On a blue and dazzling Saturday, I drove to Bailey Island in Casco Bay to celebrate the life of a dear friend, Sherry Ballou Hanson. The celebration, hosted by Sherry’s family, was held at Cook’s Lobster & Ale House, one of Sherry’s favorite places.

To say Cook’s is a restaurant with a view doesn’t begin to describe its stunning location. This is a picture taken from inside Cook’s as I looked out the window.

And here is the view around the restaurant, situated on a spit of land surrounded by the ocean.

I met Sherry—a fine writer—thirty years ago when we both belonged to a group called Maine Media Women (MMW).  As the name suggests, MMW was an organization that promoted women in all aspects of the media, from those who wrote poetry to those who worked at television stations. Sherry and I served on the board together, and over the years, we became good friends.

About ten years ago, Sherry was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and she and her husband decided to move from the East Coast to the West Coast so that she could be closer to her family. But every summer, Sherry would come back to Maine, rent a cottage on Bailey Island, and host a gathering for her MMW friends. She was the glue that held us together, and we looked forward to these gatherings where she generously treated us to lobster rolls from her beloved Cook’s.

As I’m sure you all know, ovarian cancer is a hard one to beat, and last summer, Sherry died after fighting many battles with this terrible foe. (For various reasons, her family had to wait until this summer to host the East Coast celebration of Sherry’s life.)

We filled one half of a large room at Cook’s. Sherry’s son and daughter-in-law spoke movingly of Sherry and encouraged everyone to introduce themselves and talk about Sherry. What came through, with both family and friends, was how much Sherry was loved. There were tears, and some people had to stop, unable to continue their remembrances. For me, most moving was Sherry’s young teenage granddaughter, filled with love and grief for a grandmother who did puzzles with her and helped her look for agates. As the granddaughter cried, her brother—Sherry’s grandson—held her hand. After that, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the place. I know mine weren’t.

I was reminded yet again that to be mourned is to be loved, that grief is an honest, fitting expression of what we feel when someone we care about dies. Eventually, we dried our tears, ate our lunch, and went outside to listen to some of Sherry’s poetry set to music by her son.

As I looked at the deep blue sky and the sparkling water, I thought that this was a Sherry Hanson kind of day, absolutely perfect for a beach lover who collected sea glass and loved to go to places where dogs were allowed. A hard-working woman who disliked people that “were all talk.” Someone who valued cleanliness and order but who knew how to have a good time.

Sherry’s East Coast friends have decided to continue the tradition of meeting every summer, to gather and remember this special person who brought so much to our lives. While Sherry might be gone, she is certainly not forgotten.

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.