So there I was, late on a January night in Northwestern Ontario, wearing two sweaters and a parka indoors. The woodstove had burned down to embers, the propane furnace wasn’t kicking in, and the thermometer in the kitchen was doing its best impression of a frozen popsicle. I shuffle over to check the propane tank gauge by flashlight – and you guessed it: empty.

Apparently, I’d been so busy with the day-to-day homestead chaos that I forgot to call for a propane refill. Well done, me. As I stood there in the moonlight, listening to the eerie quiet of a furnace that had nothing left to burn, a thought popped into my head: “This wouldn’t have happened if I had my darn emergency binder set up… you know, the one I’ve been meaning to make for, oh, five years?”

Yup, the emergency binder – that magical organizer of all things important and life-saving that every responsible homesteader supposedly has. In theory, it’s the binder that holds your maintenance logs, emergency contacts, schedules, “what-to-do-when” lists, and probably the meaning of life. In practice (at least on my homestead), it’s a half-empty three-ring binder collecting dust on a shelf, with exactly two random pages in it: one titled “Stuff To Put In Binder” and another that’s just a grocery list from 2022. The intent was pure; the follow-through… not so much.

Pull up a chair (I’ll slide the coffee over – you’ll need it) and let me tell you about the emergency binder that never was – and all the perfectly ridiculous reasons it’s still not done. If you’ve ever procrastinated on an important project until it became an emergency, or if you’re juggling rural life’s curveballs and dropping a few, this one’s for you. We’ll laugh, we’ll learn, and by the end, I might just have something useful for you (hint: a free homestead maintenance log sheet, finally!). But first: let me share how a simple binder became my white whale of homesteading projects.

Why I Still Don’t Have an Emergency Binder (Yet)

I have grand plans for this emergency binder. Truly. In my imagination, it’s a bright red binder with clear sleeves and neatly tabbed sections like “Propane Fills,” “Well Maintenance,” “Septic Schedule,” “Emergency Contacts,” and “Zombie Apocalypse Plan” (okay, maybe not that last one… or maybe yes, considering 2020). It’s the kind of binder you could grab at 2 AM during a power outage or when a pipe bursts, and instantly have all the info you need. That’s the dream.

Reality check: as of today, my “emergency binder” exists only as a guilt-trip in my brain. Why? Because life on a homestead has a sense of humor. Every time I intend to work on it, something else happens. Allow me to present Exhibit A: My Top Excuses for Binder Procrastination, in convenient list form (because lists make me feel organized, even when I’m not):

• No Ink, No Binder: I sit down to print out emergency checklists or contact sheets for the binder… and the printer promptly runs out of ink. Of course it does. Out here, the nearest store with my printer cartridges is an hour’s drive (on a good day). By the time I get more ink, the urgency has passed and I’ve moved on to putting out the next fire (sometimes literally, if we’re talking brush piles). Solution in hindsight: I should have signed up for HP Instant Ink sooner – the service that automatically delivers ink when you’re running low so you’re never caught empty. (More on that game-changer later. Spoiler: I finally did subscribe, and it’s like the printer elves restock me by magic now.)
• Chores Never End: The cows (or goats, or chickens, or insert-your-homestead-critter-here) decide that the moment I open a blank Word document to draft an emergency info sheet is exactly when they should escape their pen and go on an adventure. I once had my laptop out on the porch, ready to write down emergency phone numbers, when I looked up to find three of our hens sprinting toward the road and a very confused dog hot on their tails. Cue me, dropping everything to play poultry crossing guard. By the time the chickens were back and I returned to my laptop, the baby was awake from her nap and the binder project was, once again, shelved.
• Homestead Time Warp: Ever experience this? You plan to spend “just 20 minutes” on something (say, hole-punching some documents for the binder), but then you notice the woodstove needs stoking, which reminds you to bring in firewood, which leads to discovering the shed door blew open, which means you need to chase a squirrel out of the feed bin, which… you get the idea. By the time you get back inside, it’s dark, you’re carrying 87 things (none of which are your binder), and you’ve completely forgotten that original 20-minute task. Days later, you find the papers you meant to punch and file, now with neat little boot prints across them and a subtle aroma of goat (don’t ask).
• Analysis Paralysis: I’ll be honest – part of the delay is that I overthink what to put in this binder. Do I include photocopies of IDs and insurance policies? (Probably, but ugh, paperwork.) What about a printed list of all our equipment with model numbers and spare parts? (Sounds useful, also sounds like a Saturday lost to digging through manuals.) Should it have a section on “How to Start the Generator” with step-by-step instructions, in case I’m away and my wife needs it? (Great idea in theory – in practice I have yet to actually write those instructions clearly, because halfway through I got distracted changing the oil in said generator when I realized it hadn’t been done in… a while.) Basically, I get stuck between perfectionism and procrastination, which is a tough combo. I want the binder to be thorough, but thinking of all the things I could include makes me need to lie down. Preferably with a coffee.
• Good Old-Fashioned Forgetfulness: Sometimes, it’s not even the dramatic interruptions. It’s plain I forgot. I’ll walk by the empty binder on the shelf and think, “Really should do that… right after I finish mowing the field.” Three weeks later, the binder hasn’t moved, but the grass has grown again and so has my to-do list. If forgetting to make a binder about not forgetting things sounds ironic, that’s because it is. I am nothing if not on-brand.

