Back in January of '94, we had an ice storm that knocked out power across half the county. I was forty, stubborn, and still under the impression that a flashlight and a few candles could get a man through anything. Let me tell you, trying to warm up a can of chili over a candle while Darlene wrapped herself in every quilt we owned was the moment I realized I had some learning to do. Fast forward almost thirty years and I can say with a straight face that we can go two solid weeks without grid power now and still have hot coffee, warm soup, working lights, and a cold beer if the mood strikes.

Understanding the Real Risk

Most folks think of power outages as a temporary thing. A few hours here or there, maybe a day or two if a big storm rolls through. That’s usually true, but the truth is, the grid’s more fragile than we want to admit. I’m not saying this to stir up fear. I’m saying it because I’ve lived it. Between aging infrastructure, extreme weather, and an energy system stretched thin, we’re only ever a bad storm or a single transformer away from the whole system going quiet.

Here in Missouri we get ice storms that take down lines like twigs, tornadoes that pull poles clean out of the ground, and in summer the grid just gets too hot and tired to keep up. Out west where my daughter Wendy lives with her husband Steve and their two kids, it’s the wildfires. They lose power on purpose sometimes, as a preventative thing. They call it a Public Safety Power Shutoff. I call it a pain in the backside.

First Comes the Light, Then Comes the Heat

The very first thing folks notice when the power cuts out is the lights. Suddenly you're in the dark. But it ain’t the dark that gets you, it’s what follows. Your fridge goes silent. The furnace won’t kick on. Your phone starts that slow battery death march. The longer the outage, the more the comfort gets peeled away.

Let me walk you through what I do, and maybe it’ll give you some ideas for your own home.

We’ve got rechargeable lanterns stationed in the house like fire extinguishers. One in the hallway closet, one in the mudroom by the back door, another in the basement stairwell. They sit plugged in, so they’re always topped off. I also keep a small headlamp hanging on a hook in the kitchen for hands-free work. Makes cooking or fixing something in the dark a whole lot easier.

Then there’s the fridge. We’ve got a propane fridge in the basement. It’s not fancy, but it keeps the essentials cold without needing a lick of electricity. That way, I’m not rushing to cook six pounds of thawing ground beef on a charcoal grill in February like I did that one year. Darlene still brings that up when she wants to humble me.

Generators Are Great but Not Magic

Now, we do have a generator. It’s a mid-sized gas unit, nothing crazy, just enough to run the well pump, the fridge, and a few lights. But I don’t count on it for everything. Gasoline storage has its limits. You can only keep so much on hand before it goes bad or becomes a fire hazard. I treat the generator like a bridge, not a lifeline. It buys me time, but it doesn’t replace being ready to live without the grid.

I keep a logbook next to the generator. Every time I run it, I jot down the time and what I was powering. That way I know how long the fuel lasts and what’s really necessary. The water pump gets ten minutes in the morning and ten at night. Freezer gets an hour every six. Lights are optional.

If you’re thinking about buying a generator, don’t just buy the biggest thing at the store. Think about what you actually need. You can flush a toilet with a bucket of water from the rain barrel. You don’t need to power the whole house. You need to power the essentials.

Low-Tech Comforts That Matter More Than You Think

Darlene has a saying: “Candles make things cozy until they make things dangerous.” She’s right. We’ve moved to battery-powered lanterns mostly, but I do keep some oil lamps. There’s something comforting about the flicker. Plus, they don’t rely on batteries. Just good old-fashioned lamp oil and a spare wick.

We also have a hand-crank radio. It’s not just for weather alerts, although that’s part of it. Sometimes just hearing a voice on the airwaves makes you feel less isolated when everything else is quiet. Especially at night.

Darlene keeps a stash of crossword puzzle books and a couple decks of cards. It’s funny how much a simple game of gin rummy can help pass the time. When the kids come visit and the power blinks off, Luke and Charlotte get downright excited. We sit around with lanterns telling stories or playing “Would You Rather” until bedtime.

Water Is the Real Problem

Most people don’t realize how much they rely on electricity for water. If you’re on a well like we are, your pump won’t work without power. That’s a big deal. First thing we did when we got serious about preparedness was add a hand pump. We had a local guy install it right next to the electric pump. It’s not easy work pumping water for cooking and cleaning by hand, but it’s better than nothing.

