Iced In: Surviving Nashville’s January 2026 Winter Storm for Five Days with No Power

~ How I survived for five days in brutal winter weather with no power and what I learned in the process ~

Iced In: Surviving Nashville’s January 2026 Snow

In the days leading up to January 24, rumors of an approaching winter storm began circulating in Nashville. Many residents, myself included, approached the warnings with skepticism—after all, snow forecasts in this region frequently fail to materialize. Nevertheless, the predictable rush on grocery staples such as milk, bread, and toilet paper ensued. As Friday drew closer and the predictions grew more certain; even stores like Michaels saw crowds purchasing candles and terra cotta pots to improvise emergency heaters.

The Warning Signs
The mere threat of snow is often sufficient to bring Music City to a standstill. On Wednesday, January 21, Governor Bill Lee declared a state of emergency. Tennessee Department of Transportation crews pretreated roads and replenished salt supplies, while by Friday, January 23, many churches, community organizations, and businesses had announced closures for the weekend—before the first flake fell.

Friday: Last-Minute Preparation
On my way home from work that Friday—when daytime highs reached 39°F and lows fell to 34°F—I made a last-minute stop to buy several extra jar candles, a 24-pack of votives, a terra cotta pot, and a couple of battery-operated candles featuring realistic, but bright, flickering flames. That decision might have saved my life.

Saturday: Snow Turns to Ice
Snow flurries began Friday night. By Saturday morning, January 24, with highs only reaching 23°F and lows at 21°F, we awoke to a pristine layer of fresh snow, and precipitation continued steadily throughout the day and into the night. Flurries persisted intermittently on Sunday.

Sunday Morning: The Power Goes Out
At 5 a.m. Sunday, January 25, when highs and lows both hovered around 28°F, the power failed abruptly, waking me. I immediately reported the outage to NES and took photos of the snow, expecting a quick restoration. Instead, a heavy icing event overnight from Saturday into Sunday coated roads, trees, and power lines with about an inch of ice. By Sunday evening, more than 230,000 customers in the Nashville area were without power, including me. Outside my window that night, the neighborhood lay in total darkness.

Sunday Night: The Cold Sets In
By Sunday evening, the cold had turned brutal, with nighttime temperatures plummeting into the single digits or low teens throughout the week. I attempted to keep my elderly dog, Jack—who suffers from kidney issues—comfortable by burning candles nearby and holding him close on the sofa, but these measures proved inadequate. In an effort to safeguard him, along with the cat and my warm-water fish, I relocated our makeshift camp to the upstairs bathroom. I placed the candles and terra cotta “heater” securely in the bathtub to minimize any risk of mishap, and we settled in as best we could. The setup was far from ideal, and our situation looked grim.

During outages I usually step out to scan the sky for stars or the Milky Way, which I have never seen. Winter timing isn’t ideal for viewing the Milky Way, and Nashville’s ambient light normally competes with the stars. With widespread blackouts, though, the visible stars often appear brighter. However, overcast skies limited the view that night, but the quiet, snowy darkness held its own kind of beauty.

Back upstairs in the bathroom, the tile floors conducted cold relentlessly, the available rugs covered only limited areas, and the confined space offered little room to move. Jack fared reasonably well—I nested his small bed inside a larger padded one on top of a rug and covered him with two blankets, allowing him to remain warm. Meanwhile, I wore multiple layers: fleece pants, thermal socks, oversized moccasins, a long-sleeve top, a fleece jacket, a down vest, and a thigh-length down coat. My upper body warmed intermittently, but from the waist down—particularly my back and feet—I stayed persistently cold. Sleep came fitfully until exhaustion granted a few hours.

Monday: The Deep Free
Monday morning, January 26, when highs and lows both sat at 16°F in Nashville, and closer to 10° in Bellevue, the landscape appeared entirely glazed in ice. It had formed a hard crust over the snow—over everything; my truck doors were frozen shut and iced over; and the steep driveway and yard made leaving impossible by vehicle or on foot. We were stranded.

When my betta started looking bad, I put him in a small bowl covered with a washcloth so he couldn’t jump out and put him in a warming circle of candles, but soon I moved three jar candles next to the aquarium in an effort to save my fish and ghost shrimp, who all need temperatures in the high 70s/low 80s to survive. Next I put towels around the aquarium to hold heat in, and I rigged an aluminum cake pan on top of the tank to extend over the candles directing some of the heat to the tank. I hemmed the candles in with a smaller tank to prevent Jack from knocking them over. Things did not look good for the fish.

Midweek: Bathroom Refuge
After brief outdoor breaks for Jack and the cat, I refined the bathroom setup: more blankets were brought upstairs as well as additional candles, and every small rug from the house (shaken clean outside in the freezing air). I found two more terra cotta pots that would fit over my jar candles, and those were definitely the warmest candles. However, with candles burning for hours already, I now kept the bathroom door slightly ajar for ventilation to disperse fumes.

The room stabilized in the 50s°F even with an arctic draft coming through the cracked door; we spent most of the afternoon there. Monday night brought noticeable improvement to bathroom living—although sleeping on the floor in cramped quarters remained challenging for someone my age, it was now more sustainable. I was comfortable enough to read a book by the light of a battery-powered lantern. It was too cold for star gazing so I remained indoors. It was a good thing that I had insulated the bathroom by adding rugs, blankets, and more candles—according to the weather app on my phone, the low temperature in the hills of Bellevue, miles from Nashville, hit 5° Monday night.