In short, the emergency binder has been a victim of everyday chaos. Homesteading life has a way of turning a simple plan into a comedy of errors. And while I’m laughing about it here, I also recognize that my disorganization could bite me in the backside (like a raccoon with a grudge) one of these days. Case in point: that propane incident I opened with? 100% true story (I did get the propane tank refilled the next morning, but not before a very chilly night and a fair bit of self-lecture about “this is why you keep track of things, genius!”).

So, let’s talk about those important things I keep forgetting – and why they matter. If nothing else, you’ll feel better knowing you’re not the only one who’s ever stared at a tank gauge or well cap with a blank expression trying to remember the last time you dealt with it.

The Propane “I Meant to Check That” Close Call

Keeping the house warm (and the stove running) out here is not a game. Winters in northwestern Ontario are the real deal – we’re talking weeks of -30°C (-22°F for my American friends) and snow up to your nostrils. Many of us rural folk rely on big propane tanks to fuel our furnaces or kitchen ranges, which is great… until you forget to refill the tank on time. Cue our hero (me), shivering by that empty tank in the middle of a January night.

How did I let it run dry? Let’s review the sequence of events (because of course I’ve replayed this in my head many times, usually while facepalming):

1. Ignorance is Bliss: It was late fall, and I last checked the tank when the leaves were still on the trees. Gauge read around 40%. “Plenty left,” I thought. And then I promptly stopped thinking about it as we dove into the frenzy of harvest, canning, winter prep, and the thousand other autumn chores. Out of sight, out of mind.
2. Cold Snap Reality Check: Fast forward to January. We had an early deep freeze that year, which meant the furnace was guzzling propane like a homesteader guzzles coffee at sunrise. I should have checked the tank around Christmas. I didn’t. Instead, I was busy dealing with a frozen chicken waterer, then the snowblower breaking down, then chasing a fox out of the yard… you know, the usual holiday season festivities.
3. The “Oh No” Moment: One frigid night, the furnace stopped with a sad little sputter. The thermometer started dropping. My first thought was maybe the pilot light blew out (wind can sometimes do that). But a quick inspection and a glance at the propane gauge told the real story: we were hovering at 0-1%. That gauge hadn’t been that low ever. For context, common wisdom says don’t let a propane tank fall below 20% if you can help it – below that, the pressure can drop off and you risk running out unexpectedly (and if it fully empties, the propane company is obliged to do a leak test when refilling, which means extra fees and hassle). Well, folks, I was way past that 20% line. I was in the red zone, literally and figuratively.
4. Midnight MacGyvering: With the furnace out, I had to think fast. The woodstove was already lit, thank goodness, but it wasn’t enough to heat the whole house. So I bundled the family in the living room around the woodstove like a makeshift campout. Pulled out extra blankets, set up a safe electric space heater, and muttered many self-choice words about my memory. We managed through the night, and no one lost any toes to frostbite, so that’s a win.
5. Lessons Learned (Hopefully): The next morning, I was on the phone with the propane company at 8:01 AM, begging for the fastest possible delivery. They came that day (bless them), and once the tank had 30% in it, the furnace happily roared back to life. I don’t think I’ve ever been so grateful to hear that whoosh of the furnace flame. I immediately jotted down the date and fill percentage on a sticky note and slapped it on the fridge, vowing to keep better track… which worked for a while. But sticky notes tend to flutter off or get used as toddler art canvases. What I needed was a dedicated spot to log these things – you know, like an emergency binder maintenance log perhaps?

That propane close call taught me a few things. One: I’m not as on top of things as I sometimes pretend to be. Two: propane does not care about your schedule. It will run out on Christmas Eve, during a blizzard, or whenever it darn well pleases if you’re not monitoring it. Three: Check your tank gauge regularly. I now try to peek at it weekly in winter. Also, I have a reminder on my phone for when it should hit roughly 30%. My propane provider even offers an auto-fill service (they’ll come top you up on a schedule so you don’t run dry). I’d resisted it thinking “I can manage myself.” Hah. After my freeze-out incident, I signed up so I have a safety net.

