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Paul Johnson: A Celebration of Life

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In March, our friend Paul Johnson died. In the 1990s, I met Paul through his wife Barbara. She was a dear friend, and we spent many happy hours discussing books. In 2005, Barbara died—far too soon—and I still miss her.

After Barbara died, Paul remarried, and I became friends with his new wife, Judy. They had many wonderful years of traveling together. Then Paul was diagnosed with Parkinson’s, and gradually the traveling came to an end. Throughout Paul’s long illness, Clif and I visited often, bringing treats such as apple crisp, oatmeal squares, and cake. Now with Paul’s death, it feels like the end of an era.

Yesterday, at Absolem Cider Company in Winthrop-–about five miles from where we live—friends and family gathered together for a celebration of Paul’s life. Paul, a forester, loved the rural life, and Absolem Cider Company was the perfect place for such a gathering.

This description from Absolem’s website captures the rustic charm of the Cider Company: “Our farmhouse cidery and nascent orchard is located along the western side of the Cobbosseecontee Lake nestled between dense woods, and rolling farmland. A short distance from the neighboring towns of Augusta and Gardiner along the Kennebec River that cuts through the heart of Maine.”

Here are some pictures of this beautiful place. Unfortuantely, the day was grey and rainy, and they don’t do justice to  the simple elegance of Absolem Cider Company.

The restored timber-frame barn from the outside

and from the inside, where old and new meet.

There’s also a picnic area for sunnier days when food trucks come.

And best of all, chickens.

After a tasty buffet, various people spoke about Paul. Among them were his son, Alan, who told about Paul’s passion for pigeons, and Paul’s friend Gary, who marveled over Paul’s skill with a chainsaw.

I, spoke, too. I related how one day, Paul stopped by with his chainsaw.

“Laurie,” he said, “some of those trees around your house need to come down.”

Indeed they did. As I have mentioned many times, we live on the edge of the woods, and not to put too fine a point on it, neither Clif nor I are skilled at taking down trees.

Without hesitation I said, “Go for it, Paul.”

And down those trees came.

I also spoke about Paul’s grace and courage and acceptance in dealing with a terrible disease that slowly, slowly takes away so much. Paul never complained, and he did what he could for as long as he could. An example for us all as we age and deal with an inevitable diminishment of some sort.

Finally, Clif and I fell in love with Absolem Cider Company. We had always wanted to stop by but somehow never had. We sampled their wine and thought it was delicious. We admired the lovingly restored barn, which is worthy of being featured on the television show This Old House. We plan on returning sometime soon, perhaps on Father’s Day weekend.

This was a wonderful celebration of life for an old friend. We miss him very much.

 

70 thoughts on “Paul Johnson: A Celebration of Life”

  4. Sounds like you lost some very good friends. Sending condolences your way from Bob and me.

  5. So sorry for your loss, Laurie. It sounds like it was a lovely and very fitting setting for his celebration of life. That is one newish custom that I really appreciate, the acceptance of being able to celebrate the life of a loved one in the manner most appropriate and meaningful for the deceased.

  6. We are reaching an age when losing friends and some family members is becoming an increasing reality that reminds us of our own mortality. This tribute to your friend is very moving indeed and it seems his family or friends chose both an appropriate time and setting for people to gather in his memory.

    1. Thanks, Anne. So true about how we are reaching an age when losing family and friends is becoming an increasing reality. Sigh. But gathering in someone’s memory is a lovely way to remember and say goodbye.

  7. Knowing first-hand how cruel Parkinson’s is, I can relate to you and those who loved Paul. You have honored him and his memory. The cider company is one of his gifts to you.

  9. I am very sorry for the loss of both your friends. I do really like ‘celebrating life’ rather than a wake or funeral. It is so much nicer to remember all the good things. I’m pretty sure I would have liked Paul, and he probably could have taught me a few tricks about taking down a tree, but he might not embrace my battery operated chainsaws. 🙂

    1. Thanks, Judy. Yes, those celebrations of life are filled with warm remembrances that soothe the souls of loved ones. I’m not sure what Paul would have thought of battery operated chainsaws. He was, after all, chainsaw man. 😉

  11. I’m sorry for your loss, Laurie. I do think your friend would have been humbled at your loving tribute though. And do go back to visit that barn so we can hear more about it!

    1. Many thanks! We will soon be returning to the Cider Company for a Father’s Day celebration. I’ll be sure to write about it and take pictures.

  14. We are so sorry for the loss of your friends dear Laurie and this is such a beautiful tribute. These gatherings to celebrate a life where people share their memories are very special and Absolem seems to have provided the perfect venue 💜

  16. Oh I’m so very sorry about the loss of Paul. It’s so hard to lose good friends. I’m sure his wife was glad to see you all there. And I’m sure his first wife is glad to have him with her again. There’s enough love to go around.

  18. I’m sorry for the loss of your good friend, Laurie and Clif. Loss is never something we get used to, no matter how old we get. 😢

  19. Oh, what a beautiful tribute, Laurie. I’m so sorry for the loss of both of your friends. I love what Wiggins said – The Cider Company is one of his gifts to you. You will surely think of Paul every time you go there. xo

    1. Thanks, Barbara. Yes, good memories. The Cider is wonderful and only a few miles from where we live. No small thing when you live in the country.

  21. Thank you for helping to preserve the life of someone who sounds like he should be remembered with love. That is something bloggers can do.

  22. Losing special friends is such a sadness! Reading your post makes me wish I had had a chance to get to know him. How lovely that you and his other friends were able to celebrate his life in a beautiful and very appropriate place. Each time you go there again you will remember him.

  23. Laurie.,This is a beautiful tribute to Paul. Sent from my Verizon, Samsung Galaxy Tablet

  26. Such is our time in our lives, when funerals and celebrations for those who die become events in our schedule. As you know, I have been posting poems that I wrote over the past year and a half of my mother’s decline and death.

    She hated funerals and forbade my brother and I of having one for her. She hated how people became saints all of a sudden, or people glory-day-ing things that occurred 60 or 70 years ago. Maybe my poems are my eulogy, the things I might have said, though could never have read in public. Maybe they are my way of fulfilling her desire that people see the reality of he dying. But, these days we have many ways, outside of the religious traditions and rituals. Next week, we will be going to a celebration of life for a co-work… at a winery we all enjoyed.

    One of my last memories of my mother is our last “Just shoot me. I never wanted to grow old” conversations, to which I replied, “Mom, I can’t shoot you. But, I can take you across the street for a chia latte.” We cried and laughed. She had her last chia latte, then slept for three days. I sat for 10 hours in her room those three days, watching to see if she was still breathing. – Oscar

    1. Yes, indeed. I have been reading the poems of your mother’s death and decline. Very hard to watch someone die slowly.

      Our friend Paul’s illness was like a slow train, taking ten years to gain momentum.

      Paul’s celebration of life was actually a joyous event. He, like everyone else, was no saint, but the good that he did was noted, and in his ordinary life, there were some gems to remember.

  28. So sorry to hear about your friend who died. And what a horrible illness he had.

  31. I loved the story about Paul turning up with his chainsaw to set your garden to rights and the overarching joy of close friendships. He’ll clearly be missed. Sending my sympathies to you and all of his friends and family.

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