Thoughts of morbid, nature.

photo by Kimberley Campbell

While an odd topic, it's an important one. I came across an article in a magazine that's similar to the one below. If ever I make an early exit, I just wanted to put it out there that this is what I'd like....

Preserve Offers Natural Burial Sites

This may not look like a cemetery, but it is for the more than 300 people who have pre-purchased grave sites at Ramsey Creek Preserve, a memorial nature park in Westminster.

Instead of an ornate tombstone, Sam and Eva Pratt have chosen a stately white oak to mark their final resting place. They've opted for patches of wildflowers and ferns to carpet their grave site, instead of neatly manicured turf.

"I do not like the sameness of most modern-day cemeteries with their rows of plastic flowers," Eva Pratt said. "The white oak is a noble tree that denotes and imbues life and withstands the storms and seasons."

The Pratts are two of the more than 300 people who have chosen "natural" burials, pre-purchasing grave sites at a memorial nature park called Ramsey Creek Preserve in Westminster.

"All natural" means the body isn't embalmed and can only be placed in biodegradable containers like a shroud or a cardboard or plain wood casket before it is buried. The eco-friendly cemetery is the first in the U.S. and meshes the need for burial space with land conservation, using the bulk of the money it receives to purchase, restore and maintain nature parks.

Breaking through stereotypes

When the Pratts invited Tommy Campbell, the founder of Ramsey Creek, to speak to one of their local conservation groups, Eva Pratt overheard a woman call the preserve a "place where they just throw you in the ground."

"People are skeptical at first about the respectability of natural burial, but after the services they'll come up and tell me it was beautiful, and this is what they want for themselves now," Campbell said.

"This really isn't a granola-crunching-hippy-dippy-Wiccan-earth-worshiping thing."

Sam and Eva, both 66, are anything but crystal-toting, astrology-subscribing new-agers.

Reserved and eloquent, they are evangelical Christians who believe passionately in land conservation and struggle with what they see as the waste and extravagance associated with modern burials.

"Land is the most wonderful asset we have, and in the 30 years we've lived in Spartanburg, it's become more important to me as I've seen more land degraded and bulldozed," Eva Pratt said. "And the things we took for granted when we were young are disappearing.

"I am happy to have my final spot on earth be a place I know, of preserved beauty, and for my body to become a part of that, undeterred by chemicals and hardware."

Saving both kinds of green

Three years ago, Mary Woodsen, a member of Commemorative Nature Preserves of New York, an organization that advocates memorial nature preserves, calculated the ecological cost of all the "chemicals and hardware" American cemeteries generate annually: 827,060 gallons of embalming fluid, 1,636,000 tons of reinforced concrete, 104,272 tons of steel, 2,700 tons of copper and bronze and 30 million board feet of hardwoods.

Campbell estimated an average funeral costs between $8,000 and $12,000 and industry revenues at $15 billion to $20 billion each year. At $2,000 for a plot, the cost of being buried at Ramsey Creek isn't cheap, but does offer substantial cost-savings over the conventional alternatives.

As a doctor and environmentalist, Campbell said he took a keen look at the funeral industry when his father died prematurely, and he had to make arrangements.

"The funeral director was talking about the vault and he told me 'not only does it have ornate scroll, it was guaranteed to last 100 years and would take 20,000 pounds per square foot,' " Campbell said. "My questions were who is going to dig it up in 100 years to check that, and are we trying to protect the corpse from a direct nuclear strike?"

Campbell was told the measures were to protect the body against nature, an idea he found both ridiculous and wasteful.

"Back in junior high, I had a teacher who said when he died he wanted to be put in a burlap bag and have a tree planted on him," Campbell said. "I thought it was the coolest thing in the world."

Then, in a medical anthropology class during college, he was enthralled when he learned about a tribe in Papua New Guinea that kept their dead in sacred "spirit forests."

"They created little pocket wilderness, and the people protected these forests to honor their dead," Campbell said. "This stuff all kind of simmered in my brain until 1985 when my father died and a light-bulb went off and I realized you didn't have to be a New Guinea person to have a memorial park."

The thought of channeling funds from the lucrative funeral industry directly toward land conservation was a heady thought for the Campbells, but more so was the realization this could be an avenue to get people more deeply connected with nature and the land.

"Whatever kind of spiritual lens you bring to Ramsey Creek Preserve, something happens in a natural setting when you are quiet and surrounded by nature," said Kimberley Campbell, Tommy's wife. "It is a moment of mystery, like a peaceful sunset at a beach."

She said one of their clients, a 76-year-old woman, summarized the appeal of Ramsey Creek with a profound elegance that surprised her.

