A couple winters ago, right around the time Darlene had just put a pan of cornbread in the oven, the house went black. No flicker or warning. Just bam, everything off. Oven dead. Lights out. The dog jumped. I said a few words I shouldn’t have. Darlene lit a candle with a calm that can only come from forty years of living with a man like me.

Now, I ain’t new to this. We get outages pretty regular here in our corner of Missouri, especially in the colder months. Tree limbs love to snap under ice and fall right onto lines. And then there's the summer storms, sneaky and fast, tearing through like they got a grudge. But that night reminded me of something I think folks forget. Most people ain’t ready. Not really. They think if they’ve got a couple flashlights and a case of water from the grocery store, they’re golden.

They ain’t.

What I Keep in My Blackout Kit

Let me tell you what I keep in a clear plastic tub marked POWER. It sits in the hall closet under the shelf with all the old tax stuff I keep meaning to burn.

First off, headlamps. I’ve got one for me, one for Darlene, and a couple extras for when the grandkids are visiting. Way better than flashlights. Hands-free, and you don’t have to go setting them down somewhere and forgetting where you put it. I like the kind that runs on AA batteries because I stock up on those at the farm supply store every fall.

Next, lanterns. Battery-powered. Got two that sit on the dining room hutch, look like decorations, but they’re ready to go. One of them even has a little USB port where you can charge a phone if you had to. And I’ve got a hand crank flashlight too. It’s not fun to use, but it’ll work when everything else quits.

I’ve also got matches, lighters, and tea candles in an old cookie tin. Darlene has about a dozen glass candle holders from thrift stores that we use during outages. They make the house feel kind of cozy, if you ignore the fact that the fridge is warming up by the minute.

Feeding People in the Dark

The oven is electric, but the camp stove in the garage isn’t. Neither is the old two-burner Coleman that runs on white gas. I’ve got fuel for both. I keep a few pots and pans I don’t mind blackening out there with them. If we’re lucky and it’s not too cold, I’ll just cook on the porch. Last time I made skillet chili and toasted bread with butter like we used to do when we went camping down by Table Rock.

We also keep a small propane grill on the back patio. Nothing fancy, but it’ll boil water and fry eggs. If things get real bad, I’ve got a Dutch oven and a pile of hardwood in the shed. I ain’t saying I’m looking forward to cooking over a fire pit, but I could if I needed to.

I also try to keep a couple gallons of water tucked away in the pantry. Enough for coffee and hand washing if nothing else. You’d be surprised how many folks don’t think about flushing toilets when the power goes. If you’ve got city water, maybe you’re fine. We’re on a well, so no power means no pump. I’ve got a 55-gallon barrel in the basement full of water for just that reason. Not for drinking. Just toilets and washing.

Keeping Food Cold Without a Fridge

If you live where it gets good and cold, your garage can be a blessing. I’ve got two coolers I clean out and keep ready to go. If the power’s out in winter, I’ll just stick them outside on the porch with the lid cracked. Canned goods don’t care if they freeze. Milk and meat, though, need babysitting.

I try not to open the fridge more than I have to. And I’ve got a thermometer in there to keep an eye on the temp. If it starts climbing past 40 degrees, I move things outside or start cooking what’s likely to spoil first. One time I made a power outage stew with half a dozen different leftovers and it actually turned out better than most of my regular meals.

Keeping Calm When the House Gets Quiet

Kids don’t do great in the dark if they’re not used to it. When Wendy and Steve bring Luke and Charlotte out to visit and the power goes, I try to make it an adventure. I’ve got a deck of cards with half the corners worn off, and I tell stories from when I was a kid. I’ve even got an old battery-powered radio that I tune to the local AM station. Still works like a charm and plays the kind of country I actually like.

I’ll say this too. It helps to be mentally prepared. Some folks get jumpy in a dark house. They think the world’s coming apart. I always say, this is why we get ready. Not to be scared. Just to carry on like it’s no big deal. Because it ain’t, if you’re ready.

