Now, when I was younger, a quick power outage was a minor inconvenience. I’d grab a flashlight, maybe light a candle, and that was that. But these days I see every outage as a test run. The electric company gives me a free little preparedness drill, and I always try to learn something from it. This time, for instance, I realized that the rechargeable lantern in the hall closet was dead because I’d forgotten to cycle it last month. Rookie mistake.

Darlene teased me because I went straight for the breaker panel like I was auditioning for a lineman job. I told her I just like knowing what’s happening on my own property. Turns out the outage was just our street, and it was back on within fifteen minutes. But it was a good reminder of how quickly comfort can slip into inconvenience if you’re not ready.

What I Learned About My Generator the Hard Way

A few years back, after an ice storm took out the lines for nearly three days, I invested in a mid-sized gas generator. Nothing fancy, but it’ll keep the fridge, the freezer, and Darlene’s favorite lamp running. I used to keep the fuel in those red plastic cans out in the shed, but one winter I found out the hard way that gas doesn’t age gracefully. That smell of varnish when you unscrew the cap? That’s the scent of regret. Now I rotate my fuel every six months. I label each can with a date and add stabilizer right from the start. I also keep one of those small siphon pumps handy, because pouring from a five-gallon jug into a generator tank while wearing gloves in the cold is an Olympic event.

What’s on the Shelves Really Matters

Darlene and I keep what we call our “quiet pantry.” It’s just a few shelves in the basement with food that doesn’t need refrigeration. Beans, rice, canned chicken, some jars of peaches from last summer’s canning spree. When the lights go out, we don’t want to be the folks racing to eat everything in the fridge before it spoils. I rotate those items like clockwork, oldest to newest, and every few months I take inventory with a notepad and a cup of coffee. It’s a strange sort of satisfaction, knowing we can eat comfortably for a few weeks if we had to.

Our daughter Wendy jokes that I’m one power outage away from building a bunker. She and Steve out in Oregon have their own setup now though, especially after that windstorm last year. Their kids, Luke and Charlotte, think it’s fun when the power goes out because they get to use flashlights and camp indoors. I told Wendy that’s how it starts. You make it fun for the kids, and before you know it, they’re old enough to understand that being ready isn’t paranoia, it’s just being smart.

Simple Habits for When the Lights Go Out

Here’s what I tell my neighbors when they roll their eyes about my generator. Every family should have three things: a way to make light, a way to make heat, and a way to make coffee. I mean that last one seriously. Whether it’s a French press or a stovetop percolator, there’s morale in that morning cup. I also recommend keeping a small stash of cash, because those card readers at the gas station don’t hum when the power’s down. And don’t forget a manual can opener. I know that sounds obvious, but you’d be surprised how many folks think they can pry open a tin of beans with a butter knife.

Every little outage is a gentle reminder from the universe that comfort isn’t permanent. Around here, I take those reminders to heart, and I’m grateful when they come in small doses. Besides, it gives me an excuse to pull out the lanterns, pour another cup, and make sure the coffee pot is ready for next time.

Now, this one’s a crowd-pleaser in our house and a favorite whenever the weather starts leaning toward sweater season. Darlene’s been making this for as long as I can remember, and every time the power goes out or we’re camping down by the river, this is what she cooks up in the Dutch oven. It fills the air with that cozy smell of home, and the leftovers taste even better the next day if you’re lucky enough to have any left.

Ingredients
2 tablespoons cooking oil
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 carrots, sliced into rounds
2 celery stalks, chopped
1 ½ pounds boneless skinless chicken thighs or breasts, cut into chunks
4 cups chicken broth (homemade if you’ve got it)
1 cup milk
1 teaspoon salt
½ teaspoon black pepper
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried parsley
2 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
4 tablespoons butter, melted

How We Make It
I start by heating the Dutch oven right over the coals or on the propane burner if we’re home. Add the oil and let the onion, garlic, carrots, and celery sizzle until they soften up a bit and smell downright inviting. Toss in the chicken pieces and stir until they start browning lightly on the edges.

Pour in the broth and milk, add your salt, pepper, thyme, and parsley, then let it simmer low and slow for about 20 minutes. While that’s bubbling away, I mix the dumplings. In a bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and melted butter, then stir in just enough warm water to make a soft dough.

Drop spoonfuls of that dough right on top of the simmering stew. You don’t have to be fancy about it. Cover the Dutch oven with the lid and let it cook for another 15 to 20 minutes. You’ll know it’s ready when the dumplings are puffed up and the broth has thickened into that perfect, velvety texture that makes you close your eyes on the first bite.

Darlene always serves it with a little sprinkle of black pepper and sometimes a few chopped chives if she remembers to snip them from the back porch. I like mine with a slice of her sourdough bread on the side for good measure.