I also keep ten gallons of clean water in the pantry at all times. Rotate it every six months. Nothing fancy. Just dollar-store jugs filled and labeled with the date. I write the month and year with a Sharpie and replace them every spring and fall.

We also have two rain barrels with spigots. That’s for flushing toilets and watering the garden if it’s summer. Never drink it without boiling first, of course, but it’s a whole lot easier than hauling from the creek.

Keeping the Food Coming

Cooking without power is easier than most folks think, if you plan ahead. We’ve got a propane grill, a cast iron Dutch oven, and a rocket stove I built out of bricks and an old metal pipe. That thing gets hotter than a two-dollar pistol and cooks a pot of stew in no time.

I keep a box of canned goods that we don’t touch except in an emergency. It’s labeled “Kyle’s Apocalypse Soup.” That box has everything from chili to peaches. Every fall I pull it out and check for bulging lids or rust. Anything on the edge gets eaten and replaced.

I also keep a tub of dry goods. Rice, beans, lentils, oats, powdered milk. That stuff’ll keep for years if you store it right. I vacuum seal some of it in jars with oxygen absorbers. Darlene thinks it looks like a science project, but she’s glad it’s there when we need it.

Practice Makes Peaceful

Here’s the part folks don’t like to hear. You gotta practice. Once a year, we do a 48-hour no-power weekend. I flip the breakers, fire up the lanterns, and we live like it’s the end of the world. The first time we did it, I forgot the can opener. Second time, the batteries in the radio were dead. But now, we’ve got a rhythm.

It’s not about playing pretend. It’s about learning where the cracks are before they cost you. And it’s about giving your family some confidence. There’s nothing quite like seeing your grandkids brushing their teeth by lantern light without fuss or fear. It tells you you’re doing something right.

That’s all for this one.

I’ve made this hash more times than I can count. It’s become the go-to breakfast when the power’s out and everyone’s waking up cold, hungry, and a little grumpy. Nothing fixes moods like the smell of onions and sausage hitting a hot cast iron first thing in the morning.

This recipe works over a propane burner, camp stove, or woodstove. I’ve even made it on a flat rock next to a fire once, but that’s a story Darlene tells better than I do.

Ingredients:

Instructions:

This breakfast sticks with you, keeps your belly full, and gives you the strength to chop wood, haul water, or just sit by the fire and read the weather radio. If you’ve got cheese, throw some on top. If you’ve got leftover cornbread, this goes right next to it like they were made to be friends.

If you lived anywhere near the Mississippi or Missouri rivers back in the summer of 1993, you remember. That wasn’t just a high-water year. That was a punch in the gut that lasted for months. The Great Flood of '93 wasn’t some quick disaster like a tornado or an ice storm. It was slow and miserable and dragged out like a bad conversation with your insurance adjuster.

I was 31. We’d just moved into our second house, a little two-bedroom place about five miles from the Missouri River. I wasn’t a full-blown prepper yet, but I did think I had some common sense. That flood taught me how thin that line is between being “pretty prepared” and being in the soup with everybody else.

Water Is the Problem and the Enemy

What caught most folks off guard during that flood wasn’t just how high the rivers got. It was how long they stayed high. Some parts of Missouri were underwater for months. The rain just kept coming. Every time we thought we’d catch a break, another storm would roll in and dump a few more inches. The ground got so saturated that it felt like you were walking on a wet sponge.

I remember trying to drive out to check on a buddy’s place near Cedar City. We got turned around by the National Guard, and one of the guardsmen said flat out, “The river’s got a new plan, and you ain’t part of it.”

Even though our house didn’t flood, the roads around us did. And that’s the part that a lot of folks don’t think about. You don’t have to be underwater to be stranded. All it takes is every road out of your neighborhood being closed.

You Can’t Eat Good Intentions

We were lucky to still have power, but the grocery stores got picked clean in the first week. Bread, milk, bottled water, all of it gone. I watched one guy try to buy six loaves of white bread and the cashier told him she’d only sell him two.

That was the moment I started taking food storage seriously. Before that, we had what I called “pantry roulette.” Whatever was left at the end of the week is what we ate. If it was crackers and green beans, well, then that was dinner.

After the flood, I started putting aside real shelf-stable food. Canned soups, dried pasta, bags of rice, beans, powdered milk. I even learned how to pressure can vegetables and meat because I didn’t want to be one of the guys waiting in line at the store for another shipment of bottled water and Vienna sausages.

