RV Life During a Winter Power Outage | Home on Wheels

There’s something about a southern snowstorm that feels extra unsettling.

Maybe it’s because, being from the South, we don’t get them often. Roads glaze over fast, trees bend under weight they’re not used to carrying, and the power grid always feels just a little… fragile. At least it feels fragile to us—probably because we’re so used to being self-sufficient, always ready to go off-grid.

A quiet moment inside our camper during a winter storm, with Banks sleeping peacefully while the world outside slowed down—one of those reminders that home is less about place and more about feeling safe.

This morning, sleet tapped against our windows like tiny pebbles. The sky stayed heavy and gray. And just as I was about to lay Banks down for a nap, the light flicked off from our fireplace, and the microwave beeped as it lost power.

But life inside our camper?
It kept moving.

The propane heater hummed.
The fridge switched to off-grid mode, keeping our food cold.
The stove stood ready to warm coffee or soup.
And my baby slept peacefully in my arms—completely unaware that anything outside our tiny walls was out of the ordinary.

And that’s when I realized something: this life makes moments like this easier.

When the power goes out, we don’t scramble. We don’t panic. We don’t wonder how long we can last before things get uncomfortable. Our home was built for this. Living the camper lifestyle means we’re accustomed to relying on what we have, not what’s constantly supplied to us.

We still have heat when the temperatures dip.
We still have a way to cook a warm meal.
We still have a refrigerator keeping milk cold and food safe.

This is something we’ve prepared for. We’ve purposefully chosen a life that allows us to comfortably go off-grid. And with a little one, that kind of reliability is everything.

Motherhood has a way of amplifying stress. When something goes wrong, it feels heavier—because you’re not just thinking about yourself anymore. You’re thinking about tiny hands, full bellies, and warm toes. You’re thinking about naps, routines, and comfort.

A quick smile in the middle of a stormy day—proof that even when the weather turns cold, life inside our camper stays warm and steady.

Today, while the sleet fell here in the South, I didn’t have to add power-outage anxiety to my list.

Instead, I rocked my son.
I watched the storm through the window.
I felt grateful for this small, steady space.

There’s a misconception that camper life is harder—less secure, less comfortable, more fragile. But days like today remind me that it’s often the opposite. We’ve simplified down to the basics, and in doing so, we’ve created a kind of resilience that feels incredibly comforting in uncertain moments.

This isn’t about being immune to storms or pretending life on the road is perfect. It’s about realizing that home isn’t defined by square footage or permanence—it’s defined by how safe and supported you feel inside it.

Today, while the Southeast iced over and the lights flickered out in places all around us, our little home held steady.

And that steadiness—especially in motherhood—is worth more than I ever imagined.

As this season settles, I find myself thinking about what kind of life we’re building—and what it means for the little one watching it all unfold.

If this season looks a little different for you too, you’re not alone. Stay awhile, explore the stories here, and root yourself wherever home finds you.