When Luke and Charlotte come to visit, they call this “Grandma’s Chicken Clouds.” I don’t argue with that name one bit.

Back in December of 1952, London got hit with something folks there called the Great Smog. It wasn’t a storm, not in the usual sense, but it rolled in like one. Cold air trapped a blanket of soot and smoke right over the city, and within a few days, that haze turned deadly. For nearly a week, you couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of you. Buses stopped running, ambulances got lost, and folks were bumping into one another just trying to cross the street.

I’ve spent a lot of time reading about that event because it’s one of those rare cases where a modern city got caught off guard by something entirely man-made. Coal was the main culprit. Londoners were burning low-grade coal in their fireplaces, and factories were doing the same on a much larger scale. When the weather turned cold and the air got still, all that smoke just sat there like a lid on a pot. The smog crept into homes, theaters, and even hospitals. Visibility dropped to almost nothing, and people described it as being like ink in the air.

Estimates vary, but most researchers believe around twelve thousand people died as a result of that smog, either directly or from the respiratory issues that followed. Thousands more were hospitalized. The most haunting part, to me, is that it wasn’t one dramatic explosion or earthquake. It was slow and quiet, and it happened because no one thought to prepare for something they couldn’t see coming.

The British government didn’t have emergency protocols for air pollution back then. There was no alert system, no public health guidance. Folks just went about their day, coughing and squinting, figuring the fog would lift soon enough. It took several days before the seriousness of it really set in. Even the undertakers ran out of coffins.

There’s a kind of humility in studying that disaster. It shows how easily comfort can turn to crisis when daily habits pile up unchecked. The people of London didn’t think twice about burning coal, because it was what they’d always done. That’s the lesson I take from it. Complacency can be as dangerous as any storm or flood.

When the Clean Air Act passed a few years later, it wasn’t just about cleaner skies. It was about learning the hard way that preparedness isn’t only stocking food and fuel. It’s paying attention to the slow-building risks that creep up quietly. The kind that don’t make a sound until it’s too late.

Now this one’s for those of you who like to be prepared for the kind of problem that doesn’t come with thunder or sirens. I’m talking about electromagnetic pulses, or EMPs. You don’t have to wear a tinfoil hat to admit it’s worth thinking about. An EMP could come from a solar flare or a man-made source, and if it hits, anything with a microchip is fair game. Cell phones, radios, generators, even that fancy truck in your driveway could turn into a very expensive lawn ornament.

I’m not the kind of guy who loses sleep over every possible scenario, but I do like sleeping better knowing I’ve got a few things protected. A simple Faraday cage can keep your small electronics safe from electromagnetic interference, and you can build one in an afternoon with stuff from the hardware store.

What You’ll Need
A new galvanized metal trash can with a tight-fitting lid (the 20 to 30 gallon size works best)
Heavy-duty aluminum foil (just in case you want extra shielding)
Cardboard sheets or foam insulation panels
Some duct tape
A handful of smaller Mylar bags or antistatic pouches for extra protection

How to Build It
First thing, make sure your trash can is clean and free of any plastic liners or paint residue inside. You want bare metal for this project. Then take your cardboard or foam panels and line the entire interior—bottom, sides, and lid. The goal is to keep whatever you put inside from touching the metal. If your devices touch the bare metal, you’ve defeated the whole purpose of the cage.

Once it’s lined, I like to add an extra layer of foil over the cardboard, just to tighten up the shielding. Think of it as a belt and suspenders approach. Tape it down so it doesn’t shift around.

Now, test the fit of the lid. It should sit tight and snug, with good metal-to-metal contact all around. That’s what seals the cage from electromagnetic intrusion. If you want to get fancy, some folks run a thin strip of conductive tape around the rim, but I’ve found a good-fitting lid does the trick.

What to Store Inside
This is where it gets personal. I keep a small handheld ham radio, a solar charger, a few rechargeable batteries, a USB thumb drive with family documents, an old smartphone that still works offline, and a backup power bank. Darlene laughed when I put her battery-powered book light in there, but she stopped laughing when I reminded her that reading beats staring at the dark.

You can also store small electronics for your vehicle, a spare radio, or even a backup generator controller if you’re extra cautious. I wrap each item in a plastic bag or antistatic pouch first, then a loose layer of foil for good measure before placing it inside.

Maintenance and Storage Tips
I keep my Faraday can in the corner of the basement, up off the floor on a couple of two-by-fours to avoid any moisture issues. Once or twice a year, I open it up and check everything inside. Batteries get rotated, and I make sure the lid still fits tight.

I’ve told a few neighbors about this project, and most of them just smile politely. Then we get a solar flare warning in the news, and suddenly I get a text asking, “Kyle, what was that thing you built with the trash can?” It’s not about being paranoid. It’s about being the one household on the block that still has a working radio when the rest of the world goes quiet.

