Survivor: The backyard episode

I decided the 7.8 temblor would strike on a Saturday as the leaf blowers left. I would have one last hot shower and good cup of coffee.

Here in the Santa Ana mountains of eastern Orange County, my 89-year-old stone house has withstood flood and flame thus far. But post-Katrina, when the local fire station offered an emergency preparedness class, I decided to sign on.

For homework, we assembled a disaster survival kit. If any of us are cut off from the outside world, we should be able to survive for 72 hours. An editor challenged me to try it for a weekend: no phone, no computer -- just me, the dogs and the kit. Well, maybe I’d figure out why the hatchet was on the list.

At 10:18 a.m. a few weeks later, the pretend Big One hit. From the trunk of my Subaru, I pulled an old backpack (40 pounds, fully loaded), emergency water supply (2 1/2 -gallon containers from the grocery store) and a first-aid day pack. The truly prepared keep separate kits for the house, car and office. I considered it a miracle that I’d pulled together one set.

I looked for a place to pitch my tent and noticed the yard was full of big-limbed trees. I loved those graceful giants, but for the first time I understood the impulse of a chain saw-happy neighbor who had felled an oak and put in a lawn.

I picked a spot under a shrubby elderberry. Wedging the stakes into the lawn was tough. Ah, the hatchet. Flat end worked great.

Cripes, nature calling already. I’m a camper and have never had a problem using bushes, but I wasn’t about to prove it in front of my neighbors. The instructions from class had advised the packing of a “portable toilet.” An instructor had suggested a pail with kitty litter in it. Instead I’d lined a paint bucket with a garbage bag. I headed to a secluded spot behind the garage. Quite pleasant.

THROUGHOUT the day, neighbors who had heard about my experimental emergency stopped at my gate.

“Janet! I’m so sorry! Thank God, it’s only your house,” my friend Bonnie said with a laugh.

I thought the weekend would be a lonely endurance trial, just me chewing on military rations purchased at the Army Navy Store. I underestimated the entertainment value of a grown woman pitching camp in her sideyard.

Crouched on a wooden flower bed border, I munched on backpacker’s granola with reconstituted blueberries and powdered milk. It was amazing how blue the “milk” turned.

“This is better than TV. You’re wacko,” said my neighbor Mike. “I wonder if your bowel movements will be blue.”

I checked the expiration date: good for another seven years. Backpacker food sometimes lasts longer than military rations, which average about five years.

I told Mike he was wacko too.

“Are you and Mary ready if anything happens?” I asked.

“Nah, we’re screwed,” he said. Then he laughed. “Actually, I’d just bring my gun over and rob your stuff.”

Finally, time alone. It was a sunny, hot day. Too hot. I’d packed my survival kit in February -- Polartec fleece, a hat and gloves, but no shorts. I’d also thrown in my rattiest clothing and biggest fashion mistakes. I put on a Pepto-Bismol pink tank top and considered trimming my toasty blue jeans at the knee with my jackknife.

The dogs were drinking tons of water. The class had advised 2 gallons a day per person. Vast understatement, in my parched opinion.

Dinnertime. I eyed the packaged labeled Chicken and Rice. I’d paid $10 for this long-lasting, vermin-proof meal. Ramen noodles are cheaper but not as nutritious.

I turned the package over. “You are more active during field training, deployment and combat.... You need to eat more and drink more.” I was looking at the same kind of stuff soldiers in Iraq were eating. I passed.

At bedtime, my arthritic old dog leaned against the front door of the dark house. She wanted her cushy dog bed. Or the living room sofa if she could sneak it.

“We’re not going in there tonight,” I said.

She got up stiffly and walked over to the tent, shoved aside the flap with a paw, and stomped over the sleeping bag until she’d found the best spot, at the head where I’d piled fleece jackets for a pillow. Then she stuck out a paw and placed it on my hand.

I had two flashlights by my side, including my favorite Christmas present: a no-battery wind-up model from Costco, great for those of us prone to raiding emergency kits for batteries.

MY neighbor Gerry, the early bird, was out at 5 a.m. Sunday. He asked if I wanted a cappuccino from the 7-Eleven. I declined. Gerry has water and survival kits stashed for his whole family. Chains and pulleys too, in case the bridge across the creek goes.

