If you work in climate and sustainability long enough, you start to think you understand weather extremes. You read the reports, analyze the models, track the trends, and talk calmly about resilience and adaptation in conference rooms and over Zoom meetings. In the professional realm, I am intimately familiar with physical and transition risks associated with climate in a variety of industry sectors. 

What none of that prepares you for is standing in a frozen pasture in the dark, headlamp on, chipping ice out of a water trough while whispering motivational speeches to yourself and your livestock and questioning every life decision that led you here.

In Northeast Georgia, I am more than 200 miles from the ocean and firmly planted in the Deep South. I grew up here. I understand heat. I respect humidity. I am deeply familiar with the sensation of walking outside and sweating instantly. I accept, and even embrace, farming in those expected conditions.

When I bought my farm, I had a thorough list of wants and seemingly practical considerations for which this farm checked all the boxes. Proximity to family. Access to water. Good pasture. Solid soil. Reasonable drive times. I also thought I had a pretty good handle on the type of weather conditions I could anticipate.

What I did not expect was to find myself preparing for hurricanes and winter storms like I had accidentally relocated to two different climates.

Weather preparedness and climate extremes hit differently when you are not just worried about yourself, your pipes, or whether your WiFi will survive the night. When you are responsible for a small, opinionated herd of animals that live outside and fully depend on your planning, foresight, and ability to not panic, the stakes are higher.

Hurricane Helene: Wind, Lightning, and Parasites

In September 2024, I watched the weather alerts and the models but nothing could have prepared me for the eye of a hurricane going directly over the farm, bringing 70 mile per hour winds and flooding rains. During Hurricane Helene, I had only 2 pigs and 2 sheep in my care and my biggest fears were wind and lightning. Trees plus high winds equal chaos. Lightning plus barns equals a spiral I tried not to think about.

I secured the pig shelters as best I could and moved the sheep into the barn. The pigs, unfortunately, were already in an active phase of rebellion and absolutely not interested in cooperating with an evacuation to safer ground. So I reinforced their fence and crossed my fingers and hoped their chosen shelter preferences would not end in disaster.

Trees did come down, but somehow, miraculously, the power stayed on and the animal fencing and shelters stayed secure. The relief was short-lived, though. The combination of heavy rain followed by hot weather created an ideal breeding ground for parasites, which meant hurricane cleanup quickly shifted into parasite management mode. Mother Nature always remains undefeated.

Winter Storms: Georgia Discovers Snow

Winter storms turned out to be an entirely different beast. While traveling for work in mid January, weather reports, models, and the pervasive AccuWeather winter storm alerts for the Southeast were escalating, calling for inches of ice and severe power outages. I traveled home the Thursday night before storms were anticipated to roll in on Friday or Saturday. This first weather event was quickly followed by weather mayhem and more models calling for snow the following weekend.

Before things escalated, I assembled what I now think of as my official winter storm uniform. Insulated farm bibs. A waterproof down coat that makes me look like I am preparing for an Arctic expedition instead of walking 300 feet to a barn. A wool balaclava that leaves only my eyes visible and absolutely terrifies Beatrice the calf. Waterproof boots. And a headlamp, which, paired with a stash of unscented candles, is now one of my top preparedness recommendations for any potential power outage. There is something deeply grounding about moving through the pasture by headlamp and the light of the aptly named Snow Moon, even if you do feel like a background character in a low-budget survival movie.

Food wise, I stocked up like someone who had seen things (back in 2021, I spent nearly a full week without power in freezing temperatures in Winter Storm Uri in a tiny apartment in Austin, Texas). While grocery store shelves get stripped bare of milk, eggs, and anything requiring actual cooking, I focused on low-effort, high protein survival fuel. Beef jerky. Chomps jalapeño beef sticks. Protein bars. When it is 14 degrees, the wind is howling, and you are debating whether the ice is safe to drive on, the last thing you want is a complicated meal plan. While I was blessed that power stayed on during these winter storms, I was prepared for these snacks to carry me through.

To stay warm, animals need to eat more. A lot more. So ahead of each of the back-to-back winter storms, I secured hundreds of pounds of extra hay and feed. I also hit multiple feed stores in an effort to secure sheep colostrum in case any of the pregnant ewes went into labor during the storms (thankfully, baby watch continues over here and they will hopefully lamb in warmer conditions).