"We were walking through the woods and she said, 'I have to tell you I have gone to my church for 40 years and love it, and it was built by man to glorify God, but in these woods, this is God, this is His creation and I feel so close to Him and so peaceful.' "

With its bounty of wildflowers, foliage and the gentle gurgling of the creek, Ramsey Creek conjures up none of the traditional imagery associated with cemeteries.

"It's not creepy at all," Tommy Campbell said. "Come here on a spring day where all the leaves are popping and the woods are filled with butterflies and birds, and you'll see it's anything but creepy."

Originally, he thought the idea of a natural setting would appeal mostly to boomers, but Campbell has been surprised by the diversity of the people who have expressed interest in the memorial park.

"Some are attracted to the whole-body burial for a much lower cost; then we do have the older outdoorsy people who just like hiking, as well as the evangelical Christians who feel its more in keeping with the dust to dust and protecting God's creation," Tommy Campbell said. "One patient of mine who had led anti-zoning people locally surprised me when he bought a plot; but he told me, 'I love the woods, it's you environmentalists I don't like.' "

Disruptive innovation – challenging the status quo

The cost savings and natural beauty suggest Ramsey Creek would be a compelling option, but since the park opened in 1998, it has only had 80 people buried there, while another 300 plots have been pre-sold.

In contrast, Glenn Miller, the general manager at Floyd Mortuary in Spartanburg, said his business performs about 850 burials in a year. He said he has only fielded one inquiry about natural burial.

"It may be the distance people have to travel if they care to visit a grave site or the fact there may not be any permanent memorial," Miller said. "Most families still have the traditional type funeral service with a final disposition."

Kimberley Campbell said she thinks the tendency toward traditional burial has more to do with misconceptions about the natural alternative and a lack of education about other viable options.

Sam Pratt, for example, said he'd "been laboring under the misapprehension that burial without embalming was unlawful."

Not only is it legal, Kimberley Campbell said the stigma of natural burial being crude or uncivilized seems misplaced when compared to the invasiveness of pumping chemicals into the body.

"During the embalming process you are replacing the blood with toxic chemicals that burn if you get them on your skin," Kimberley Campbell said. "Its not a legal requirement to be embalmed but people think they are preserving the body and are uncomfortable with the sense of decay."

"Apparently, Americans have been sold the notion they can protect their deceased loved ones against the elements," Eva Pratt said. "I thought it was necessary to be embalmed, and I also thought the time constraints would be more stringent for natural burial."

In reality, Tommy Campbell said, keeping the body in a cooler works as well as embalming to preserve the body.

Their customers have the option of using local funeral homes to keep and transport the body, but Kimberley Campbell said people also can opt to do everything themselves and use dry ice or keep the body at the hospital morgue until the burial.

Another question people raise is if their loved ones will be able to locate their grave in the woods. In the case of Ramsey Creek, "simple" burial takes advantage of modern technology in the form of a geographic information system to record the exact location of each burial site. Clients also can choose to get their names and dates engraved on a stone, but the slab has to be of South Carolina origin, as does any foliage.

The Pratts chose a stone from a creek on their property to use for a tombstone.

"The owners have an obvious commitment to the preservation of the indigenous flora and fauna to the area," Sam Pratt said. "We found a more natural, scenic burial ground more attractive, and we're glad to be able to participate in land preservation."

The Campbells say they aren't discouraged with the progress they are making as they attempt to disrupt social norms with their innovative idea.

"If this can work in conservative, rural Westminster with its rebel flags and churches, it can work anywhere," Kimberley Campbell said.

Since opening Ramsey Creek, the Campbells have helped start three other memorial parks across the United States and are working on a fourth in Atlanta.

"To disrupt an industry you generally need to find people who are underserved, over served or both," Tommy Campbell said. "We have people who can't afford regular funerals and people who don't want them, and that's the perfect climate for being disruptive innovators. Once we are out there with more locations it will become a more convenient choice."

Thank you, Todd.

Dear Todd,

It seems like just yesterday I was rolling you out of the lot. A toddler in the car world, you were just broken in, but quite far from broken. Many miles under your belt, you still rode smooth and confident through seas of inferior autos. You gleamed in the sun; you gleamed without the sun. You were my first certified pre-owned companion to the highway.

You carried me through the mid west, twice.
You took me over the Rockies, and into the deserts of Moab.
You have served as a bed, a storage unit, a dog crate and a waiting room.
You've seen snow, wind, rain, and Mass drivers. And you've never failed me.

Today, as you rotated your wheels over your 150,000th mile of earth, I thought about how lucky I was to have found you, Todd. Our journey has been long and expansive, and it has been a great success.

