Preparing for the Blizzard

I'm sitting in my comfy apartment in downtown Milwaukee thinking about the next 24 hours. A blizzard is coming, due to start in about 4 hours. Living in a city puts you in the best and the worst situations if a natural disaster blows in. 'Hope the best, but prepare for the worst' is not cliché-it's just good sense.

This is a true story about preparedness; I expect no drama in the story and although at the time I'm writing this I don't know for sure, I'm rather hoping you'll find none. I'm planning for a happy ending, not merely hoping for one. Survival shouldn't be dramatic. After all, it's something we do successfully every single day, thank goodness. Survival is only rarely dramatic and usually then only when it is threatened by something. Like a blizzard or, more precisely, by being unprepared for one.

There's no doubt that a big midwestern blizzard is a dangerous storm. The roads will be impassable for some period of time. Shops will be closed. Moving anywhere on foot will be inadvisable, even in an emergency. In a hurricane, the smart people evacuate. In a blizzard, the smart people hunker down, wait it out and most of all relax.

The relax part depends on one simple caveat: be prepared to be off the grid for days.

Preparations start with risk assessment. Risk assessment starts with three simple questions: What can go wrong with the things I'm completely dependent on? Which of those things deal with food, shelter and security? Am I ready?

Two downsides to riding out a natural disaster in an urban setting are that I'm at the mercy of city utilities and I'm a long way from primary sources of food. So as for food, I need to be able to feed and water myself long enough to wait out a return to normal or, if that's delayed more than a week, get myself to a new source of eats.

On the plus side, personal security is not a big issue. Thanks to New Orleans, I know to expect very little from government as far as either is concerned. Fortunately, as far as security goes, I'm living in the residential version of a tank. I live in one of those old factories converted into apartments. The rent is cheap, the apartment is huge and it affords a very convenient lifestyle. The walls are all brick. The exterior doors are always locked. You need a very, very long ladder to get close to me.

When you're preplanning, it's important to avoid getting too caught up in personal security fears. Keep in mind that most criminals are lazy. So it's likely that you only need to be a more inconvenient target than the TV or convenience store down the street. Bad guys want free beer and cigarettes, not a case of canned vegetables. Stop loading your Glock and make sure you've got water. Relax.

In my case, I'm lucky because I'm in the same block as two large banks. This very significantly lowers the likelihood that I'll lose power. First, there are no overhead power lines to get iced up or blown down. I might still lose power, but it's less likely to last for more than a few hours than in a suburb or rural area. Second, the banks serve as cultural big brothers. What I mean by this is that banks exist primarily for the convenience of rich people. Rich people in America very rarely suffer being ignored. So rich people will make sure their banks have electricity. If the banks are lit, I'll be lit. No one in power much cares for me, but they darn sure care about the ability of their golf buddies to make money. It doesn't happen often, but as far as electricity goes, I'm in a good splash zone here.

In spite of all this, in a blizzard my most likely problem is loss of power. Electricity is the primary thing that distinguishes my apartment from the abandoned factory it once was. Water, cooking, heat, and the precious civilized security of lights all disappear when the power goes out. I'm preparing for each in turn.

Disaster preparation experts say you should have a gallon of water per day per person. I've got a gallon and a half of water, a half a gallon of juice, a gallon of milk and a 6 pack of beer. If I need to, I'll kill off the milk first; nothing else spoils. I also have a case of bottled water in a closet. I'm good for most of a week.

Sometime this evening I'll fill the tub with water. This will allow me to stay clean and, most importantly, I'll be able to flush the toilet. This is a big deal. Think about what your toilet would look and smell like if you didn't flush for a day or two. Got that image in your head? Ok, enough said. Unless you've got guaranteed running water, fill up your tub.

If the power dies, I won't be cooking. Luckily, I just bought a corned beef; it's cooking now with potatoes, celery and carrots. I'll also conserve all the cooking liquid, adding to my water stores. I always keep a week's worth of canned food in my closet. Once my fresh food is gone (and I've enough for days of feasting), I'll be able to eat out of cans for at least another week.

Food, I decide, is not a problem-unless I have to evacuate. Then I'll throw the corned beef into a cooler and some portable water into a backpack and head out. I've already slipped a couple of books into the pack too. Good decisions depend on good morale and I've no desire to be bored out of my mind if I have to stay a few days at a shelter with a bunch of bored people.

