Prove it works. Use it, taste it, rotate it, and make sure the people in your house know how to access it. That is the difference between a plan on paper and a plan that saves you when the faucet runs dry.