Life is a balancing act, I think, and for me, this is never more evident than during a rough storm like the one we are in. This kind of storm brings snow and ice and rain, lasts for a day or two, and makes walking treacherous. It also demands of us a lot of physical work – shoveling, chipping scraping.

I work with the elderly, as most of you know, and when you work with the elderly, you see the devastating consequences of falls. Falls send more people to nursing homes and into elderly care than any other thing, and almost 75 per cent of people older than 70 have fallen at one time or another, often with serious consequences.

Older people have more balance problems,  thinner bones and often have some sight issues that make falling more likely. They lose their confidence on the ice, they sometimes tread too carefully.

I’m 71 and have fallen more times up here in the winter than I can count.

On my first farm in Hebron, I slipped on the ice quite regularly (please don’t me about your Walking Ice Shoes and Shoe Grips, thanks,  they do not work on farms with mud and manure,  they clog easily and can be dangerous off of ice).

I often fell on my head. Several times,  I blacked out. Once, first responders had to come charging up my hill to dig me out of the snow. My dog Rose led them to me.

The most serious fall I took was on that farm when I fell and smashed my knee cap on a stone slab. My knee never fully recovered from that, the other leg is much stronger, the injured knee is forever weaker.

Today, I fell on that knee while shoveling snow, I went right off the porch and onto another stone slap and on the same knee. The pain was memorable, but passed quickly, and I can put pressure on the knee and walk. I will feel it tomorrow and for a few days past. But I’m fine.

When I say life is balancing act, the falling down issue reminds me of this. If I listened to all the warnings I read and hear and receive, I wouldn’t go out of the house at all between November and April.  I have diabetes, heart disease and a number of orthopedic issues from previous falls. I am the person these “concerned” corporations – and the American Heart Association – are thinking of when they urge caution in storms.

On a farm, and in a snowstorm, there is no stay-inside option, as far as I am concerned, that allows me to stay inside the house and be warm and dry while Maria shovels and hauls and digs out the farm by herself.

Maria would graciously do all of these chores herself, and I know it makes her nervous when I walk on ice or shovel too much. When she insists, I go inside. To her credit, she also permits me to make my own decisions and gives me the space to live my life.

She understands the importance of dignity. I can’t help growing older, and wouldn’t if I could. But my dignity is not something anyone can take from me.

More balancing.

It would not be a gift to Maria if I fell and broke a leg or something else. It is often easier for her to do something by herself than worry about me.

Life would be much harder for her if I fell and hurt myself. Life would be much harder for me if I simply gave up on helping to run the farm, feed the animals, bring out hay and water.

Maria does not nag me or hover.

When she asks me if I want her to haul the water jug, I can say yes or no. Some days I say yes, some days I say no. Tomorrow, my knee and I will say yes. And that is the nature of life, we are forever balancing one thing against another.

I’m not going to always play if safe as long as I can walk at all.

I know there are conventional wisdoms out there to which we are all supposed to subscribe. But I don’t really work that way. Being alive means occupying a human body, a body different from all other bodies. When we are separated or different, we are alone.

This is true of every creature on the earth, but truer for humans than any other living thing.  We are not only alone, wrote the philosopher Paul Tillich, we know we are alone.

When I go outside with a shovel in the snow and ice, I am alone, and I take responsibility for that.

In a storm, I shovel, wipe off the cars, rake off the snow on the roofs. It’s a lot. When I get tired or something hurts, I stop. The cardiologist says I should do what I can do, and no more or less.

Of course, that reassurance really means nothing. She’s not her to help me decide.

It’s up to me. I am fortunate falling, I seem to fall in the right places most of the time. On this kind of ice and snow, I know to be careful, move slowly, think about where I’m walking. I always manage to fall without damaging my camera, that is a gift I cherish.

I am not the least bit macho or bravado, but this is the life I chose and this is the life I love. Nothing worth doing is free. Nothing good can be accomplished without some risk. We live in a world of warnings, social media feeds off of them.

But we each have to walk on our own path and make our own decisions. What happened to your husband or your wife does not necessarily have any relevance to me. Every storm is a risk, every ice storm a trap waiting to spring.

My work at the Mansion and other elder care facilities has sensitized me to the danger of falling. It disrupts lives and even ends them. When I heard Joanie had fallen, I knew she wouldn’t be coming back to the Mansion.

I know that I need to balance my life all the time. Common sense versus impulse, ego over humility, letting go over hanging on. At 71, I can’t do the things I could once do, and I know and accept that, hopefully with grace.

I don’t accept doing nothing, not yet, hopefully never.

But I can do a lot of things, and I will, always balancing the scale between life and security, as I have done all my life.

Time for a heat pack.