Keep up the good work, my big little Subie. Thank you for all that you do.

Regards,
Your humble driver.

Grout and Rosita.

We decided to re-do our shower (a.k.a. the "bathtub surround" -according to home improvement how-to books). As usual, we forgot that we aren't blessed with superpowers to finish a project in one weekend. So... here we are in the middle of weekend #2, in the home stretch, which is sometimes the worst place to be. And, when I say "we," it's really been Patrick's project- but since it's all but had him sleeping IN the bathtub, I've been keeping up the rest of the house. Running all those errands, walking the dog, and cooking those meals by myself makes me mega-appreciate Patrick's regular contributions. He does a lot. BUT this ambitious project means that I, by default, must do more than usual. So, I'm really tired, and I'm bitching about it. Thank goodness we're getting to do this stuff before children happen. I can't imagine how anyone gets anything done with kids in the mix. I admire anyone who can- but I can say I'm thankful to no end that we got into the homeowning realm, pre-conception. We would not be re-doing anything if we were already parents, and we would not be paying someone else to do it, either. We'd be living with the mauve, vinyl-sided tub walls until the day we sold the damn place.

Once the tile grout is dry, (T - 48 hrs) I get my shower back- and it will be a much much nicer shower- so it'll all be worth it. But right now, I'm sticky and sweaty and angry- and in order to rinse off I must take my shower basket (yes, the same one I used during college dorm life!) to the clubhouse pool showers. While annoying, it's been a very nice option to take advantage of. When we hiked the AT, going for a week without a shower was all part of the experience, and I accepted it without qualms. But at work I have to sit at a desk in close quarters with several people, and smelling like a hiker isn't as appreciated in that setting.

Speaking of my early morning clubhouse shower escapades... I've had the pleasure of stripping down to the skin in the company of my elderly European companion, Rosita. Rosita is the very sweet, very kind, very chatty little lady of Mountain Home Estates, and she likes to swim at 6 am. I've had the pleasure of showering with her before work for a week, trying hard to politely participate in the conversation -despite the fact I'm used to speaking to no one until my first cup of coffee at 8:30. Here she is at dawn telling me I have a beautiful figure. I'm getting hit on by a female senior citizen. Truthfully, she comes from a generation and culture that would never consider such a compliment as a come-on. All the same, hearing this statement almost made me drop the soap as I thought "Am I still dreaming, because this is all too surreal." Again I'll reiterate that she is the sweetest person I've met in this neighborhood yet, and once she talks for a bit, I find myself engaged in the conversation. As engaged as I can be; talking to a stranger whilst shaving my legs.

I've been writing in installments tonight, in-between grouting the tiles. The project, long as it was, went incredibly smooth until tonight. We've been grouting for 6 hours, it's 11 PM, and we've not eaten since breakfast. The grout decided to dry before we could finish laying it. If ever a Saturday night was not fun, it was this one. And when I did venture to the clubhouse at 10 to clean the grout off my ass (literally) - a big skunk ran in front of me. The dude carrying a sixpack up to his front door looked thoroughly confused as to why I stood stone still in his parking lot, holding a basket of shampoo.

Six pack... sounds like an incredible idea about now.

From the archives

Sometimes, when I get overwhelmed or stunned at how quickly the last 10 years have passed, I'll pull out an old journal. I think it's important to periodically look back and see where my mind was at. It's like reading a letter from an old acquaintance. Weird, sure... but that's the way I've always looked at it, and while new journals are for writing in, the old ones are most certainly for reading.

Here's what I opened up to tonight... (in which I am very tempted to change the line breaks , but will not in order to honor authenticity.) It's scribbled and not very well thought out or constructed- but the state of mind I claimed at that time is what gets me. I don't remember that confidence, but this is apparently a record of it:

Oct 14th, 2001

Yes,
I have swam
to both ends of my being. I have
raced with myself. Sometimes
I win, others I lose.
But I have
learned each time, received prizes unfathomable.

I have impressed my soul.
I have lied to my head.
I have nourished and starved my very heart-
and it has all been in love.
In love with the breath I truly breathe,
and the steps I truly take.
Not with the face I contort, the voice
I stifle and the belly I tighten,
but with the honest and able woman
I embody.

I have swam to both her ends
and all her beginnings.
I didn't skip a single in-between,
and I am proud of every moment,
until now.
Now,
I am only in awe.

It's not saying much,

It's one of those dear diary nights... but where to begin?

