In developmentWater
Floods and main breaks don't stop the taps, they contaminate them. Boiling is still the first thing every health department tells you to do, and boiling takes a flame.
Storms. Blackouts. Evacuations. Water you suddenly can't drink. You don't get to pick which one shows up, and you don't get much warning. You do get to decide whether the house is ready before it does.
We're not preppers.
We're just not planning
on being helpless.
A hurricane season that keeps getting longer. A grid that keeps falling over. Wildfire that moves faster than the warning does. A boil-water notice that runs nine days. Somewhere in the world right now, a war nobody living there voted for. Most of it will never reach your street. Some of it will.
There's a version of getting ready that involves a basement full of rations and a wall of camouflage, and it isn't us. Ordinary people don't want a lifestyle. They want to know that when something goes wrong, the house still works well enough to get through it, and the people in it still eat.
The storm passes in a night. The fire gets turned back. The grid goes down for what they promise is a few hours. That part is almost always survivable and almost always short.
Then comes the long bit. No power means no fridge, and it turns out the stove needs electricity to light. The kettle is a paperweight. The water is running but the notice says boil it, and boiling takes a flame. By the third day the problem isn't fear, it's logistics, and cold food at the end of a cold day does something to a family that nobody warns you about.
Buckets of freeze-dried food nobody will actually eat. Kits assembled out of whatever a warehouse had spare that month. Radios that need charging, stoves that need a cartridge you can't buy locally, and a great deal of black nylon designed to look serious.
We started Tuviki because we went looking for the boring, well-made version of all this and couldn't find it. So the rule became simple. If it wouldn't earn a place on our own shelf, it doesn't go on the site. That's the whole company.
It doesn't matter whether it's a hurricane, a blackout, a flood or an evacuation. What a house loses is water, food, light and warmth, in some order. We're building one honest answer for each. This is exactly where we are.
In developmentFloods and main breaks don't stop the taps, they contaminate them. Boiling is still the first thing every health department tells you to do, and boiling takes a flame.
Available nowThe one we started with, because it's the one that fails quietly. A stove that runs on alcohol from any hardware store and doesn't care how cold it is outside.
In developmentPhones die inside a day and they're the thing you most need working. Everything else in the drawer runs on batteries nobody has checked since last spring.
In developmentA house holds its heat for a while and then loses it all at once. Wool has never needed a power supply, a charge, or a spare part you can't get.
A self-pressurised alcohol burner, a windscreen that doubles as a pot stand, and two fuel bottles. It makes hot food and hot water with no grid, no cartridge and nothing to charge. It fits in a drawer and it keeps for years on a shelf without being touched.
If it only works on a full battery, it isn't emergency equipment. It's a gadget that happens to be handy on a good day.
Fuel and parts you can buy in an ordinary town on a bad week. Not a proprietary cartridge that runs out exactly when the shelves are empty.
If it wouldn't earn a place on our shelf it doesn't get listed. That's why there are three things here and not thirty.
Thirty days to decide. Gear you're unsure about is worse than no gear at all, because you'll count on it.