When Julia Hawkins died last month at 108, her many friends mourned the loss of a Louisiana centenarian who, quite remarkably, had become a champion runner at 101.

For me, her death also had a personal dimension. Hawkins, who lived for many years in Baton Rouge, had grown up with my father in Ponchatoula. She was the last person living who had known Daddy when he was young.

Born in 1914, Daddy was a couple of years older than Julia. We lost my father in 1978, so I cherished Julia’s memories of him. When I visited Julia in 2021, she reminisced for a while about her childhood.

“He was such a gentleman,” Julia said of my father, “and so smart.” I smiled when I heard her mention the two qualities so many others had noted about him.

Daddy grew up on a farm, and Julia spent her youth helping run a small resort at Ponchatoula Beach on the Tangipahoa River. They both spent their earliest years outside a lot, a habit that shaped them and so many others of their generation who grew up when the country was largely rural. Daddy worked construction and kept a vegetable garden. Julia became a tireless gardener and naturalist who helped botanical artist Margaret Stones collect specimens for her beautiful paintings of Louisiana plants.

Being a runner and bicyclist kept Julia outside, too.

Each time I visited Julia, we quickly ended up outdoors. I stopped by once to give a talk to one of her women’s clubs, but it wasn’t long before the guests spilled out the back door, oohing and aahing over what was in bloom. Julia’s acre lot included 60 trees and tons of plants.

During my last visit to her home in 2021, Julia welcomed me inside, then took me by the elbow to the backyard, where she showed off a prized bromeliad. Talk soon turned to her gingko trees, known for their fall foliage. Hawkins was 105 then, still looking forward to another autumn.

Much has been made about Julia’s longevity, and rightly so. But what struck me about Julia wasn’t only the quantity of her life but its quality, the way she seemed to savor every moment.

A number of things shaped her character, but I find myself returning to the way she made herself at home under sun and sky, which opened Julia to the broader world and its possibilities. I’m not sure she tried very hard to do this. My guess is that she and my father grew up at a time when life outdoors was a common part of the human condition, so they embraced it as a natural way of being.

I’m sorry that Julia Hawkins won’t be around to experience another autumn, but I’m grateful for her long life. I’m trying to honor her these days by going out, breathing deeply and seeing what there is to see.