It looked like a war zone. There was devastation everywhere. Yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the worst areas, areas that could still be dangerous to enter. Bypassing those spots I waded on through a sea of broken and severed limbs. It was a sad sight, but morbid curiosity kept me going. Many of the victims were old, very old. In an attempt to determine the age of one of the fallen I crouched down beside the corpse and started counting. The count came to one hundred and fifty. This fallen tree in Lincoln Park was well over a century old. It was now firewood.

An even larger tree had fallen on the children's playground, smashing some of the relatively new climbing bars. It was December 16. Just two days after a hell of a storm hit the area. Several huge trees had come down within a half mile radius of the north end of the park, severing several power lines. My parents, who live near the park, were still without power (and would be for six days). The weather is freezing cold, but luckily they have a fireplace for heat. My ears and fingers are getting numb, so I put my hat and gloves on before leaving the mess in the park to wander up Fauntleroy.

I pass the park mini-mart. Some of our fellow citizens had pulled off its doors during the night and looted the place. Burglar alarms need electricity too. As I walk north I come to the Fauntleroy big bend, two blocks west of Morgan Junction. Here a crew is busy cutting up a massive old-timer that had blown down, and in the process plunging hundreds of homes into darkness and cold.

As I work my way north I go into every store I pass. None have any D-cell batteries. I had told my folks I'd try to find some for their battery-powered TV. But the story's the same everywhere. "We're expecting a shipment at four o'clock." Where's the Energizer bunny when you need her?

I am not in the mood to wait several hours for the promised batteries so I head north towards home. I had now reached the land of light, where electricity still flowed. Cars were backed up for a block around each gas station that was open. I hadn't seen lines like that since the 70s, when the oil embargo was going strong and the price first exceeded a dollar a gallon. If I'd only known gas would reach three bucks I'd have stashed away a few hundred thousand gallons to sell off in my golden years.

I stepped into my house, appreciating the sound of the furnace running more than ever. It is a simple sound, one most of us take for granted. I looked at my small supply of firewood and realized I'd been lucky not to have lost power. I also realized that the advice to be prepared for a three day emergency is woefully inadequate. I promised myself to have wood, food, batteries, and water to last at least 10 days. And you should too.

Marc Calhoun can be reached via wseditor@robinsonnews.com