She was our resident seer for sure

My mother was what some now call a prepper. She wasn't too extreme, but she did plan ahead for something catastrophic. We had a basement with a utility room, and in one corner of that room, she stored her supplies, including specialized food, much like that of what the astronauts used in space, masks, matches, and lanterns. Everything was sealed in large, white boxes we knew not to touch.

I didn't understand until into my teen years precisely what she had and why. Before that, it was known to me only as a doomsday prophecy my father and a few others, thought silly. I don't know how many people she told, but eventually, she quit discussing it, although she never stopped warning people. 

Always have cash on hand.

Have something tangible to barter. 

Keep your gas tank full.

She was an extreme coupon clipper and the queen of BOGO. Every Sunday, she cut and organized, and then as the grocery stores released their ads, she planned accordingly. She bought in bulk from paper goods, cleaning supplies, health products, to storable food like canned goods and nonperishables, and the excess went on shelves my father built along one utility wall. We referred to it as Connie's market. When we ran out of something, she sent us to retrieve it from the basement. If it wasn't in the market, it went on her list to replenish that week. 

We also had an extra refrigerator/freezer and a large freezer in the utility room. The freezer was stocked with frozen meats from the cow we split with the neighbor, and with various other meats she purchased using her coupons, and the refrigerator carried items that would last longer than a month.

She had guns, and she knew how to shoot. 

With everything, my mother believed she had enough supplies to last a year in a shutdown of life as we knew it.

When she finally sold the house, she had to let go of her thirty-plus year stash due to expiration dates on the food and to downsizing into a smaller home in Florida. Even then, in her small condo, she kept one closet for her overflow. I'm still using her cleaning supplies, her dishwashing detergent, and her plastic sealable bags four years later.

Several months before she died, she predicted what has already happened in this country, from politics to the environment and to where we sit today quarantined in our houses.

Suddenly, those white boxes and that corner of the utility room doesn't seem so silly or blown out of proportion.