I’ve always prided myself on having clean socks, toothbrush and instant coffee on camping trips. Something as simple as a routine jolt of caffeine can make the difference in keeping one’s cool.

I searched the pack as water boiled on my folding propane stove. No coffee, no toothbrush. I ripped open the chicken and rice meal. A Folgers instant coffee pack sat inside, as did a pack of Chiclets spearmint gum. God bless America!

“Good morning!” It was my friend Bonnie, with bacon and an orange from her tree. Her theory, like many who live near me, was that if a disaster were to strike, we’d all be eating food from our freezers before it went bad.

I justified accepting her offer by thinking back to survival class, which had taught me to make contact with neighbors, work as a team. I could almost hear Bruce, our fire captain, soberly intoning the lesson.

As instructed in class, I later surveyed other residents nearby, noting cellphone numbers, names of pets, skills and equipment. Turns out I have a retired nurse and a tractor on my little road.

Back in the yard, I finally “cooked” the chicken and rice. I opened the bizarre heat-activating pack, added a little water. That thing got hot. The food looked regurgitated but was edible.

Sunday night I tossed and turned in my sleeping bag. The crickets, the frogs were so loud.

Despite the silliness of this exercise, anxious thoughts roiled my mind. I felt miserably alone. The emergency kit list from class had recommended “inspirational reading” to relieve stress. Some choose a Bible; I had packed the lightest, tiniest paperback I could find. Unfortunately, “Jane Eyre” seemed entirely wrong.

The moon was so bright I kept thinking that it must be daylight. The siren atop the local volunteer fire station wailed. Someone needed help. I checked the time in my car: 12:10 a.m. This is what it would be like, I thought, waiting out the long night, sirens blaring, unfamiliar noises in the dark. No fun. It took some meditation and breathing exercises to help me fall asleep.

Monday morning, I crawled out of the tent and opened the front door to my house. Was I ready? For a hot shower, yes. For an emergency, I just didn’t know.

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Janet Wilson can be reached at home@latimes.com.

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Stock up on freeze-dried meals and more

Every home should have at least one emergency kit. The following list includes recommendations from the Orange County Fire Authority and the American Red Cross. Items should be put in a durable, water-resistant duffel bag or pack. You also should have a medical/first-aid kit with essentials tailored to your family. (Pre-assembled first-aid kits are not the best.) Include burn gel and dressings, a bottle of potassium iodide and antiseptic moist towelettes. Check expiration dates once a year.

Water

Amount: A minimum of 2 gallons per person, per day.

Purification: Ask about options at outdoors or Army Navy stores.

Food

Nonperishables: A 72-hour supply of freeze-dried or meals ready to eat.

Pet food: Include can opener, if necessary.

Matches: Windproof, waterproof matches. Also include a second method to start a fire, such as a cigarette lighter or barbecue lighter.

Cooking: Lightweight camp stove and fuel, mess kits or other equipment.

Shelter

Tent

Warmth: Wool-blend blanket or sleeping bag.

Emergency reflective blanket: Protects against hypothermia.

Warm packs: For hands and body.

Rain: Poncho or other gear.

Light and communication

Flashlight: Battery-powered, wind-up or both.

Candles

Light sticks

Radio: Powered by batteries or alternate power source.

Whistle: With neck cord.

Tools

Pocket knife

Shovel

Hatchet or ax

Sewing kit

Nylon rope: 50 feet long.

Clothing and comfort

One outfit: A complete set of clothing for each family member. Include extra socks, underwear, hat, sturdy walking shoes, gloves and warm-weather clothing.

Toiletries: Soap, toothbrush and paste or gel, comb, tissue, sanitary napkins, diapers, razor, toilet paper. Include an old towel. Check with your doctor about the storage of prescription medications.

Sun block

Insect repellent

Portable toilet: I used a bucket lined with a heavy-duty trash bag.

Other

Cash: At least $50 in small bills.

Quarters and dimes for phone calls. Cellphones may not work.

Copies of documents: Birth and

marriage records, insurance forms, phone number lists, credit card information.

Stress relievers: Games, books, hard candy, inspirational reading. For

children: small toys, paper and pen,

favorite items that provide a sense of

security.

-- Janet Wilson