Once, when wondering what comes of life after death, Eric Wilhelm Barthmaier quoted Joni Mitchell:
We are stardust
We are golden
And we’ve got to get ourselves
Back to the garden
Eric—son, brother, musician, historian, friend, father, love of a lifetime—got his soul free on June 13, 2026 at the age of 71.
Eric was born to John and Jeannette Barthmaier in Delaware County, PA, 1954. He was born baby brother to his three siblings, Roger, Barbara, and Rosemary. He was born to catch salamanders in streams, to listen to trees, to pick up an electric bass and never put it down.
Eric earned a degree in forest science from Penn State, and for all the decades that followed, dove daily into books heavy with history—of composers, war, art, the moon. He practiced guitar and sitar, dulcimer and recorder, bassoon and upright bass. After years of studying ancient Egypt, he flew to the country and crawled through a pyramid. He planned travel by the schedules of museum exhibits. He knew how to tell trees from afar by their spring green, how to hear the clave in a Latin tune, how to marvel at light in a painting. He was a self-taught scholar. He knew that there was always more to be known.
Eric belonged in the mountains and on rivers. He shared a lifetime of thoughts with the Pennsylvania landscape crossed on bike, canoe, and kayak. The woods were his sanctuary, the waterways his way forward.
Eric was the proud father of two daughters, Kaitlin and Rachel. He filled their world with art. He gave them the wisdom of wit and humor. He taught them that beauty is essential and that to be gentle is to be strong.
Eric was the grandfather to four grandchildren—Jack, Ezra, Isidore, and Marigold—whom he learned from and was in awe of every day.
For more than fifty years, Eric was in love with Laura Barthmaier, his wife, his partner, his forever dream of a woman whom he never stopped choosing. Their relationship was a lesson in care and gratitude, sweet and unbreakable, the stuff of songs.
Eric’s love was bright and pure and unconditional. He was fiercely loyal to his family and his friends. He cared for the complicated hearts of humans and the tiny hearts of cats and birds. He knew the right time to tell a sly joke. He loved music of all genres and found communion in playing with others—in dive bars and theaters, on living room floors. Though he knew pain, he was a great shelterer through storms. He thought deeply and lived bravely. In his own words, “I never stopped being amazed.”
A celebration of Eric’s quiet, tremendous life will be held privately at a later date. In lieu of flowers or donations, pause to remember that we are stardust. Take a moment to set your eyes on something beautiful. Be amazed, and think of him.