So yeah, if I had that binder set up, I’d have a neat log in the “Propane” section saying “Last fill: November 4, 2024 – 400 gallons” and a big note to “Check gauge monthly, call for refill by 30%.” Instead, I got the lesson literally in cold, hard form. Don’t be like me – keep your propane above that 20-30% buffer and mark the dates down. Your toes will thank you.

And in case you’re wondering – yes, I’m absolutely adding a Propane Log page to the maintenance sheet I’ll share with you. It has columns for date, percentage, and notes (like “called for delivery” or “prices up this year, ouch”). Because trust me, future me needs a written record, since present me clearly can’t be relied on to remember!

Well, That Was Shocking (How I Forget About the Well)

If you have a well for your water, you might be familiar with the concept of shocking the well. If you’re not, don’t worry – it doesn’t involve defibrillators or emotional trauma (usually). “Shocking” a well means you dump a bunch of chlorine (bleach) down it to kill off bacteria and icky stuff. It’s like giving your well a good scrubbing. Health authorities and well drillers often recommend doing this at least once a year as routine maintenance, or whenever tests show bacterial contamination. It helps keep your water safe to drink and prevents that lovely rotten egg smell from sulfur bacteria that can build up if you slack off.

Knowing this, you’d think I’d be diligent about shocking our well annually. You’d think! But then, you’ve met me. Let me tell you about the time I finally got around to shocking our well – and why it would’ve been nice to have a record of the last time it was done (because my brain’s internal calendar is, shall we say, unreliable).

Our homestead’s water comes from a lovely deep well out back by the treeline. Cold, clear, delicious – we’re lucky to have good water. But even good wells need TLC. I remember when we first moved in, the previous owner told me, “Make sure you shock the well every spring after the thaw, just to be safe.” “Of course,” I said earnestly, as if I’d be on top of it. Fast forward a couple of years. Spring came and went, maybe I did a shock chlorination one year? But I’m honestly not sure. I know I tested the water occasionally (I send samples to the provincial lab for bacteria testing when I think of it). The results were always fine, until one wasn’t.

One summer, our water test came back with a note: “Coliform bacteria detected.” Not what you want to see. Nothing deadly, but a sign that something was off – maybe runoff had gotten in, or the well cap wasn’t tight, or it had just been too long since a proper disinfection. My wife handed me the result and asked when I last shocked the well. I opened my mouth… and realized I had absolutely no idea. “Umm… not since we moved here?” came out, with a squeak at the end. The look I received in return could have dried up the well on the spot.

So, down to the basement I went, digging out my giant bottle of chlorine bleach designated for this very purpose. The process of shocking a well is straightforward: you pour a calculated amount of bleach into the well, circulate it through the system, let it sit, then flush it out. I do know how to do it – I’d helped my dad do his years ago. The problem wasn’t know-how; it was timing (and motivation). I lugged the bleach out to the wellhead at dusk (because why do things at a convenient time when you can do them after dinner in the mosquito hour?). I removed the well cap – nearly dropping a screw down the well in the process, because of course I did – and carefully poured in the bleach. I ran an outdoor tap to circulate it, then opened every faucet in the house until the smell of chlorine was unmistakable everywhere (our whole house smelled like a public swimming pool – a reassuring sign in this case).

We let the bleach sit overnight in the system. No one could use the water for drinking or washing for about 12-15 hours. The next day, I flushed the system by running the hoses in the yard for hours to drain the chlorine out until the smell dissipated. (A tip: don’t run high-chlorine water into your septic system or onto delicate plants – I opted to run it onto the gravel driveway away from anything alive). By the end of that exercise, the well was properly “shocked,” and a subsequent water test came back clean as a whistle. Yay! We banished the coliforms.

But here’s the kicker: when I went to note down the date, I realized I had no previous entry to compare it to. I think it had been well over 18 months, maybe 2 years, since the last shock. Oops. Had I kept a simple log, I would have seen “Last shock: October 2022” and maybe gotten a nudge in my conscience around fall 2023 that “hey buddy, time to chlorinate again.” Instead, I waited until a bad test result forced my hand. Not the ideal way to do homestead maintenance!

I am definitely adding a Well Maintenance section to my binder (whenever it fully materializes). It’ll include dates of shock chlorination, notes on any well repairs or inspections, and reminders to test the water at least a couple times a year. Actually, that section might also have the water test lab forms printed and ready to go – because half the battle is just remembering to pick up or print the darn form to mail in with your sample. If I tuck a few forms in the binder, I’ll have no excuse not to test regularly.

