don't call me a prepper
I spoke with my dad today. I told him about the farm and all the birds we've lost to the fox. We talked about the Farmer's Almanac and the prediction for a wicked winter. And we discussed the best ways to be prepared for whatever may come your way.
You see, I have a need to be prepared. I mean, I'm the same girl who used to carry a spare pair of underwear in my purse, because, like Mom said, you just never know. I'm also the girl who imagines every possible scenario to the point that my husband calls me paranoid. And I absolutely MUST buy an extra bag of chocolate just in case the first one runs out.
But no matter how much I might be a fan of being prepared, please don't call me a prepper. The word has been used in the news and on the internet to describe the "so-called" crazy people making ready for the next apocalypse. I'm not one to judge those people. I like zombies as much as the next person, and I'd like to think I'm ready if the town should have a sudden and unexpected outbreak of zombie-itis.
But more realistically, I'm trying to be sure I'm ready in the event of a flood or wicked snow storm that shuts the town down for days on end. I want to be prepared in the event the electricity goes out during the coldest months of the year. And I want to be sure I have large supplies of chocolate just in case something happens to the supply lines. But hey, if that means I'm prepared when the shit hits the fan, all the better.
Today, I dug out all my old linens. The quilts and blankets I haven't used in years but might need one day. The ugly sheets I said I'd never use again, but were too good to throw away. Even the spare pillows I had stashed in a box since we moved in. I'm washing it all and putting it up for winter. One small step toward being ready for cold weather. One giant leap for finally unpacking the boxes stacked up in the sunroom.
I may like being prepared, but I never said I was good at it.
Until the next time...I'll be prepping for a snowy day.