Sixty thousand Chatham County homes learned what dark feels like. Yours can opt out.

Savannah is an evacuation-zone county with a growing habit of close calls — Matthew, Irma, Dorian, Idalia, Debby, Helene, each one dragging lines down somewhere in the metro. But the hurricanes are only the headline. The quieter truth is that coastal Georgia loses power in ordinary weeks too: afternoon thunderstorms off the marsh, a squirrel in a substation, a pine limb across a feeder in the Effingham woods. In a Savannah July, a dead AC is not an inconvenience — for the very young, the very old, and anyone on refrigerated medication, it is a genuine safety problem by the second afternoon.

Meanwhile the metro keeps compounding — roughly 432,000 people now, pulled in by the port's five million containers a year, the Hyundai Metaplant ramp-up, and the Amazon operation in Pooler. New subdivisions mean more homes hanging off the same feeders, and more families who work remote and can't shrug off a two-day outage the way a 1995 household could.

Here is the honest seasonal math of this business: the week after a named storm, everyone wants a generator, and lead times stretch — units back-ordered, installers booked out, permit offices swamped. The smart play is the opposite calendar. Book the site visit in the quiet stretch, get the pad poured and the unit commissioned on a mild week, and spend storm season already covered. We keep maintenance customers exercised and ready on the same logic: preparation is cheap in the calm and expensive in the panic.

The Moon River is the tidal stretch south of town that Johnny Mercer made famous, and it seemed right for a company whose whole job is keeping Savannah's lights glowing against the dark. That's the extent of the story — the rest of this site is about kilowatts.