If you tell someone you're a prepper, you can almost see the image that flashes in their mind. A guy in camo, living in a bunker, muttering about conspiracy theories and hoarding ammunition like it’s a competitive sport. Somewhere in there is probably a generator, a doomsday clock, and a flag that’s seen better days. That image? That’s not me.

I’m Scott Lochlan. I live in Montana with my wife Regina and our three teenagers—Logan, Smith, and Harper. I hunt, I fish, I fix fences, I patch roofs, I coach baseball when I can. I’m a lifelong Democrat. Not the kind you see shouting on the internet, but the kind who still believes in common sense, conservation, and community. The kind of Democrat who owns a chainsaw, recycles religiously, and still thinks JFK was the last president who really nailed it. And I prep.

I prep because I’ve seen winter storms shut down half the state. I prep because Regina once broke her ankle while we were backpacking 12 miles from the nearest road. I prep because wildfire smoke doesn’t check your voter registration before it chokes your town. And mostly, I prep because I believe it’s my job as a husband and father to keep my family safe—no matter what headline is leading the news that day.

We’ve allowed prepping to become politicized. We’ve let it be defined by extremes—by the loudest voices on podcasts or in forums that don’t represent most of us. But here’s the thing: preparedness is for everyone. Disasters don’t care who you voted for. Power outages, hurricanes, civil unrest, pandemics—they don’t ask for your ideology before they hit your doorstep. And when they do, you’d better be ready.

I’ve got friends who think differently than I do on just about everything political. Guys like Kyle Harrison, who runs The Preparedness Post, are solid, conservative, liberty-loving Americans. We argue, we rib each other, but we also swap survival tips over coffee and talk gear like some people talk football. We’ve both buried pipes of rice and beans in the woods. We’ve both taught our kids how to use a ferro rod and how to stay calm under pressure. And we both agree that preparedness isn’t crazy—it’s just smart.

This chapter is about taking a wrecking ball to the caricature. It’s about redefining what it means to be a prepper in a divided country and showing that readiness isn’t red or blue, it’s just responsible. It’s about people like you and me—ordinary Americans with families, jobs, and a deep desire to be ready for whatever comes.

We don’t have to wear tin foil hats or retreat into bunkers. We just have to care enough to prepare.