I know Bill Taylor of Essex for his skills as a fine shipwright, one of eastern Connecticut's leading luminaries in the restoration of antique wooden yachts.

Indeed, some of his museum-quality work is on display at the Herreshoff Marine Museum in Bristol, R.I., a restoration of famed yacht designer Nat Herreshoff's own boat: the 35-foot cat yawl Clara, built in 1887.

What I never knew was that Taylor was married to one of Connecticut's leading luminaries in poetry, the late Leslie McGrath, who died from cancer in August 2020 at the age of 63.

I learned this from a charming obituary Taylor wrote for his wife, noting in it that he "would be forever humble and grateful that this woman loved me. She really did."

Taylor read that obituary Wednesday evening at the conclusion of an extraordinary ceremony celebrating McGrath's life and poetry, held on a hilltop in Farmington on the grounds of the stately Hill-Stead Museum.

As the dying July evening sun washed across the estate's broad green lawns and veranda of the museum's landmark mansion, a dozen leading Connecticut poets read from McGrath's work and offered some brief remembrances of a friend they praised for her kindness, compassion, generosity and keen insight.

McGrath, who one critic called an "oral historian of the alienated," wrote often about the lives and struggles of women and the dignity of the mentally ill. She was the author of three collections of poems, the recipient of national poetry prizes and taught at Central Connecticut State University.

Helix Literary Magazine recently named the Leslie McGrath Poetry Prize in her honor. She was a member of Hill-Stead Museum's Poetry Advisory Committee.

She was also on the board of the James Merrill House in Stonington, where she is credited with invigorating its programs for visiting artists.

Many of the poets who celebrated her work in literature Wednesday also noted her skills in the kitchen. Food is a subject of much of her work.

Gluttony, she wrote in one poem, is one of the seven sins worth going to jail for.

It was food, in a way, that brought McGrath and Taylor together more than 25 years ago. She was cooking at a bakery in Noank and hired Taylor's son, then a college student, as a helper.

"At the time, I was running my boat company but was also still teaching part-time as an adjunct in the (University of Connecticut) philosophy department. My son Ben got it in his head to mention me to Leslie," Taylor recalled in the obituary. "'You should meet my dad', he suggested. 'He's a carpenter and a philosopher, kinda like Jesus.' This got her attention."

Four months later, they were married on the deck of a big old boat in the lee of Ram Island, at the mouth of the Mystic River.

Taylor recalled in his obituary the pleasures of being married to a fabulous cook who was always experimenting with food and often succeeding at what she tried.

"She'd always say, 'Don't worry, there's more,' and I'd always say that, given the chance, I'd have that carved into her headstone."

He added Wednesday, as he was reading the obituary, that he has done just that.

Despite the sadness of the occasion, I took heart in Wednesday's ceremony, held on a spectacular perch on the Connecticut landscape, the ridges of the Farmington Valley stretching off as far as the eye could see, that our state produces and nourishes such fine talent.

"I hate it when the artists among us die. These extraordinary people are our voices, our apologists, our vanguards," Taylor read from the obituary honoring his wife. "They courageously do their best to explore the world at our behest and to report back when they've discovered something of great and real value."

"The only thing we have to do is shut up, sit down, and for just a moment, listen and see."

I did that Wednesday evening.

This is the opinion of David Collins.

d.collins@theday.com