Bees are nature’s preppers. A hive heading into winter is a 72-hour kit with wings — stockpiled food, everybody with a job, nobody panicking.

No bees, no pollen. No pollen, no flowering. No flowering, no food.

Honey is the original emergency ration. It never spoils. Archaeologists found pots of honey in ancient Egyptian tombs, still looking good thousands of years later. It’s also naturally antibacterial — used for wound care for centuries.

And the hive is the model. In a disaster, nobody gets left behind. Every bee has a place in the hive.

I was found homeless. I had lost my way — it happened fast, with substance abuse, isolation from others, and a past that haunted me. And I saw that I was left behind. I had done it to myself. I was someone who owned a home and had a good job. Back when life was good, I volunteered for the emergency preparedness team in my local area.

Now homeless, I realized something. In a society that watches and reacts instead of acting, my basic needs were just covered, and for that I’m grateful. But in an earthquake — and the last Big One was 326 years ago, with scientists saying we’re in the risk zone — society does what it can and declares a state of emergency. There was already a state of emergency declared for the opioid crisis over 10 years ago — and it’s still active.

Walking out of the shelter, I watched people overdose. You’re forced to decide: do I help, or do I walk by? Cars keep driving. People walk past and try to keep walking. I couldn’t. One time, not knowing how to use naloxone, I found myself useless to help. I got on the phone and called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived, but it was her friends who saved her — they kept her going until the ambulance took over.

I thought: in an earthquake, the first 72 hours are the critical rescue window — after that, survival chances drop fast. If I had forgotten myself in a disaster, my odds wouldn’t be good. So I decided to try building a shelter for emergencies — easily transportable, because you don’t know where disaster will hit. Not a solution, but a contribution. One less thing for triage teams to deal with, so they can focus on saving lives and finding buried survivors before the 72-hour clock runs out. Less suffering.

I didn’t have money, but I had a phone, and I started creating Honeypod — a portable popup shelter that stores easily and deploys anywhere. I had a plumbing background. Before Y2K, I got people’s computers compliant so they wouldn’t fail. Now I had designs for something to help. I had something to show.

This is where it started. I realized it was an extension of a good part of me, and I was proud. Being proud when you’re down and out is a very good thing — it brings hope. I wanted more, and just like my old habits, I tried to consume more of it.

I want to include the forgotten. I hope this Honeypod becomes a hive — a community that is appreciated. My part is preventative maintenance for everything: for disasters, and for my home — looking at problems that could lead to trouble and addressing them before, not after.

Honey is health. Health for your body without the toxic add-ons. It heals. And bees are in trouble — some species are on the endangered list — without bees, we’re creating a whole new disaster. They are part of my hive, and we are not forgetting them.

I’m looking for companies to link to this website, to this community. I hope this explains what Honeypod is all about.

Get yourself covered — buy a kit or build your own. If I help one person, then everything I’m trying to build here means I’ve helped, and that’s a good thing. Thank you, and welcome.