138: When The Power Goes Out
How the Invasion Might Begin
The power went out at 7:13 AM.
Not the flicker-out-then-back kind of outage we get during freezing rain or when a tree takes down a line. This was different. The silence felt heavier. No hum from the barn. No static pop on the radio. Just dead air and frost.
I stepped out onto the porch with my coffee still warm and five dogs crowding around me like I’d been gone for days. Tails thumping, noses nuzzling, eyes scanning the horizon. They didn’t know what was happening, but they knew enough to stay close. They’re good like that. Loyal, but not worried. Not yet.
Normally, I’d call Hydro or check the app. But the phone line didn’t connect, and the app just spun like it was waiting for something that would never load. Odd, but not unheard of. Then I opened Facebook—because around here, that’s where people go when something weird happens.
The local groups were already buzzing. Anyone else lost power?
Phones down too.
Hydro’s website won’t load.
Radio’s just static.
Then: Anyone else think this is more than just an outage?
I still had power, thanks to our solar setup. Most days it just means I save a bit of money. Today, it meant I was still had power when most weren’t. Not that it made things feel any clearer.
By 7:45, people were reporting that CBC was off the air. Not just the radio—TV, site, app, all gone. Same with CTV, Global, even Weather Network. Like someone had thrown a sheet over the whole country.
I checked Google Maps—not expecting much—but it was still working. A few folks in the South East Ontario groups were tracking strange traffic patterns. Convoys of unmarked vehicles heading north through the St. Lawrence corridor. Highway 416 lit up in a way that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t commercial. It wasn’t civilian.
It was military.
By 8:15, mobile networks started dying. LTE dropped to one bar, then nothing. One by one, people vanished from the groups. Not logging off—just gone. Black holes where conversations had been. I stayed online thanks to a connection rigged up by a guy in Lanark Highlands—solo hacker, lives off-grid, ran his own fiber down the concession road. I’d traded him some of our own farm-raised pork last fall. Best deal I ever made.
And then the videos started appearing.
Dashcam clips, and smartphone captures.
Tanks rolling down Highway 417, in the west end.
Armoured personnel carriers, Humvees, even drones buzzing low like angry hornets.
They flew both U.S. and Canadian flags. That part threw me.
Worse were the pickup trucks driving with the convoy—ordinary folks, from the looks of it—flying oversized Canadian flags, some with slogans scrawled in Sharpie. A few even flew Trump flags, tattered but proud, like they’d been waiting years to wave them again. They were honking, cheering, filming live videos calling it a “liberation from the woke regime.” One guy yelled into his phone about “finally being free from another lockdown” while a row of tanks idled behind him. It didn’t feel like freedom. It felt like a funeral.
The timing wasn’t a coincidence. The government had just confirmed human transmission of the new avian flu strain—H9N2—and there was talk of targeted restrictions and emergency vaccine distribution. The convoy crowd wanted none of it. They saw the U.S. invasion as their shield. And the Americans, for their part, cited "containment" as the reason for the incursion. Said they were protecting their citizens. Said Canada had failed to act.
Facebook, in the meantime, was split between panic and eerie celebration. Among the outage updates and confused questions were cryptic posts and comments from MAGA-types, spouting inside jokes and trollish grins. It’s happening, they wrote. Hold the line. Trust the plan. Canada First. One posted simply, The eagle lands today, with a photo of a bald eagle superimposed over a Canadian flag. It would've been funny, if it wasn't working.
By 9:30, word was leaking through that Ottawa had been taken. No gunfire, no fighting, just swift, surgical silence. Parliament Hill. Rideau Hall. Key bureaucrats detained. The Prime Minister was missing—some said taken, others said fled.
Then came the video. Official-looking. High production value. It opened with shots of tanks on snowy highways, drone footage of quiet cities, and a dramatic orchestral swell. And then there he was.
Donald Trump.
Standing tall behind a lectern bearing the seal of the "Continental Emergency Authority." Flanked by American and Canadian flags, with a massive golden eagle crest behind him, he spoke slowly, confidently, like he’d been preparing this moment for years.
"My fellow North Americans," he began, "today marks the beginning of a new era of unity, strength, and safety. Canada is not our enemy. Canada is our family. And when family is in crisis, we help."
He blamed Canada for failing to contain the H9N2 outbreak. Said the Carney government had become a threat to regional security. Claimed the people of Canada were crying out for leadership, for protection. For him.
"Together," he said, raising a clenched fist, "we will make the continent great again."
I looked out over the back field, rimed with frost, and thought about what comes next. About the planting season. About my neighbors. About how fragile this all was.
The dogs, meanwhile, were still wagging their tails, sniffing the air like it was any other morning.
They didn’t know.
Not yet.
But they’d be ready to protect the farm if it came to that.
Would you?
If you’d like a part two to this fictional story, then please, let us know:
Otherwise we provide our good friend Mikey Opp’s latest episode of his podcast featuring us!
Although, Mike, now that I read your description, we’re definitely not in Northern Canada, given how far North Canada extends. We’re in Eastern Ontario, which is very much in the South of Canada, in spite of how cold it gets in winter! 😁
Subscribed. After this article, how could I not?
This was a splash of cold water on a snowy morning.