Also, I learned a fun fact while reading up (after the fact, naturally): a Canadian study noted that many people don’t test or shock as often as they should, despite recommendations. So again, not alone in my forgetfulness – but that’s not really an excuse. Water is life, and if you’re on a well, you’re the manager of your own little water utility. It’s a responsibility that’s easy to neglect until something goes wrong. I got lucky that our little contamination wasn’t harmful and was easy to fix. Next time, I might not be so lucky, so I’m taking it seriously now (albeit after the stern talking-to from my better half and the lab report).

If you’re on a well too, consider this your friendly reminder: shock it at least yearly test the water a couple times a year, and keep records. Even if you don’t have a fancy binder, jot it in a notebook or a digital note – something! Because when you’re standing there with a bottle of bleach in one hand and a wrench in the other, scratching your head trying to recall when you last did this… trust me, that’s not a confidence-inspiring moment.

Alright, enough about water. Let’s talk about every homesteader’s favorite topic (no, not free manure… the other one): septic systems. I promise to keep it as non-gross as possible. Maybe even a little funny? We’ll see – septic tales tend to be more on the “eww” side than “haha” side, but I’ll do my best.

The Septic Situation (Or: How I Learned to Love SeptoBac… Eventually)

Out here in the sticks, we don’t have the luxury of city sewer services. It’s all on-site septic systems – those magical underground tanks where, to put it delicately, all the “stuff” goes. Maintaining a septic system is one of those chores that’s absolutely critical (because the alternative is… well, let’s not go there). Yet it’s also one of the easiest to shove to the back of your mind – until there’s a problem, at which point it’s the only thing on your mind, and it’s usually 100 times worse.

I haven’t had a septic backup or catastrophe (knock on wood!). But I have had some close calls with septic health, largely due to my sporadic approach to preventative care. Enter SeptoBac – a septic treatment product whose little packets I am supposed to flush down the toilet on a regular schedule to keep the bacterial balance in the tank happy. The idea is that adding beneficial bacteria can help break down solids and prevent clogs or smells. In theory, if you flush one envelope of SeptoBac each week or month (depending on the product), you reduce the risk of major issues.

The box literally says something like “Use 1 envelope each week for regular maintenance.” Each week! Let me level with you: I do not remember to do anything weekly except maybe take the garbage out – and even that I’ve been known to miss. So my SeptoBac regimen, if you can call it that, has looked more like “whenever I see the box gathering dust and go ‘oh yeah, that’.” Sometimes that interval is a month… sometimes several months. Oops.

There was a moment that scared me straight(ish) though. Last summer, during an unusually hot spell, I noticed a faint whiff near the septic field that was… how to describe… ominous. If you’ve been around failing septics, you know the whiff. It’s not full-blown sewer stench, but a hint of “something’s not quite right” in the breeze. I immediately went into panic mode, envisioning sewage backing up into the house or having to sell a kidney to pay for a new drain field. I ran to my calendar and tried to recall, when was the last time I added SeptoBac? Did I do it at all this year? The fact I couldn’t answer that told me everything – I’d been slacking.

I grabbed a packet of SeptoBac and flushed it down one of our downstairs toilets. Then another for good measure (the box said two at first use, so I figured doubling up after a long gap couldn’t hurt). Then I called our local septic pumping service and scheduled a preventative pump-out, because it had been, oh, four years since the last one (most systems need pumping every 3-5 years, so we were due). The septic guys came out with their big truck, did their thing (which I’ll spare you the details of – they’re the real MVPs of rural living, by the way), and gave our system a thumbs-up. No clogs, no cracks, all good. I exhaled all the anxiety I’d been holding in (hopefully the wind was blowing away from the septic when I did that).

After that near-miss, I vowed to stay on top of the little maintenance steps: monthly treatments (okay, weekly is ideal as per instructions, but let’s be real, I know my limits) and keeping a log of it. And yet… a few months down the road, did I have a neat checklist of “July – added SeptoBac, August – added SeptoBac”? Of course not. Life happened and my vow faded into the background hum of more pressing tasks, like harvesting the garden or fixing the leaky barn roof.

This, dear friends, is exactly why an emergency binder (or a homestead maintenance binder, or whatever we want to call it) is such a brilliant idea in theory. It externalizes your memory. It’s a physical (or digital) system that can remind you even when your brain fails to. If I had a section in that binder for “Septic Maintenance” with a little chart of checkboxes for each month – I could tack it near the toilet or in the mudroom. Maybe I’d actually see it and remember, “Oh hey, it’s the first of the month, time to give the septic some bacterial love.” It’s not a guarantee, but it increases the odds significantly over my current method of relying on random moments of recollection (usually triggered by a suspicious smell, which is not when you want to be remembering).