Little Things Most Folks Forget

Phone chargers that run on AA batteries. I’ve got two of them, and they ain’t fast, but they work. Same with solar chargers. They take all day, but if you’ve got sun and patience, you’ll get a bar or two.

Books. Real books. When the screens die, it’s nice to have something in your hands besides a dead cell phone. I keep a couple paperbacks by the woodstove, just in case. I’ve also got a printout of emergency numbers taped inside the closet door. Not just 911, but the electric co-op, propane supplier, Wendy and Steve’s house, even the neighbor across the field.

I also keep cash in small bills in a mason jar under the sink. Don’t tell Darlene I told you that. She says it’s weird, but I don’t trust card readers to work when the power’s down. I’d rather hand over a five than try to explain why I can’t Venmo the guy who sells eggs up the road.

How I Practice for It

Every couple months, I flip the main breaker off for an hour or two. Just to see what happens. Darlene hates it, but she plays along. I check my lights, cook something simple, time how long it takes the house to cool off in winter or warm up in summer. I use the time to restock the kit and swap out batteries. Nothing fancy. Just testing the system.

If you’ve never done it, you should. Pick a Saturday morning and pretend the grid’s gone down. Don’t open the fridge unless you have to. Don’t turn on any light switches. Try making coffee without electricity and see what you learn.

You might be surprised at what you’re not ready for. And if you’re lucky, it’ll be a quiet reminder instead of a loud lesson.

This is the cornbread I make when the power’s out and Darlene still wants something warm with her beans. I cook it on the camp stove or over the fire pit out back, depending on what kind of mess we’re in. It’s dead simple, doesn’t need an oven, and tastes better than half the stuff I’ve made with electricity. You just need a cast iron skillet and a little bit of patience.

Ingredients
1 cup cornmeal (yellow or white, whatever you’ve got)
1 cup flour
1 tablespoon sugar (optional, but Darlene likes it that way)
1 tablespoon baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 cup milk or reconstituted powdered milk
1 egg (can skip in a pinch, just adds richness)
4 tablespoons oil or bacon grease (plus more for the pan)

Instructions
Mix your dry stuff first. That’s your cornmeal, flour, sugar if you’re using it, baking powder, and salt. Stir it with a fork in a big bowl until it looks even.

In another bowl or measuring cup, mix your wet stuff. That’s your milk, egg, and oil. Whisk it together, then pour it into your dry mix. Stir it just until it comes together. Don’t beat it half to death. You want lumps. Lumps are good.

Now set your cast iron skillet on medium heat. Camp stove, grill, whatever you’ve got. Add a good spoonful of oil or bacon grease and let it get hot. You want it to sizzle a bit when you drop in a crumb.

Pour your batter in and smooth it out. Cover the skillet with a lid or a sheet of foil, something to trap the heat. That’s the trick since we don’t have an oven top and bottom. Let it cook low and slow for about 15 to 20 minutes. Check the bottom with a spatula. When it’s golden and firming up, flip it like a big pancake. Might take two spatulas if your skillet’s heavy.

Cook the other side for another 5 to 10 minutes until it sounds hollow when you thump it. Slice it like pie and serve warm with butter, honey, or just plain.

If the lights are still out by then, pour yourself a mug of something hot and count it as a win.

I wasn’t in Texas when the big freeze hit back in February 2021, but I studied that event like it was a textbook for the kind of class nobody wants to take. You probably remember hearing about it on the news, maybe even knew someone down there. That storm didn’t just knock out power. It pulled the rug out from under a whole system, and what stuck with me most wasn’t just the cold or the chaos. It was how unprepared the average person really was for something that lasted less than a week.

Let me tell you, that event rattled a lot of folks. And for good reason.

What Actually Happened

A polar vortex dropped south, dragging Arctic temperatures all the way into Texas. Places like Dallas and Austin saw lows in the single digits, and it stayed below freezing for days. That’s not normal for them. Not even close. Pipes froze. Water stopped flowing. Roads iced over. And then the power grid started to buckle. Rolling blackouts turned into full blackouts. Millions of people were left in the dark with no heat, no water, and no plan.

