Every morning for the later decades of Jeannette Barthmaier’s nearly 100 years of life, she would open her refrigerator in Doylestown, Pennsylvania to find a bowl with an orange peeled just for her. That orange—plus black coffee and a newspaper—was a daily love note from her partner of more than 70 years, John “Jack” Barthmaier. Theirs was a love that defined the word. And Jeannette was the kind of woman for whom you’d peel a grove of oranges.
Jeannette Barthmaier died on October 9, 2018, in Suffolk Virginia, at the age of 97.
She was the child of Kirby Nottingham and Myrtle Muse, born on July 19, 1921 in Eastville, Virginia on the Cape Charles Peninsula on the Eastern Shore of the Chesapeake Bay. One of 15 siblings, Jeannette spent most of her childhood in Salisbury, Maryland. She would later pilot Jack’s boats—the Clamwinkle, Clamwinkle 2, and the Jeannette—throughout the Chesapeake and its tributaries. She could handle a twin screw like a pro, and the days she spent on the water with her family and friends were some of her very happiest.
Jeannette was a mother. She lived to love, and loved nothing more than her four children, Roger (Bonnie), Barbara (Will Geiger), Rosemary (Al Coccagna), and Eric (Laura), who she raised with Jack in Drexel Hill, Pennsylvania. She adored her 13 grandchildren and had nicknames and shameless strings of compliments for each one of her 19 great-grandchildren. There are nearly countless others she knew and held as close as family. Jeannette made space in her heart for everyone who came into her life.
Jeannette was a rock. She knew grief—predeceased by all 14 siblings, losing her mother to childbirth with her youngest sibling, the Great Depression, World War II, the loss of her grandson, Jonathan “J.B.” Barthmaier, and in 2013, her husband Jack. She faced sorrow honestly. She never stopped looking forward. She was the best kind of listener and she believed in understanding. Her resilience and depth of heart were immeasurable.
Jeannette was curious. She loved hummingbirds and whales. She loved to take pictures. She loved to read, and even more, to tell stories on the phone, from her armchair, or around her table with the green-checked tablecloth. She loved dessert and baseball, and Eleanor Roosevelt. She loved to celebrate—birthdays, holidays, babies, jobs—and she never missed a chance to send a card. She loved Christmas and would spend weeks baking Chex mix and chocolate chip cookies, rolling date candies in coconut and stirring fudge. She loved so many people that by the time everyone’s holiday treat box had its red ribbon tied around it the fudge was rock hard. No one ever complained.
Jeannette was sweet and fierce and humble. She had a dry sense of humor and a nose for the truth. She was smart and embraced modernity—from dreams of joining the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League in her 20’s to beating level 94 in Tetris in her 70’s. She was an adept computer user into her 95th year until arthritis stilled her hand. She never revealed a secret, although it’s rumored she was told many. She was open-minded and worked hard and genuinely to understand what was challenging or unfamiliar. She was generous of hugs unless it wasn’t your way, and then she’d know whatever is was that you needed instead.
Jeannette was Mom, Mommom, Bebop, Grammy, Grandmom, Sister, Mother. She was a person you were better for knowing. She made so many people better.
Jeannette wasn’t one with a resume. She never went to college or pursued a career or even learned how to drive a car. In the morning, she was truly happy with an orange, hot coffee, and the paper. But she lived nearly 100 years. She lived every day heart first. She believed in people and possibility. She changed lives with her strength. She filled the world with light.
Jeannette chose love always.
Love is what she was.