So yes, the emergency binder will absolutely have a septic section. Not just for the little additives like SeptoBac, but also for big-picture maintenance: dates of professional pump-outs (with a recommended next date), any repairs (that time I had to replace a cracked septic lid, etc.), and tips like “go easy on the bleach down the drains; it kills the good bugs in the tank.” Maybe I’ll slip in a copy of the pamphlet the septic service gave me about what not to flush (pretty much anything not naturally digestible – your septic tank is not a black hole, folks, even if it seems like it).

Alright, enough bathroom talk. The point is: forgetting septic upkeep can lead to expensive or gross consequences, and writing stuff down is a simple preventive measure. My emergency binder, when completed, will be my go-to spot to quickly see, “When did I last… [fill in the blank]?” for all these unglamorous but crucial chores.

Let’s pivot away from the Hall of Shame now. I’ve made my case (mostly to myself, I suspect) that I really, really need to get this binder act together. So, how am I finally making it happen? Step one was solving the recurring printer ink debacle, because without printing power, my binder was doomed from the start. And that’s where a little modern convenience saved my procrastinating backside.

Printing Woes & Triumphs: How HP Instant Ink Saved My Binder Dreams

Remember how one of my prime excuses for not assembling the emergency binder was the printer perpetually running out of ink at the worst times? Let me paint the picture: we live pretty far from any office supply store. We’re not off-grid (well, we kind of are power-wise, but that’s a tale for another time), but we’re definitely off-convenience. If I run out of cyan or magenta on a Sunday night when I finally have an hour to print emergency checklists, I can’t just pop down to Staples. The nearest place is a small shop in town that carries like two types of cartridges, and inevitably not the one I need. So I’d order online, wait a week, lose the momentum, and the binder project would quietly slink back into oblivion.

Enter HP Instant Ink – my new best friend in the printing department. I’d heard about these subscription ink services where your printer basically tattles on you to HP when ink is low, and they mail you new cartridges before you run out. Honestly, I was skeptical. It sounded a bit too Big Brother (“HP is watching your ink levels!”), and I wondered if it was worth it. But after the third or fourth time I had to postpone printing because of empty cartridges, I caved. I signed up for HP’s service, and let me tell you, it’s one of the quieter life upgrades I’ve adopted.

Now, this isn’t a sponsored post or anything (though hey, HP, if you’re reading, I wouldn’t say no to a free black cartridge or two!), but I gotta give credit where it’s due. The value of Instant Ink for a forgetful homesteader like me is huge. No more surprise ink shortages or late-night runs to town. I actually laughed the first time I got an email saying “Your HP Instant Ink shipment is on its way.” I didn’t even know I was low! The printer knew, and it quietly ordered ink for me. A week later, before I had a chance to hit that out-of-ink wall, a package arrived with fresh cartridges. It felt like Christmas, except Santa is a faceless algorithm and the gift is the ability to print in full color again.

The real test came when I purposely decided to print out a bunch of binder pages. I’m talking emergency contact lists, a few how-to guides (like “How to restart the well pump if it loses prime” – which I had typed up after that fiasco some time ago), and maintenance log templates I’d drafted. It was a hefty print job by my home standards. Normally, I’d be counting pages and worrying I’d run out of one of the colors. This time? I just hit print and didn’t worry. Everything printed beautifully. If a cartridge got low, I knew another would be on the way automatically. For once, the only thing stopping me from assembling the binder was me, not my tools.

There’s a saying, “use the right tool for the job.” Well, having a working printer with ink is a pretty essential tool for making a physical binder. Instant Ink made sure my tool was always ready, even if I wasn’t. I’ll admit, it kind of removed one of my favorite excuses. I could no longer sigh dramatically and say, “I would organize the binder, but alas, the printer is out of ink again. C’est la vie.” Rats – now I actually had to do the thing!

I know this might sound like a small detail in the grand scheme, but it’s often these little modern solutions that make homesteading life smoother. We do a lot of things the old-fashioned way out here (grow food, chop wood, fix machinery with duct tape and prayers), but I’m not above using technology where it genuinely helps. An ink subscription isn’t exactly solar panels or a fancy off-grid inverter, but it has made a difference in my ability to get organized. It’s one less friction point.

So if you’ve got a printer and you’re living rural, consider something like this. It’s surprisingly affordable (cheaper than buying cartridges in-store, in my experience) and saves you gas money and headache. It definitely kept my printer working on the rare days I actually remember to print things. And with that piece of the puzzle solved, I was out of excuses. Binder time it was.

With ink flowing freely and a stack of freshly printed pages in hand, I finally sat down at the kitchen table to confront the legendary binder. It stared at me (in my mind’s eye) like, “Well? I’ve been waiting.” I blew off the dust, gathered my prints, found some dividers, and actually started putting it together. And you know what? It felt good. Kinda like the feeling after you finally clean out that one junk drawer – a tiny sense of accomplishment that belies how long it took to get there.