Texas has its own power grid, separate from the rest of the country. And the thing about going it alone is, when it fails, there’s no one coming to bail you out. The system wasn’t winterized. Natural gas lines froze. Wind turbines iced up. Coal plants failed. It all went down like a line of dominoes.

What People Were Missing

Here’s what hit me hardest reading the reports and listening to the stories from people who lived through it. Most folks didn’t even have the basics. Not because they’re lazy or careless. Just because nobody ever told them what they ought to have on hand.

People were using their cars to stay warm. Some ran generators in garages and ended up with carbon monoxide poisoning. Others burned furniture in fireplaces that weren’t meant for real fire. One couple tried to grill indoors. That didn’t end well. Hospitals ran out of water pressure. Cell towers went down. Grocery stores were gutted in hours. Folks lined up for water in freezing temperatures, just to get a couple gallons handed out by the National Guard.

It wasn’t just about electricity. It was about systems. People depended on systems they thought would always work. And when those systems stopped, the modern life we all get used to—hot showers, heat on demand, food a five-minute drive away—just wasn’t there anymore.

What I Took Away From It

First thing, never trust the grid. I don’t mean that in a conspiracy way. I mean it practically. The power grid isn’t some magical force. It’s wires and switches and fuel and people, and all of that can break. If your entire household depends on it for heat, cooking, lights, and communication, then you better have a Plan B. And C. And maybe even D.

Second thing, cold kills faster than most folks realize. When your thermostat’s stuck at 38 degrees inside and falling, your fingers stop working right. Your brain gets slow. If you don’t have proper insulation, warm clothes, and some kind of heat source that doesn’t plug into the wall, you’re in trouble.

Third, water matters. I read dozens of stories from folks who went four or five days without running water. Pipes froze, water mains burst, and people had nothing to drink, cook with, or wash up. Some melted snow in pots just to flush their toilets. Others had to ration bottled water because the stores were picked clean. I don’t care if you live in a desert or on a lake. If you don’t have water stored, you’re gambling with comfort at best and health at worst.

Simple Things That Would Have Made a Big Difference

What struck me is how a few basic preps could’ve changed everything for a lot of folks.

Blankets and sleeping bags rated for freezing weather. Not the decorative kind, but the kind that campers and hunters use. If you can’t heat the house, then heat yourself.

Non-electric heat sources. Propane heaters like the Mr. Buddy types, with proper ventilation. Or a wood stove, if your house is set up for one. Even tealight candle heaters in a pinch, which sound silly but can keep a small space from freezing solid.

Stored water. Even just a few five-gallon jugs tucked away in a closet. A bathtub filled ahead of time. A couple of water bricks under the bed.

Charged power banks. Solar chargers. A battery-powered radio. A printed list of phone numbers in case the phones go out.

Shelf-stable food. Not just MREs and buckets of rice, but stuff people will actually eat when they’re cold, stressed, and don’t feel like boiling beans for three hours.

The Hidden Threat: Community Breakdown

This part doesn’t get talked about enough. When systems fail, stress levels spike. People get desperate. Most folks were good neighbors and helped each other out, but I read about folks knocking on doors asking for fuel, others sneaking around garages at night looking for generators. Desperation turns good people into bad versions of themselves.

That’s why I always say prepping isn’t just for your own household. It’s for the people around you too. If you can help your neighbor without gutting your own supplies, you should. It’s also why having a bit of extra isn’t about greed. It’s about stability. You can keep things calmer when people aren’t afraid.

What I’ve Changed Since Studying That Freeze

I added more cold-weather gear to my emergency bin. Wool socks, chemical hand warmers, an extra sleeping bag for the grandkids. I store more propane now. I bought a water bladder that fits in the bathtub so I can fill 50 gallons quick if I know a storm’s coming. I’ve got a small backup battery bank that runs off a solar panel in the window. And I finally got a carbon monoxide detector for the garage where I run the generator.