The Toilet Stops Working Before the Lights Do

One thing I remember clear as day: when the floodwater got into the treatment plant downriver, the water stopped being safe to drink. Even worse, the sewage backed up.

Let me tell you, when your toilet gurgles like a coffee percolator and then bubbles up with brown water, you start thinking very differently about “essential services.”

We ended up digging a makeshift latrine behind the garage. I had some scrap plywood and an old toilet seat. Covered it with a tarp for privacy and used lime to keep the smell down. Darlene wasn’t thrilled, but she agreed it was better than the alternative.

Now I keep a five-gallon bucket with a snap-on toilet seat and a box of heavy-duty trash bags in the shed. If the plumbing ever goes out again, I’m not scrambling with a shovel.

Neighbors Are Gold, but Only if You Know Them

One thing that saved our bacon that summer was the folks on our block. There were about six of us who kind of formed an informal team. Someone had a big propane grill, another had a freezer full of meat and a generator, someone else had extra jugs of water, and we all pitched in.

We took turns watching the kids, cooked meals together, pooled tools and supplies. That kind of mutual support doesn’t happen if you’ve never waved at your neighbor before.

Since then, I make a point of knowing who lives around me. Not just names, but what they can do, what they know, what kind of tools they’ve got. When things go sideways, that kind of network is worth more than any pile of gear in your basement.

The Government Can’t Save Everybody

FEMA came in. Eventually. So did the Red Cross and the National Guard and all kinds of help. But it took time. There were areas that didn’t see outside assistance for a week or more. And when the trucks finally did roll in, there was only so much to go around.

I remember Cheryl down in Hermann telling me that the FEMA trailer with supplies didn’t even have diapers. She had a toddler and ended up cutting up old T-shirts.

That’s when it hit me: the cavalry is real, but they ain’t fast. And they sure ain’t psychic. If you’re counting on someone showing up with exactly what your family needs in a crisis, you’re setting yourself up for a world of hurt.

What I Do Different Now

Since that flood, I’ve got five-gallon jugs of water stored on a rack in the basement, rotated every six months. I’ve got extra bleach, heavy-duty gloves, and rubber boots for mucking out. I’ve got food for 30 days minimum. A battery-powered fan. Two ways to cook. And a plan for when the toilets stop working.

I don’t say all that to sound smug. I say it because I learned it the hard way, and I don’t want someone else to have to do the same. That flood kicked off my journey into serious preparedness. It didn’t make me paranoid. It made me practical.

And it taught me that the river might rise slow, but it doesn’t care how fast you run.

Now here’s one most folks around here have never tried, but it flat-out works if you do it right. I built my first clay pot fridge, also called a Zeer pot, one summer when the garden was coming in fast and the power was flickering like a bad fluorescent light. I wanted a way to keep some produce cool without relying on the fridge, just in case things went sideways. This thing works off the ancient principle of evaporation, and I’ll be darned if it didn’t keep my tomatoes, peppers, and even a stick of butter cool in 95-degree heat.

It’s completely off-grid, requires no power, and costs less than a fast-food dinner if you’ve got access to a feed store or garden center.

What You’ll Need:

How to Build It:

What It’s Good For:

I use mine to store garden produce during summer. Tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, eggs (if they’re unwashed), even butter wrapped in a jar. Anything that needs to stay cool but not fridge-cold.

Once I put a thermometer in there just for kicks. It was 92 degrees outside and the inner pot stayed at 61 all day long. That may not sound like a fridge, but it’s enough to keep things fresh when the grid is down and you’re living off what you can grow or barter.

Why It’s Worth Doing Now:

Building one of these teaches you how to work with the environment instead of against it. You learn how to harness evaporation, pay attention to shade and airflow, and manage food without electricity.

Plus, if the grid ever did go down for good or the freezer gave up in July, I’d still have a way to stretch my food supply. Darlene keeps one just for storing extra herbs and eggs when the fridge gets full during canning season.

And when Wendy visited last summer, Charlotte thought it was some kind of magic trick. She kept lifting the lid to see if I had put ice in there when she wasn’t looking. I just smiled and told her, “Nope, it’s just science and clay.”

You can’t beat that for a five-dollar project that might just save your butter.