Now, I won’t pretend I finished it in one sitting. Ha! No, I did about half, then got distracted by something (I think the goats were hollering to be fed). But I started. And that’s more than I could say for years. In doing so, I also realized I had a bunch of homemade checklists and logs that might be useful to others. Which brings me to perhaps the one helpful, tangible takeaway from my tale: I’ve compiled a Homestead Maintenance Log sheet that I’m going to share with you as a free download. Consider it my penance for being a procrastinating mess – if I can’t be a shining example, at least I can be a cautionary tale and hand out a useful tool. 😅

A Step Toward Organization: The Homestead Maintenance Log (Free Download!)

Drumroll, please… I’m absurdly proud (and a little astonished) to announce that I’ve created a Printable Homestead Maintenance Log Sheet and it’s available for you to download for free. Yes, that’s right – something productive actually came out of this rambling saga! This one-page (front and back) log sheet is designed to help folks like you and me keep track of all those critical yet easily-forgotten homestead tasks. I figured, if I needed this, chances are some of you do too. Why reinvent the wheel? Let’s share the tool and all get our act together just a little bit more.

What the Log Sheet Tracks:

I tried to include the heavy-hitters – the maintenance items that can lead to big problems if neglected. Here’s a rundown of what you’ll be able to track with this sheet (and what I’ll be religiously tracking on my own copy from now on):

• Propane Tank Fills: Record the date of each fill, the percentage or amount delivered, and any notes (like the price per liter/gallon, or if you switched suppliers). This will help you notice patterns in usage and ensure you schedule that next fill before you run dry again. No more midnight shivering if we can help it.
• Septic Maintenance: There’s space to note monthly (or weekly, if you’re that disciplined) treatments like SeptoBac or other septic additives. You can also log septic tank pump-out dates here, since those are typically once every few years – you’ll have a handy historical record. Trust me, you do not want to be guessing “Was it 2018 or 2019 we last pumped?” when you’re on the phone with the septic service.
• Well Care (Shocking & Tests): Use the sheet to jot down the date of each well shock chlorination (and maybe the amount of bleach used, if you want to be detailed). There’s also a spot for water test dates/results. That way, you can see at a glance if it’s been too long since the last test, and make sure you’re keeping that water clean and safe. It’s a good feeling to write “PASS” next to a test entry and know everything’s all clear.
• Water System Maintenance: I added a line for things like replacing water filters (if you have an inline sediment or carbon filter for your well water) or checking your water softener (if applicable). Those often get ignored until water pressure drops or stains appear. A quick note like “Jan 2025 – replaced sediment filter” can remind you that, oh yeah, it’s been a year, probably time to replace again.
• Chimney and Woodstove: If you heat with wood or even just have a woodstove for backup, you know how critical it is to keep that chimney clean. There’s a spot to log chimney cleanings (date and any notes like “creosote level normal” or “dead bird removed” – yes, that happened once). I also include woodstove or furnace tune-ups in this category. Basically, anything heating-related that needs periodic attention.
• Generator and Power Systems: For those of us with generators (whether as backup or prime power), I included lines for generator maintenance – oil changes, battery checks, test runs under load, etc. Same goes for solar power system checks if you’re off-grid – e.g., “Equalize batteries” or “Inspect solar panels for damage”. Power outages are a terrible time to discover your generator won’t start, so logging maintenance helps keep it reliable.
• Vehicle/Equipment Maintenance: This might be a bit beyond “emergency binder” scope, but I find it useful to note major services for homestead equipment. There’s a section where you could write in things like “Truck – oil change” or “Tractor – greased fittings” with dates. If nothing else, it gives you bragging rights that you did, in fact, change the lawn mower spark plug this season.
• Other Reminders: I left a few blank lines for you to customize. Perhaps you want to log fire extinguisher checks (when did you last inspect or replace them?), or battery changes in smoke/CO detectors (those often go forgotten until 3 AM when the low-battery chirp starts – ask me how I know). Maybe you have a cistern that needs annual cleaning, or an emergency generator fuel stash that should be rotated. Use these lines for whatever keeps you up at night when you realize you forgot it!

Each entry line has a space for Date, the Task, and any Notes. It’s simple by design – something you can tuck into the binder and jot on with a pencil, or keep on the fridge if that’s more your style. It’s also kind of satisfying to see, over time, all the things you’ve done. Instead of feeling like “nothing’s getting done around here,” you can glance and say, “hey, I am keeping up with a lot, actually.” And if something slips by a bit too long, the log sheet is like a gentle nudge (certainly gentler than frozen pipes or a flooded basement as a reminder).

I’m genuinely excited to share this with you. Not because it’s some revolutionary invention – it’s literally just a piece of paper with lines and labels – but because it’s the product of hard-learned lessons and a desire to help out my fellow homesteaders (or really any homeowner) who might wrestle with the same forgetfulness. Consider it a cheat sheet for adulting in the country.

