Hope is where we hang our hearts. 

We might hope a cherished bridge that connected communities on both sides of the magnificent Delaware River could continue its legacy as a crosswalk. We might hope that a beloved environmental icon of the Upper Delaware River region could live even longer than the 100-year milestone she met in December 2024. We might hope that our actions and commitment could forever sustain the people and things that inspire us to be more than we have been. And that’s OK, even if our hearts break along with our losses.

Years ago, when Barbara Yeaman received a cancer diagnosis, instead of giving up hope, she found herself grabbing a piece of paper and a pen and putting down what she still wanted to accomplish in the time left to her. That led to the founding of the Delaware Highlands Conservancy at the age of 70, and an ongoing legacy that, like the many conservation easements now in place, will continue in perpetuity. 

“You must do the thing you think you cannot do,” wrote Eleanor Roosevelt, one of Yeaman’s primary inspirations. And so she set to work every time her hopes were put in jeopardy. Including this time, when it became clear that Yeaman’s life would be coming to a close.

Earlier this year, I was approached to write Yeaman’s biography. We began sharing weekly calls to figure out what we had gotten ourselves into. It was sorting out to be a look-back over her century of living and a look ahead to what she had yet to learn as she approached its end. As in the past, she was interested in exploring this final frontier fearlessly, facing it head-on with eyes and mind wide open, sense of humor intact, and her characteristic style—leading the way while entering the unknown, ready for whatever might reveal itself, maybe finding out for the rest of us what one needs to know toward the end of the road.

 She laughed at that. But at 100 years of age, Yeaman wasn’t joking when she said, “You’ve got to let your clown out.” Not everyone knows that Yeaman was a clown, having attended training where she developed her clown persona, “Buttercup.” For all the serious work she did in life, Barbara loved clowning around, and puppetry, too. “Clowning is a refreshing way to face problems and understand yourself,” she explained.

We were aiming for a blog, and maybe down the road, a book. But we were working on borrowed time. When I made my regular evening call and got her answering machine, I was a bit worried. After a follow-up call the next day, my concern grew. Then I learned the news. Buttercup had left this realm for whatever might lie around the bend—whether river or forest path, whether form or formlessness, but forever the star by which we will continue to find our way.

Learn more about the remarkable woman whose passion for protecting the river and region she loved gave us the priceless gift of hope—that we can be better than we are and that we can do more than we think we can. Barbara and all who have linked arms, hearts and hopes with her over time, have made it easy to keep her legacy alive and thriving. Visit www.delawarehighlands.org/barbarayeaman/ and www.delawarehighlands.org/ for more information.