Blizzard or no blizzard, staying warm is a primary worry throughout even an average a Wisconsin winter. No electricity means the pump that circulates my heat will go down. Here's where my aesthetically pleasing 12-foot high ceilings are suddenly not so practical. The heat will rise out of my reach and cold air will gradually fill the bottom 6 feet of my apartment, the exact space that I live in.

Adding a layer of clothes is the easiest fix for this. Even with blizzard level winds pushing through all the cracks of this old building, the outside temperatures aren't expected to go much below 20 degrees this time. My apartment should stay above 50 degrees for days.

Of course, one way I can consolidate body heat is to lower the ceiling. I can't change the architectural dimensions of my apartment, but I can pitch a tent in my bedroom-a 4 foot ceiling and a 40 square foot room is far easier to warm with body heat than the whole living space.

Again, if I have to evacuate, I'll need to dress warm, possibly in a big hurry (and still gather up my food and water). So I've put my parka, long johns, hikers and extra gloves and socks near the front door. I can clear the apartment in fewer three minutes, warm, fed and watered.

If you don't live in a city, you almost certainly overestimate the security dangers associated with urban living. It's true that crime is greater per capita in a city than in the typical suburb. But most urban crime is concentrated into the poorest areas of the city, just as is the case with most suburban and rural crime. I'm not worried at all about any sort of home invasion. Nevertheless, I've got a couple non-lethal weapons close to hand; I don't expect to need them.

There are two security areas that are more likely to be a problem. The first is access to information and the second is contending with the errors (or stupidity) of my neighbors. My cell phone is on charge. So is my portable, hand crank radio. I'll be able to stay in touch for days.

The neighbors are a bigger problem. Looking back over this article, answer this question: How well prepared are you for a natural disaster? If the answer is along the lines of "who me?" then you are a problem for someone who is prepared. I can easily take care of my roommate and me. I could comfortably take in another couple. With careful water rationing, I could even take in two additional couples.

After that, I'd be very disinclined to open my home to any childless adult. But because too many people think they're equally entitled to the fruits of everyone else's hard work, this could create real problems. Still, it's wise to keep in mind that most criminals are lazy and most good people who read an article like this will take it to the point of action.

I'm also leery of the possibility that some knucklehead in my apartment building will use a charcoal grill or some other carbon monoxide producing device to stay warm. I've checked my CO and smoke detectors. And I'm ready to evacuate, though I'll be very unhappy to do so because of a dunce.

It should be clear that it costs very little in money or time to be prepared and it's largely risk free. In a natural disaster, you can't reasonably expect any government agency to shop up on your doorstep instantly-it's all most city services can do to provide routine services. So if you're wise, you've got to put yourself in the position to be self-reliant for three or four days, barring true emergencies.

We all have a tendency to undervalue prevention. The crisis averted is so boring compared to the one we overcome (or the one that runs us over). I expect an entirely routine blizzard event simply because I'm ready for it. I fully expect to watch horizontal snow through my living room windows, sip hot chocolate and listen to hyperactive news reporters quadruple just how bad it really is. And all my preparations will be for naught.

In emergency preparedness terms, this is called "a success." It doesn't get you on the news. But it doesn't get you into the morgue either.

The difference between 'overkill' and 'prepared' comes down to this: 'Did you need to access your emergency plan or not?' It is impossible to answer this question in advance. So I'm happy to engage in overkill any day. The alternatives-suffering cold, hunger, fear even injury or death-are justification enough.

Update: Saturday, February 24th, 4pm CST:
Dusk, windy and cold:

The storm arrives in two hours. By the time this article posts, Milwaukee streets will be clear, the gorgeous Wisconsin winter sun will be out and I'll be on to my next project.

I hope your next project will include making your own home disaster ready by storing enough water and food for a week, by thinking about how you'll shelter yourself in an emergency, and by encouraging your friends to engage in a fundamental American value: self-sufficiency in times of emergency.

Update: Monday, February 26th, 7.30am CST:
Sunny, calm and quiet:

There isn't any update. You call that a blizzard? The storm fizzled. The corned beef was excellent. And I'm still ready for the next one, whenever it comes. Are you?