To get your free copy, look for the download link in this post (it should be just below or linked somewhere around here). Print a few, share with your neighbors (maybe slip one in your spouse’s stocking as a not-so-subtle hint? Kidding… mostly), and give that emergency binder project a jump start. And hey, if you have ideas to improve it or other things to track, let me know! This is a living document for me – as our homestead grows and changes, I’m sure I’ll modify what I track.

Now, speaking of helpful printables, there’s one more thing I’d be remiss not to mention – something a bit more fun than chlorine and septic bacteria, but surprisingly handy to include in your binder or homestead library.

Don’t Forget The Forager’s Notebook (A Shamelessly Helpful Plug)

Okay, time for a little plug – but it’s one I truly believe in. Many of you already know I published a book called The Forager’s Notebook, which is a journal for tracking wild plants, mushrooms, and all your foraging finds. (If you didn’t know, well, surprise! I wrote a book! In between procrastinating on binders, apparently.) It’s got pages for logging what you found, where, when, and what you did with it – plus 20 actual recipes for wild foods and a bunch of tips. I poured a lot of love and humor into it, and it’s basically like part field guide, part diary, part cookbook.

Now you might wonder, what does a foraging notebook have to do with an emergency binder? Fair question. Here’s my take: a homestead emergency binder doesn’t have to be 100% about disasters and maintenance schedules. It can also be about resilience and knowledge – things that help you live better and deal with tough times. The Forager’s Notebook, while primarily a fun logbook, is also a resource. If the grocery trucks ever stopped coming (heaven forbid) or if I just want to supplement our food with wild harvests, having a record of where the good berry patches are, or which wild greens are abundant in spring, is actually super useful. It’s food security in a grassroots way. Plus, it’s just entertaining. In a power outage, by lantern light, I’d much rather flip through my Forager’s Notebook entries than an insurance policy, let’s be honest.

So I’ve decided that a copy of The Forager’s Notebook (or at least some pages from it) is going into my emergency binder. Consider it the section marked “Optional, but Awesome.” Not only does it give me something enjoyable to peruse when hunkered down, but it reminds me of the skills and knowledge we’re cultivating as part of self-reliance. The binder has the “when did I last service the generator” stuff, yes, but it can also have a flavor of our lifestyle – the notes of living in tune with the land, the seasonal rhythms of foraging and gardening. In a strange way, I find that motivating. It balances the drudgery of maintenance logs with the joy of why we’re doing all this in the first place: to live close to nature, to be nourished by our environment (and maybe to whip up a mean wild mushroom risotto on a propane stove that, fingers crossed, still has fuel).

Consider adding some personal or inspirational elements to your binder as well. Maybe it’s a few printed family recipes (comfort food during a crisis is no small thing). Or a handwritten list of why you chose the homestead life, to read on the days when everything breaks and you question your sanity. Or heck, a little stash of chocolate taped to the inside cover for emergency stress relief – no judgment here! For me, the Forager’s Notebook is that touch of personality and encouragement. It says, “yes, you have all these duties and serious stuff, but don’t forget the adventure side of homesteading too.”

If you haven’t checked out The Forager’s Notebook yet, I humbly suggest giving it a look – especially if you’re into wild foods or want a gift for the nature-lover in your life. It’s available on Amazon (both .com and .ca and elsewhere), and I often have a printable sample for free (shameless double plug: join my newsletter and you get a free PDF version of a mini Forager’s Notebook). Even if foraging isn’t your main thing, it’s a fun logbook to have. And if nothing else, it might make your emergency binder the most interesting emergency binder in the district. Imagine, everyone else has just documents and phone numbers, and you’ve got recipes for dandelion fritters and notes on that time you found a giant puffball mushroom behind the chicken coop. Now that’s a conversation starter at the next homesteaders’ potluck.

Alright, sales pitch over. I genuinely appreciate you indulging me in that. Now, let’s wrap this up and get back to the heart of the matter.

One Page at a Time: Wrapping Up (With Coffee in Hand)

At this point, our coffee cups are probably empty (or stone cold, if you’ve been reading this in one sitting – bless you). I’ve rambled on about my emergency binder saga long enough. It’s time to tie a bow on it and let you get on with your day (perhaps even to fill out your new maintenance log sheet, eh? Eh? 😁).