The bathroom remained around 56°F for the rest of the week, reaching a low of 46°F only during fuller airing. Elsewhere in the house, temperatures fell to the 30s°F by midweek. But that small room served as our refuge; we left mainly for Jack’s increased bathroom needs, worsened by the extreme cold.

Battery life on my phone quickly became a pressing concern. It had not been fully charged prior to the outage, so messages to family and friends depleted it rapidly. I conserved power by turning it off when not in use and relied on a partially charged power bank.

Wednesday: Hope and Heartbreak
By Wednesday, January 28—when Nashville highs reached 30°F and lows dropped to 23°F—both were exhausted. That afternoon, I finally succeeded in opening the truck door, charged the phone using the vehicle’s outlet, and ran the heater—a profound relief. We utilized this resource twice, with me basking in the warmth and Jack fully relaxed, snoozing in the passenger seat. However, my tank was on empty. I had not had funds to fill it up before the snow.

Later on Wednesday, NES trucks appeared on the street to examine the transformer. I made the mistake of letting my guard down: the restoration of power appeared to be in the process of happening. When the crews left without results, a wave of discouragement followed. Doubts accumulated: How much longer would we remain confined to the bathroom? How hazardous might the candle fumes become over time? I had already begun placing votives inside emptied jars once larger candles burned out. Jack and the cat had plenty of food, but how long could chips, olives, crackers, and deviled ham—sustain me?

I had already missed two days of work, a significant concern given my strained financial situation since my ex took off with my savings and my retirement money. Losing January income jeopardized February’s bills, and frequent use of the truck for heat had nearly depleted the gas tank. How much longer could we continue this way?

My cousin, who stayed in touch the whole time, informed me that NES claimed power had been restored in my area, projecting full recovery to residents of Nashville by the weekend’s end and advising residents to seek shelters in the meantime. These options were impractical for someone trapped on an icy hill with a sick dog. I reported the outage again for good measure.

Thursday: A Turning Poin
Also checking in regularly were my pastor and his wife from New Day Church in Bellevue. Sensing my drop in spirits, on Thursday they offered to deliver gas and food, but I discouraged the risky climb. Meanwhile, my situation and outlook started to improve. Backing the truck into sunlight melted ice from it; the windshield created a greenhouse warmth, and that contributed to more comfort and a better view than the candle-lit bathroom. Jack and I remained in the truck the entire afternoon, kept warm by the sun through the windshield.

Thursday evening as the sun went down, January 29 (high 36°F, low 25°F), after Jack and I had gone back to the cramped bathroom, my pastor’s wife texted that they were on the way. They navigated the hill carefully, zigzagging around and through icy patches. The pastor put gas in the truck; his wife brought hot chicken noodle soup, bread, and pastries. As sunset painted the sky, they carefully descended the treacherous hill right as NES arrived and began repairs.

Friday Morning: Power Restore
The process required several hours—the power flickered intermittently before stabilizing—but by Friday morning, electricity had permanently returned—almost a week after the power went out. Jack, the cat, the fish and I all survived what came to be known as Snowmageddon 2026.

The Aftermath
Tragically, not all did. The Tennessee Department of Health reported 23 weather-related fatalities statewide, ranging from hypothermia to carbon monoxide poisoning.

Final Thoughts

Why do I think I survived when other isolated older women did not? Partly because this was my second experience with a major ice disaster.

In late January 1985, Nashville and Middle Tennessee endured a brutal winter event featuring heavy snow, significant ice accumulation, downed trees and power lines, and record-breaking cold. The extreme temperatures peaked with Nashville’s all-time record low of -17°F on January 21, 1985—one of the coldest days in the city’s history. Snowfall reached about 6.7 inches on one day in early February, but the storm’s effects spanned late January into February, with ongoing wintry weather that hampered repair crews and prolonged disruptions. During that bitterly cold period, I kept myself, a parakeet, a hamster, and a cat alive for nearly two weeks without power. We huddled together on the sofa and the coffee table, surrounded by a semicircle of kerosene lamps for warmth and light. I kept the hamster in his exercise ball under the blankets with me during the coldest periods. This prior ordeal taught me valuable lessons in preparedness and resourcefulness that proved lifesaving later on.

Lessons Learned

Candles in a bathtub, much like kerosene lamps, can generate meaningful heat in a confined space, though experts caution strongly against open flames due to fire and fume risks. In our situation, they made survival possible.
Charge phones and power banks fully, and keep vehicle gas tanks topped off ahead of severe weather.
Cover tile floors thoroughly to reduce conductive cold.
A sunlit vehicle interior offers natural warmth and a psychological lift on clear days.
Cold weather intensifies urination in small, elderly dogs—keep pee pads stocked.
Keep on hand non-electronic entertainment: books, puzzles, coloring books, or simple crafts.
Stock non-perishable emergency snacks.
My pastor and his wife go the extra mile. New Day Church, Bellevue—visitors are welcome.
Above all, remember that God remains sovereign, no matter how bleak the outlook.