One benefit of having moved to Texas is we no longer have to stock the house with hurricane supplies: jugs of water, cans of fruit, powdered milk, boxes of crackers and cereal (and potted meat before I became a vegetarian). Nothing requiring refrigeration or cooking or microwaving or the use of any other electrical appliance. A varied enough supply to hit the major food groups over the period of a week. And which hasn't passed the expiration date since the last hurricane season.
It might seem odd that a hurricane stash would be necessary in the Raleigh area - which appears fairly inland on the map. It never would have occurred to me to collect hurricane supplies either until a storm named Fran took I-40 straight into the city, tearing up trees, ripping down power lines, flooding roads, leaving the area such a mess that it took over a week for us to dig ourselves out.
After spending the night, listening to the sound of transformers exploding, trees falling, wind howling, and creatures squeaking as they attempted to escape the rising water, I knew it was time for some changes. I needed to get prepared, and I needed to learn what that entailed.
I grew up in upstate New York, so I could prepare for a blizzard in a minute (fill a bucket of water to flush the toilet, fill the bathtub with water, raise the thermostat, stock up on firewood, and make sure the cylinder was full of gas for the stove), but I had no experience with most aspects of hurricanes.
I knew about flooding, because downpours could cause the pond in our back yard to overflow into the basement. To prepare for flooding, we would get everything up off the floor and onto middle and top shelves or out of the basement. We would hope and pray that the water would not lap high enough to reach the outlets. And we'd pack a bag of clothes and toiletries in case the basement lake-level rose any higher.
Luckily we never were forced to leave. My father bought a backhoe and dug out the pond, so it could hold additional water. And he chased any beavers he saw in the rowboat, waving an oar, letting them know that their dams were not welcome. (If they didn't get that message, their homes were dismantled again and again and again - and the paddle struck the water dangerously near their heads as he chased them.)
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