So, here’s where things stand: my binder is still not 100% done, but it’s no longer just a figment of my imagination. It’s sitting on my shelf with actual pages in it now – a work in progress, but a working progress. And honestly, that feels like a huge win. I’ve got sections for Propane, Well, Septic, Generator, Contacts, and even a section labeled “If I Croak” – which contains instructions for my family on how to run all this crazy off-grid hardware in case I get abducted by aliens or something. Morbid? Maybe a touch. But it gives me peace of mind that if I’m not around or able, the knowledge doesn’t vanish with me. A binder is great for that – it’s the physical backup of all those little procedures and bits of info that rattle around one person’s head.

Writing this post has been both cathartic and motivating. By confessing my pitfalls, I’ve kind of held myself accountable to do better. And I hope reading it has been equal parts entertaining and useful for you. If nothing else, you can shake your head and chuckle and say, “At least I’m not as disorganized as Kevin!” (Hey, I set a low bar, you’re welcome.)

To those kindred spirits out there who juggle more tasks than there are hours in a day, who occasionally (or regularly) find themselves saying “Oh shoot, I forgot to… [fill in critical task here]!”, I salute you. We’re doing our best, even when our best is imperfect. The key is finding systems that help prop us up. For me, that’s this binder and log sheet – however late in the game it may be arriving. It’s also about cutting ourselves some slack. Yes, I’ve had some screw-ups (frozen nights, stinky near-misses, panicked scrambles), but I’ve learned from each one. And we’re still here. The homestead keeps humming along (sometimes wheezing, sometimes roaring, but moving forward).

My advice, as a friend over coffee: Start your own version of an emergency binder, even if it’s just a notebook or a file on your computer. Jot down the stuff you’d really kick yourself for forgetting. Stick it somewhere you’ll see it. Use big bold letters or silly colors or whatever grabs your attention. If you mess up (like I did, many times), don’t beat yourself up too long – just adjust and try again. One page at a time, one task at a time, you’ll build a habit of being prepared. And when life inevitably throws a curveball – a storm knocks out power, the well pump dies, the raccoons organize a coup – you’ll have a cheat sheet to lean on. That’s priceless.

I’ll be here, continually updating my binder, adding coffee-stained pages of wisdom as they come. And I promise to keep sharing the journey – warts, oopsies and all – because this homesteading life is nothing if not one big learning experience. At least we can laugh about it together.

Thank you for sitting with me through this long chat. I feel like we just spent a good hour at the kitchen table, and I appreciate the company. Feel free to share your own “I forgot X and paid the price” stories in the comments – I’d love to hear them (misery loves company, after all, and we might pick up a few more lessons). And let me know if you download the maintenance log sheet – does it help you? Did I miss anything crucial on it? Your feedback might just make the next version even better.

Alright, I see the sun coming up and chores waiting (they’re always waiting). Time to refill my coffee mug and get to it.

Happy homesteading – may your emergency binder come together smoothly, your propane tanks stay comfortably above 20%, and your Forager’s Notebook (or whatever fun log you keep) be filled with only the best kind of stories. Stay prepared, stay human, and as always, stay real. We’ve got this – one page at a time, one day at a time.

Download the Free Log Page Here

• 
  The Emergency Binder I Haven’t Made (Because Life Keeps Laughing at My Plans)
  I kept meaning to make an emergency binder… until the propane ran out, the well needed shocking, and I couldn’t find printer ink—again. Here’s my painfully honest journey to getting organized, complete with near disasters, some accidental wisdom, and a free homestead maintenance log sheet to save you the trouble.
• 
  Raising Meat Birds When Your Kids Name Them
  Raising meat chickens was the plan—until the kids named them Princess Fluffybottom and Batman. Suddenly, butchering day turned emotional, messy, and surprisingly funny. This story is a rollercoaster of homestead chaos, heartfelt lessons, and the reality of connecting your food to the family table. Spoiler: we kept Snowflake (for a while).
• 
  Summer Foraging in Northwestern Ontario: What to Look For in June and July
  June and July are prime foraging months in Northwestern Ontario. From citrusy spruce tips to juicy wild blueberries and golden chanterelles, the land is bursting with wild food. Learn how to safely identify, harvest, and enjoy the best seasonal finds, all told in a down-to-earth, first-person homesteader’s voice.
• 
  I Thought Homesteading Would Be Peaceful – Then I Got Chickens
  I thought chickens would be the easiest part of homesteading—until mine turned into feathery anarchists. Between bullying hens, fox attacks, and bedtime rodeos, peace was a fantasy. Still, somehow, I keep coming back for more. Here’s a look at the chaos, comedy, and lessons learned from life with chickens.
• 
  Trapping Raccoons and Skunks: Old-Time Wisdom for the Modern Homesteader
  Got raccoons raiding your corn or skunks setting up under the porch? I’ve been there. In this guide, I’m sharing the humane, no-nonsense trapping methods I use here on the homestead—tools, bait, real-life mishaps, and all. It’s old-time wisdom with modern patience (and a good skunk blanket).