Hi everyone, it’s Wendy, reporting in from the dry side of Oregon where the wind never seems to stop blowing and the dust can find its way into just about every corner of the house. Dad asked me to write a little something for the newsletter this week, so I figured I’d share how I finally got my husband, Steve, to come around to the prepper mindset. Spoiler alert, it took a power outage, a hungry black lab, and two kids with melting popsicles.

It was about three summers ago when the grid went down for almost two full days after a windstorm. The kids, Luke and Charlotte, thought it was an adventure at first. They ran around with flashlights and made shadow puppets on the walls. Steve was confident it’d be back on before bedtime. Well, bedtime came and went, and by morning the house was starting to smell like thawing chicken.

I remember standing there with the fridge door open, trying to decide which groceries we had to cook first. Steve was rummaging through the garage looking for a lighter because he’d realized he didn’t actually know how to light the gas stove without the electronic ignition. That was the moment it hit him. He looked at me and said, “We really don’t have a plan, do we?”

Since then, we’ve built our own little preparedness setup. We started simple. I made a three-day meal plan of things we’d actually eat—pasta, chili, pancake mix, and peanut butter. We bought a small camping stove and learned how to use it properly. I even set aside a “storm bin” that holds candles, batteries, matches, and a hand-crank radio. Nothing fancy, just practical stuff that doesn’t need charging.

Now Steve takes pride in keeping our rain barrels full. He even got the kids involved by letting them help test the water filter every few months. Charlotte calls it our “science experiment,” and Luke likes to check the flashlight batteries like he’s running a power company. It’s become a family thing, which makes it feel less like a chore and more like a project we’re all part of.

Our black lab, Jasper, plays his role too. He’s the unofficial security system and chief morale officer. When we do our “practice outage” nights once or twice a year, he’s the first to curl up by the lantern like he’s settling in for story time. Those practice runs started as a joke, but they’ve actually helped us figure out what works and what doesn’t. For example, we learned that eating cold beans out of a can might sound rugged, but nobody enjoys it after the first spoonful.

The thing I’ve realized is that being prepared isn’t about living in fear. It’s about peace of mind. It’s knowing that if something goes sideways, you can handle it without panic. When the power came back on after that windstorm, Steve just nodded and said, “Next time, we’ll be ready.” And you know what? We are.

So if you’re the one in your household trying to get your spouse on board, be patient. Sometimes it takes an uncomfortable night and a half-melted freezer to light the fire. Start small, make it part of your routine, and before long, preparedness becomes second nature—kind of like brushing your teeth, just a lot more satisfying.

Alright folks, this one’s simple in theory but eye-opening in practice. I call it the 24-Hour Grid-Down Test, and it’s exactly what it sounds like. For one full day, you live like the power’s gone out. No lights, no microwave, no internet, no sneaky charging your phone when nobody’s looking. Just you, your household, and whatever you’ve actually got on hand.

Before you start, let everyone in your home know what you’re doing so they don’t think you’ve finally lost your marbles. I tell Darlene it’s “a weekend experiment,” which sounds less extreme and keeps her from rolling her eyes too much.

Here’s how to do it. Pick a day when you can stay home. Flip the main breaker, or if that makes you nervous, just agree not to use any powered items for the full 24 hours. That means lights off, appliances off, and no running to the store when you realize you forgot something. You’re testing your setup, not your neighbor’s generosity.

Use whatever light sources you’ve stored. Flashlights, lanterns, candles, headlamps—see which ones work best and which ones are a hassle. Try cooking a full meal without electricity. Maybe use your camp stove, your grill, or a solar oven if you’ve got one. If you’ve never tried to boil water on a camp stove while the wind’s blowing, this will be a good lesson.

Take notes as you go. Did you have enough batteries? Could you find your matches in the dark? Did the kids complain about being bored after fifteen minutes, or did they surprise you and start a board game marathon? It’s these little details that teach you where your weak spots are.

Check your food situation too. Were your meals balanced, or did you find yourself eating a lot of peanut butter straight from the jar? And what about water? Did you have enough stored, or did you underestimate how much everyone drinks? Keep a log of how much you actually used—it’s usually more than people expect.

When the test is over, sit down with whoever you live with and talk it through. No judgment, no lectures. Just honest conversation about what worked and what didn’t. I like to do this part with a fresh pot of coffee and Darlene’s notebook, because she’s the one who notices the small things I miss.

If you want to make it interesting, challenge a neighbor to do the same thing next weekend. Compare notes afterward. You’ll be surprised how creative people get when there’s no Wi-Fi and no microwave popcorn.

The goal isn’t perfection, it’s awareness. You’ll come out of those 24 hours knowing exactly what you’d reach for first in a real outage, what needs improvement, and what you can count on. And if you manage to keep everyone fed, warm, and reasonably cheerful through the experiment, you’re doing better than most.