The first storm brought heavy ice accumulation, the kind where every step outside sounds like you are walking on a bag of tortilla chips. The pastures turned into a skating rink, and I found myself inching along in full storm gear, taking tiny penguin steps across what was essentially pure ice, silently negotiating with gravity and promising to be a better person if I made it to the barn without face-planting. Meanwhile, the power company issued increasingly ominous warnings about likely outages. Thankfully, the power held.

The second storm delivered six inches of snow and temperatures I genuinely do not remember experiencing in Georgia. Fourteen degrees Fahrenheit, with negative wind chills. I stood outside in ALL the layers of clothing questioning my life choices and the definition of “mild southern winters.” Thankfully, despite the extreme temperatures the snow was objectively easier to navigate than the ice from the previous weekend.

The Water Problem

Once the storms hit and as ice fell from the sky, water quickly became my biggest concern, for multiple reasons.

When temperatures dip below freezing, sheep and cow troughs start forming ice. Sometimes it is thin and easy to break. Sometimes it is thick enough that you find yourself standing in a field, swinging an axe at a water trough, wondering how things escalated so quickly.

Local farm supply stores were completely sold out of trough heaters when I searched, so I turned to the internet for creative solutions. One trick involved floating a ball or sealed empty jug in the trough to create movement and slow ice formation. This worked surprisingly well when temperatures stayed above 28 degrees F. Once it got colder, I was back to breaking ice and lifting thick frozen sheets out of the water.

Water access also matters when the power goes out. My well does not yet have a solar or battery backup, which is officially at the top of my farm upgrade list. In the short term, I filled every bucket and large pot I could find and even the bathtub ahead of the storm. This was partly for emergency trough refills and partly so I could flush a toilet without spiraling if the power did go out. I also stocked up on bottled water, because there is something deeply unsettling about staring at a frozen landscape and realizing how fragile modern conveniences actually are.

Power, Heat, and Backup Plan Gaps

I do have a portable generator that can back up my fridge, freezer, and run a few space heaters. That said, my all-electric house has revealed a glaring weakness: I do not have a non-electric heat source.

This realization happened ahead of the first storm, when every store in the area was already sold out of kerosene and propane heaters, so not ideal timing for major existential insights. A kerosene heater is now officially on my shopping list before the next weather event.

Watching Animals Through the Storm

I monitored the animals obsessively through both winter storms. Extra feed. Constant water checks. Camera monitoring. Middle of the night outside inspections.

At various points, both sheep and cows were sneezing, and the cows and calves developed mild coughs. Respiratory infections and pneumonia are major risks in cold, wet, windy conditions, so I focused heavily on nutrition and minimizing stress. Thankfully, as temperatures warmed, their symptoms eased. Their snot never turned yellow or green, which I consider a major win as it never became infectious.

Seeing livestock standing in snow and ice is jarring. It looks alarming, especially when snow piles up on their backs. Counterintuitively, this is actually a good sign. It means they are retaining their body heat rather than letting it escape, which would melt the snow.

Despite having access to wooded shelter, the cows spent much of the snowstorm standing in the middle of the field. As prey animals, they prefer wide visibility. Apparently, the strategic priority is situational awareness over comfort, even in freezing conditions.

The Mental Load of Farming Through Storms

Weather extremes create intense anxiety for farmers, especially those of us still relatively new to this.

There is so much to prepare for, and so many ways things can go wrong. Animals can slip on ice and break bones. Respiratory illness becomes more likely. Predators come out in search of food. I spotted coyotes on my cameras in the cow field during the storms, which did nothing to improve my sleep quality.

In the days leading up to each storm, I spent nearly every free moment preparing. Securing shelters. Stocking hay and feed. Filling water troughs to the brim before temperatures dropped and outdoor spigots became unusable. I checked cameras constantly. I went outside after dark more times than I can count. I made sure food was always available. I did not sleep well.

These storms exposed a few gaps in my preparedness plan and gave me a very clear to-do list for farm upgrades. They also gave me a new level of respect for Midwestern farmers who raise livestock in these conditions as a normal part of life. What feels extreme and anxiety-inducing here is simply winter for them.

If you are a farmer who has been navigating weather extremes with animals in your care longer than I have, I would genuinely welcome your insights. Every storm is a lesson, and thankfully my animals and I have navigated these storm lessons with our health in tact.

While I would still happily take heat and humidity any day (you can remind me in July, when it’s 100 deg F outside, that I said this), I now have a much deeper appreciation for just how unpredictable and demanding farming alongside the weather can be.