It's been a great summer so far. Different than usual in I'm not sure what sort of way... but great none-the-less. My one complaint: I'm still lacking the natural tan skin I've usually attained by this point of the season. Don't care about the color of my skin, but it signifies the scarcity of outdoor time this summer. (one exception is this handsome pic. of my boy in the Whites. -->)

I feel like this is headed in a dreadfully boring direction. I want to write what I'm really thinking about right now, but without the ability to screen readers, one can't be too careful. It's frustrating to sit down with a lot to say, and not feel comfortable saying it. And, going completely anonymous just doesn't work for a person who wants to be so open. And, the written word, despite what I think, often portrays my thoughts in entirely contrasting ways from how I'd expect. I feel like I'm direct, but I know from outside sources that most people take what I say as open for interpretation; set up to be "read into." Why is that? I need to make myself a tee shirt that says "hidden meanings" across the chest. See, I find that hilarious, and I bet no one else gets it. Which is fine, because I don't quite get it myself. That's why it's so hilarious. My god. It's been a long month.

I've been trying to find a song to define the way I feel, since that's sometimes easier than trying to get at it myself. Problem is, I always revert back to favorite songs- not songs that truly represent me. The songs likely to represent me are probably gay-ass 80's ballads about love and soaring birds and battlefields inside. New White Stripes album has a line in it: "You can't be a pimp and a prostitute, too." Love that. Could apply to anyone if taken the right way... if "read into." I make the little quotes around phrases too often. I hate those little quotes, and the hand gesture that goes with it... and still I'm guilty of using the ensemble daily.

...shifting gears...

Gathering of the Vibes is coming up next month, and I'm going! Can't wait to get back to those old roots with some tamed down style. Just me and my "sister" Stace. (and, Jess, if you're reading this, please try to come -even for a day!!!) We're going to pimp out our campsite to no end- and hopefully get an ocean view... the venue is Seaside park in CT. We're only in the beginning stages of the plans, but there is going to be an endless supply of food, drinks, and luxury- yes, the theme of the evening is luxury. The outdoor music scene has been calling my name for a long time coming, and this couldn't be shaping up more perfectly. I'm sad that Patrick won't be there to join me, but he's got a school weekend, and I'm sure us girls can still rock it on our own. I'll get away with him the following weekend, when we hit Northampton for our second anniversary. Two years since that wedding... where the hell did it go.

My next door neighbor's ex-boyfriend's car was here tonight. I assume his coming over was a big deal- I think he broke her heart a bit when they called it quits a few weeks ago. To think, a 65 yr old woman got that fluttery feeling while she waited for him to show up this evening. I haven't dealt with that in 7 years... and here's great grandma (yes, a great grandma at 65) getting jittery over her heart's flame. Life is wild- and age doesn't mark experience as much as I'd once thought.

I'm running on fumes- time to watch The Office and forget that I have one to show up at tomorrow.

Slowing down and Simplifying

Been on a higher speed than usual, and I'm just beginning to wind down. In some ways, anyhow.

Work continues to challenge me in non-traditional ways~ constantly allowing me to self-evaluate my actions as I interact with people not of like mind. I am seeing how much there is to learn from those with adverse opinions... while those kindred to me are rarely my most impacting teachers. I would have thought the opposite a few years ago.

My internship still has me juiced, and while it may be slow going, I'm feeling thankful for the patience I've gathered. It's marked a turning point in my life; turning back down a path I once traversed, but now travel with what I'd like to call wisdom. To be direct, I am re-finding morals and values that were once clouded by concern of acceptance. I guess that's what the late twenties are- tossing the bullshit and deciding what is and isn't me. It all makes me so happy. Even better, I've got a personal, new-found motivation to be ecologically conscious... and find myself now thinking that way all of the time instead of part of the time. I have some new resolutions to work on. It is a sound calling.

Spent time with dear friends yesterday and we all wondered why that time was so infrequent. Maybe the lack of a community to belong to has me feeling like that- I'm not sure. Just seems like most of the people I love- most of my "family"- falls into the long-distance category.

On the upside: I made 4 more necklaces and 2 more pairs of earrings this week. It's getting easier, and is a soothing absorption. Still very simple designs, but then again, I'm in a simple kind of mode these days.

fingerprints and promises

Feeling ridiculously complete.

Just when I was afraid I couldn't bear the monotony of work much longer, I acquired an internship position that couldn't be more stimulating. I get to help save the planet on company time. It's probably the best opportunity I could have asked for: Instead of nagging at people about my personal beliefs on environmental consciousness, I get to enforce recycling, conservation and waste reduction as a job responsibility. The list of requirements is daunting as hell, but the trial and error of setting sustainability initiatives in place is going to be (and already has been) a major motive to learn more about something already close to my heart. There's such deep inspiration that comes from knowing I'm going to leave my fingerprint by reducing the footprints.

