The forecast said this wild and huge storm would miss us, but they were very wrong.

It hit here full-on early this afternoon and just let up around 7 p.m.  There’s a lot of snow on the ground. We dug out the paths and our cars and the back porch.

We couldn’t get to the Mansion, so I made a new gourmet pizza – Marscarpone cheese, small peas, and a touch of garlic powder. I screwed this up the first time I made it two weeks ago but got it right tonight.

I was excited to present it to Maria, I lit candles in the dining room, got wine and my new hard cider out and was preparing for the coziest of dinners after we spent a couple of hours shoveling. It’s sweet to have a dinner like that in our comfortable and sturdy old farmhouse.

But you know what they say about plans.

Maria was in the other room, and I heard her fall, I came running she was sicker than I have ever seen her, and she was frightened and seemed confused.

She was lying on the floor, and there was blood on the floor. I reached for the cell phone, I was considering calling 911, but I told myself to calm down.

I learned than in emergencies; one person must be calm and steady for the person who is in trouble.

If I get upset, it will be worse for her. I also looked out the window, it was a virtual whiteout, and I live miles from the rescue squad.  Up here, there is a tradeoff we all know, help is never very close, but in a snowstorm, it can be very far.

People who think of moving here ask me if there are doctors and specialists nearby. No, there are not.

I thought it would take the rescue squad a long time to get here, and if Maria was as sick as she looked, another hour or so to get to a hospital. The roads were horrible.

She must have gotten dizzy and fallen; the blood had come from a cut on her lip. But when I saw her, there was blood all over her face. I decided not to get frightened but calmer.

My gut said to wait. My gut has its memory and instinct. I often listen to it.

So I decided to take some time. I held her hand, kept talking to her, rubbed her shoulders.

I drew a bath, helped her, talked to her, took care of things. She felt better, got her color back, was weak, and afraid. Minute by minute, she got steadier, and I felt confident about not calling for help.

She would have hated it if I’d called for an ambulance, she asked me not to. Maria never makes a big deal out of being sick.

But I would have done it. I got her into bed, drowned her in blankets, cleaned things up, and she will sleep on the sofa tonight. I’ll sleep in a chair next to her. Bud is curled up next to her head.

Fate is on the floor in front of her.

If she needs a dog, she’ll be in good shape.

She feels better now; she is just exhausted. I made the right choice, but it was a scary one.

Maria is one of the healthiest people I know; I have no doubt she’ll be fine in the morning. If not, there is an urgent care center nearby.

There is a sense of vulnerability where we live. In one sense, there is no 911; we are on our own and dependent sometimes on neighbors. I did a foolish thing before my pizza night, I got into the car and drove around looking for photos to take.

Shooting through the snow – the winter pasture – was irresistible. I pulled over suddenly in the snow to take the above photo of a tree out in the field in the middle of a raging storm.

I love it, although a big truck roared past me, and the window came down, and the driver said, “are you f—– crazy!” It wasn’t a question, and he was right to be angry. I thought it would only take a second.

And I think I am crazy, I can’t deny it. But I am also lucky and grateful.

The night could have turned out a lot differently. I hope Maria will try the pizza I saved for her tomorrow. I think I got it right this time. I am so relieved she is better.

I respect life, it has a mind of its own. We humans are dust in the wind.

And I loved the picture of the tree.