I was ready for wildfires: buckets of water and towels arranged around the outside of the house to put out flying sparks, full house backup generator with 400 gallons of propane for it to run water pump, family photos packed up ready to load in case of evacuation, truck gassed up and pointing out.

And then it wouldn’t stop raining.

Not only the Big Thompson was rising, but the side stream by my house rose 20 feet, and before I realized what was happening, I couldn’t get across the bridge and up to the highway. At one point the rain stopped for a while and there was about 30 minutes where I could have moved a vehicle to higher ground, but I hadn’t previously thought about what was high ground on my property, and I was afraid to drive up to the highway in case the water would rise on the bridge while I was away and I couldn’t get back to the house. So I didn’t do anything.

The phone and Internet went out around noon on Thursday, but thanks to my generator I had TV the entire time of the flooding, and that was invaluable because we don’t have cell phone service. Even though I couldn’t get in touch with the outside world, at least I knew what was going on. I spelled out OK on the lawn with bed sheets so the choppers checking the canyon could see, and I moved it every day so they’d know I was still here and still okay.

Rescue came on Sunday and by that time I was ready to go — winterized the cabin using an air compressor, cleaned out the freezer and refrigerator. I was excited about having power so I could use a shop vac to get all the crumbs out of the bottom of the deep freezer. I had my bags packed and a leaving checklist that the rescue firemen helped me work through — closing the windows, shutting off the propane tank, shutting off the main electrical breaker to the house, gathering up the OK sign, things like that.

The end of my bridge was out, the driveway up to my house was gone, and the access road to the highway was destroyed. The electric and phone poles and lines had to be replaced. I was in a motel for 20 days, and I went to the Red Cross/FEMA disaster center every day for a cup of coffee and to not only talk to the relief workers about getting back home and starting recovery, but to get away from the motel. Both my cars were trapped. I bought a used truck and it took 9 months to get our driveway and access road repaired so we could get our other cars out.

What lessons did I learn?

If you are in an area that can easily get cut off from highways, and it could be days before help can come, get a very large capacity generator for the whole house and maintain a big supply of propane for it — at least a week’s worth of fuel. Don’t mess with some little gasoline-powered generator — you’d have to store all that gas and be pouring gasoline. Think out a schedule for running the generator: you don’t need it 24/7. If you live in a town like Lyons, don’t assume there will be a steady supply of natural gas for your generator. The generator is also needed if there could be wildfires in your general area, not even near your house, because the power can be shut off for days or weeks until the fire is out and power poles are replaced.
Prepare for at least five days of isolation, maybe more.

If you are leaving, even if there is power when you go, empty out the refrigerator and deep freezer — dump the food out of the packages so the wild animals can eat it. Prop the dishwasher open so it can air out, and don’t leave dirty dishes in it, it takes forever to get rid of a moldy smell.
Rehearse for disasters — fire and flood both — do the various steps you’d perform in the real event so you can spot the weaknesses in your plan.

Decide what to do if you would be staying in your home, and what to do if you would be leaving it. Make your lists for each scenario.

· Pack nice underwear because someone else may do your laundry while you are waiting to get back home. Take your dirty clothes because those are likely your favorites. Wear old clothes when working with bleach and battery acid.

· In a flood, move your vehicles to the highest ground possible at the first sign of high water or excess rain. Leave the keys with that vehicle — hidden, but where your friends/family would know to look for them because you’ve had that conversation during the family rehearsal.

· In the initial FEMA interview, don’t say ‘my house is fine’ when in actuality you will be unable to get back home for several weeks — make sure they understand you can’t return home because the bridge is out, and/or your cars are trapped, and/or all the utilities have been wiped out and/or major roads need to be rebuilt — whatever. Don’t be dramatic, but make it clear. Remember they are from other parts of the country where people can usually get their cars back on the road and drive up to where their home is/was within a few days of the disaster.

· Get to know your neighbors. Also make friends in nearby towns, the kind who would invite you to dinner if you are stuck in a motel for a long time. Use Facebook to share information with the people in your area.

· During the recovery phase go to the various public meetings to learn about the programs that might help you as well as local regulations and red tape you will have to deal with.

· Keep a big wad of cash in the house, at least $500 to $1000, some coins, not all large bills, and don’t forget to take it when you evacuate.

If the first idea doesn’t work, try something else. Take on whatever needs to be done with a can-do spirit. Crying from frustration doesn’t loosen that bolt or charge that car battery: suck it up and do what you have to do now; cry later.

Story submitted by Laura Emerson, Big Thompson Canyon resident