When I was little, Dad used to take me camping out at Lake of the Ozarks with a two-man tent, a dented lantern, and a coffee can full of worms. I remember it like it was yesterday. The smell of smoke in my clothes, mosquitoes the size of hummingbirds, and his awful instant coffee that tasted like scorched tree bark. But I also remember learning how to start a fire, cook on a rock, and tie a square knot.

Now I’ve got two kids of my own, Luke and Charlotte, and we live on the dry side of Oregon where it gets real windy, real dusty, and in summer, real fire-prone. We don’t always have time to drive out to a campground. But I’ve started doing something with them that Dad would probably shake his head at while secretly approving. We call it “camping in.”

Why We Camp Indoors (and Sometimes in the Yard)

It started during a power outage a few years ago. A windstorm knocked out the grid and I found myself trying to entertain two hungry, anxious kids in the dark. Steve was at work. My phone battery was at 12 percent. And suddenly, I thought, “Why don’t we just treat this like a camping trip?”

We set up our little pop-up tent in the living room, laid out sleeping bags, and cooked dinner on the camping stove outside. I let them use their headlamps to “go to the bathroom” like it was some kind of deep-woods operation. They loved it. And I noticed how it shifted their perspective. It went from a scary blackout to an adventure.

Now we do it once a month, power outage or not. Sometimes in the yard if it’s warm enough, sometimes right there between the couch and the dog’s bed.

Skills Without the Stress

These “camp-ins” are a sneaky way to teach skills without the pressure of an emergency. Luke knows how to set up the tent faster than I do now. Charlotte can pack our emergency backpack in five minutes flat and she double checks the first aid kit without being asked.

We make hot cocoa using the Jetboil, and I let them “filter” water through a Sawyer Mini, even if it’s just tap water. It’s fun. It’s goofy. And it gives them confidence.

Dad always said, “You don’t rise to the occasion, you fall back on your training.” I didn’t really get that until I saw my nine-year-old calmly digging through a bin to find the emergency radio during a thunderstorm while the neighbor kid was crying in the hallway.

The Jasper Factor

Of course, Jasper the black lab has to be part of the adventure. He thinks the indoor tent is just a blanket fort for him. He crawls right in, takes up half the sleeping bag, and snores louder than Steve. We pack his own little go-bag with a leash, a collapsible water bowl, and a Ziploc full of treats. It’s silly. And it matters.

The kids are learning that everyone in the family counts. Even the slobbery one.

Takeaway for Other Parents

If you’ve got young kids and you’re trying to teach preparedness without turning your home into a doomsday bunker, this works. Start by turning off the lights and turning on the flashlights. Let them set up their own little camp. Let them mess up. Let them “forget” the can opener and then solve the problem.

It doesn’t have to be polished or perfect. In fact, the messier it is, the more they learn.

Dad might not approve of my battery-powered fairy lights in the tent or the marshmallows roasted over a gas burner, but I know for sure he’d approve of kids who feel brave and capable when the lights go out.

Besides, they’re already asking when Grandpa’s going to show them how to build a real fire pit “like the one he made with bricks and bacon grease.” So I’d say we’re on the right track.

Alright, here’s your challenge for the week, and it ain’t for the faint of heart. I want you to go 72 hours living like the grid is down and the grocery store doesn’t exist. No electricity. No running to town. No internet. No microwave. No delivery apps. Pretend the lights are out, the water’s iffy, and the neighbors are all asking each other if they’ve got extra batteries.

I’ve done this more than a few times, and every single time I learn something new. The first time, I realized I had a dozen cans of soup but no way to open them. Second time, I discovered the dog’s food bin was nearly empty and I had to scramble to feed Jasper boiled rice and eggs.

This is where you figure out if all that gear in your basement actually works or if it’s just a really expensive conversation piece.

The Rules:

What to Focus On:

Bonus Points:
Write down what failed, what worked, and what needs adjusting. And make sure everyone in the house participates. It doesn’t count if the kids are sneaking snacks from the pantry while you’re out boiling rainwater in the backyard.

This challenge isn’t about proving how tough you are. It’s about finding the gaps before they turn into emergencies.

And if you really want to level up, try doing it during a stretch of bad weather. That’s when the real surprises show up.

You do this once a season, and before long, the thought of the lights going out won’t rattle you one bit. You’ll just grab the lantern, open a can of stew, and carry on like it’s just another Tuesday.