The thing that stuck with me most, though, was this: it doesn’t take a total collapse to ruin your week. It just takes one system failing at the wrong time. That Texas freeze wasn’t the apocalypse. It was five or six days of things going sideways. And yet people suffered like it was the end of the world.

You don’t have to live in Texas to learn from it. You just have to pay attention.

Let me walk you through something I built one February after the power went out during a sleet storm and the house dropped to 45 degrees inside. The fireplace was already going, but it wasn’t cutting it in the far end of the house. Darlene had taken over the living room with blankets and dogs and I needed something for the back bedroom where I keep the ham radios and emergency bins. That’s where the clay pot heater came in.

It’s simple, quiet, doesn’t take up much space, and best of all, it runs on tea lights. I’m not saying it’ll warm up a ballroom, but it will take the edge off a freezing room, especially if you seal off a small space and sit close. It’s good for emergency warmth, drying socks, or just keeping your fingers from locking up when the wind's whistling under the door.

What You’ll Need

How to Build It

Safety Notes

This thing gets hot. Don’t touch the pots once it’s going. And don’t set it near anything flammable. I keep mine on a ceramic tile on top of a milk crate. Never leave it unattended with kids or pets around. And don’t use it in a completely sealed room without ventilation. It’s still fire, even if it’s tiny.

Where I Keep It

I’ve got one set of pots in the garage with my winter bins, and another in the house. I keep a box of tea lights in the hall closet next to the first aid kit and the battery drawer. I also keep a lighter rubber-banded to the box so I’m not digging around when my fingers are half-frozen and I’m grumpy.

Why I Like It

It’s quiet. It doesn’t stink. It uses stuff most folks already have. And unlike a propane heater or a space heater, it doesn’t require fuel or a generator. You can run it off a $3 pack of tea lights from the dollar store. It won’t heat your whole house, but it might make one room survivable. And sometimes, that’s all you need.

Hi there. I’m Wendy, Kyle’s daughter, writing from over here in eastern Oregon where the wind never stops blowing, the grocery store closes at 7, and our lab Jasper thinks elk are just giant squirrels. My husband Steve and I are raising our two kids, Luke who’s 9 and already thinks he knows more than us, and Charlotte who’s 7 and recently tried to pack a bug-out bag full of glitter glue and fruit snacks.

Growing up with Dad, prepping wasn’t a scary thing. It was just what we did. It meant learning how to siphon water from a rain barrel before I was allowed to wear mascara. We had blackout nights like other families had pizza night. And now that I’ve got kids of my own, I’ve realized how valuable all that was. I also realized real fast that if you try to teach your kids about emergency readiness by sitting them down for a PowerPoint, they will zone out by slide two and ask if you have any gummy bears.

So we do it differently in our house. We sneak the prepping in under the radar. No panic, no pressure. Just simple routines and little games that build good habits without making everyone feel like the sky is falling. Because the truth is, the sky might fall one day. But we’ll be wearing our boots and holding a flashlight when it does.

Making Preparedness Feel Like a Game

We do “lights out night” about once a month. Dinner by lantern, no TV, no iPads, no whining about Wi-Fi (well, okay, a little whining). The first time we did it, Charlotte pouted because the microwave didn’t work. Now she helps me light candles and Luke sets up the “charging station” with all our battery banks like he’s working at a tiny airport.

They think it’s fun. They don’t even realize they’re practicing for the real thing. And the best part? Last winter when a snowstorm knocked our power out for sixteen hours, nobody freaked out. We just rolled into lights-out mode like we’d trained for it. Which, in a way, we had.

Bug-Out Bags with Glitter and Granola Bars

The kids each have their own emergency bags. Not the heavy-duty tactical kind. These are just school-sized backpacks we picked up on clearance. Charlotte’s is purple with unicorns. Luke’s is camo because he’s nine and deeply committed to “blending into the forest.”

Inside, they’ve each got:

They helped pack the bags, which I think is important. If you hand a kid a ready-made survival kit, they might ignore it. But if they get to pick what snack goes in it and what bandana they want, they actually care about it. They’ll remember where it is. They’ll show it off. Charlotte once took hers to show-and-tell and gave a full five-minute talk on the importance of having “a flashlight that’s not on your mom’s phone.”

Snacks Are Morale

I keep extra food on hand, but I make sure it includes kid-friendly stuff. The shelf-stable things they’ll actually eat when they’re cold and stressed. Applesauce pouches. Peanut butter crackers. Hot chocolate mix. Fruit snacks shaped like dinosaurs. We rotate it, we label it together, and when we use things up, the kids get to help make the replacement list.

It’s not just about calories. It’s about comfort. During the last outage, Charlotte cried because she thought the fridge wouldn’t work and her string cheese would “get ruined forever.” So now we keep a couple treats in a plastic tub marked "Power Out Snacks" and they know they’re only for special occasions. It makes the situation feel less scary when you get to eat cocoa cookies by lantern light.

Skill-Building Without the Lecture

We don’t call it “training.” We call it camping. Or projects. Or treasure hunts.

Luke can set up a tarp lean-to in the backyard. Charlotte can strike a match and light a candle safely. They both know how to purify water using a LifeStraw, mostly because they think it’s cool to drink out of a bowl like the dog. I printed out scavenger hunts for flashlight batteries and bottled water, and we turn them into weekend races. Winner picks dessert.

They don’t need to know they’re learning how to stay calm during a crisis. They just think it’s fun. But when that winter storm knocked our power out and we had to hunker down for a day and a half with no heat and one working burner on the camp stove, they handled it like champs. Luke even made coffee for me and Steve using our emergency French press and said, “Grandpa would be proud.”

He would be. He is. And honestly, I’m proud too. Because the goal isn’t to raise little survivalists who can skin a rabbit by age ten. It’s to raise kids who can keep their heads when things go sideways. Who know how to stay warm, how to help, and how to dig out a headlamp without making a mess of the closet.

And maybe, just maybe, how to make s’mores with a tea light and a bamboo skewer while the wind howls outside.

This week’s challenge is one I call the No-Power Sunday. You’re going to spend six daylight hours without using a single electric thing in your house. That means no lights, no microwave, no phone chargers, no opening the fridge, no flipping switches just because your hand is used to it. If it plugs in or turns on with a button, it’s off limits.

Why six hours? Because that’s just long enough to start noticing what’s missing, but not long enough to ruin your marriage or scare the dog. I do this a few times a year, usually when the weather’s not too cold and not too hot. Darlene rolls her eyes, but she plays along. And every time, we learn something new that we didn’t know we were relying on.

Here’s How to Do It

Optional Bonus: Shut Off the Main Breaker

If you really want to go all in and you’re confident in your setup, flip the main breaker on your panel and see how the house feels without a single drip of power. This step is not for everyone, especially if you’ve got sensitive medical devices or a fridge full of venison. But if you’ve got backups in place, it’s the best way to feel the real impact.

Why It Matters

You don’t rise to the occasion during a crisis. You fall back on your training. If your training consists of watching videos while eating chips under an electric blanket, you’re gonna have a bad time when the lights go out. But if you’ve actually tried living a little like it’s gone sideways, even for just an afternoon, you’ll start spotting the gaps in your plan.

And the best part? If something goes wrong, the grid’s still there. You can turn the power back on and adjust. Better to find out now that your emergency coffee pot leaks or that your lantern smells like kerosene and despair, than when you’re snowed in with two cranky kids and a freezer full of deer sausage.

Try it. No excuses. Six hours. No power. And if it goes well, do it again in a few weeks. Next time, make it overnight. You’ll thank me later. Or you’ll curse me at hour three when you realize you’ve never opened a can without electricity. Either way, you’ll learn something.