This weekend was pretty close to perfect. Well deserved margaritas on Friday night after a long, busy work week. A well-executed wine and cheese party with good friends on Saturday. A warm, peaceful afternoon by the seaside today. Many enjoyable moments with Patrick throughout. I feel closer to him than ever.

The inscriptions on our wedding bands are promises. Promises we've made not to each other, but together. His reads: "to make the world a better place." Mine reads: "to cultivate beauty." Our hope was, through loving and supporting each other, we would encourage each other to fulfill these promises. We would socially improve, and physically beautify the place we call home.

To evaluate our progress at this moment, I'd say we're headed in a great direction.

Saints and Squirrels

I came across Mr. Francis here when in a church garden in the North End of Boston last weekend. I remember I used to see him everywhere in Ireland when I went to school there. Frank always shows up in the garden, in the most serene of landscapes; his stoney animal friends often juxtaposed by real birds flitting from flower to flower in that little gated paradise. I think we should stick him in less likely situations. At the front entrance to a factory. By the landfill. In McDonalds. Let's challenge ourselves to remember the patron saint of creatures great and small in real world situations- not in perfectly sculpted green lawns, where we can simply smile and say "Isn't that nice." After all, what's his message all about?


Here he is with a missing hand, which I found rather hilarious.... Lion-feeding accident, perhaps?? Even the human icon of the peaceable kingdom isn't exempt from the payback we're bound to endure for trading in our survival instincts for our troubled, busy, dissatisfied minds.

The birds in my own backyard are abundant and active. I tried feeding them and was enthralled with how quickly they caught on to the new seed location. However, the squirrels followed suit, and wiped out a month's rations in an afternoon. They're pretty cool, but the birds got the major raw end, and I was going through seed too quickly to continue feeding those already chubby, bushy tailed rodents. I need to block the extension pipe for the feeder with something that can't be climbed. I did try putting out suet, and for a week or two the birds were able to dine undisturbed. But, like they mastered the seed feeder, the squirrels eventually prevailed over the suet box as well:

I suppose there's still a hierarchy no matter whether you're feathered, furry, or nude.

pre-conception of rhythm, I hope.

The second entry.

It's like the second day on a new job. It's way more difficult than the first.

You know just what to expect, but you're still so uncomfortable.
You're past the point of "where's the water cooler?" but you still aren't sure you can find it on your own. You have your notebook to cling to, and you know who your safety blanket is, but someone else still sits at your desk until the end of the week. And, when you make it to that first Friday, and start tacking up photos of your dog, everyone walks by and exclaims "I can't believe [Mary] is gone!" - a sentiment with which you fail to empathize, considering you very obviously occupy [Mary's] space, and the news of her departure has been public for 2+ weeks.

I've been in my position for a year, and despite the onslaught of monotony, I don't miss being the new girl.

All this, because of my second entry... which really isn't a second entry because I've been writing on these types of forums for years. I guess I just need a rhythm.

My life, in general, would like a rhythm (not to be confused with a routine, because I have a trustworthy one of those, and it's not anything I aimed to obtain- it just sort of happened). I think I move in and out of temporary rhythm, which isn't much like rhythm at all considering consistency can't very well be sporadic. Then again, rhythm can change, and should change for the sake of interest... so I guess I like the idea of sporadic rhythm. I like contrasts- Darkening the shadows and lightening the highlights, yet still moving from black to white by means of the notorious gray.

And now that I'm on a rhythm right here, I have to go. Sporadically.

I'd start at the beginning if I knew where that was.

I can't just be creative on command. I can't whip anything out from under my skirt just because I'm in a new little cyberspace with a fancy new backdrop. But, I can say that I'm happy to be branching out into a more ...tailored... version of the Open Diary concept.

The "Open Diary" was around before "blog" was a term. "It's like an online journal," I'd say. "It organizes your entries by date. People can read what you write and even comment on it for others to see. Everyone writes under a pen-name..." I can clearly remember having to explain this concept to people- no one had heard of it I didn't tell many of my friends about it- only a few. I figured it would get me into trouble. I wrote about friends, and about lovers. One day I got so paranoid that one of these lovers may have discovered my Open Diary, and I deleted pages of writing. Eventually the thing deleted itself when I stopped using it so religiously. Poof, gone. Just like that. And it was just as well anyhow, the site had been bombarded by juveniles with nothing better to say than, "BRAD IS SOOOO HOT!!!" with about 5000 times the number of exclamation points.

It was always odd to think that someone besides myself was reading my journal. Now, it's odd to have a journal that isn't public in one way or another.

As for THIS journal- I hope it's a place to purge and release. I hope to reap the benefits of disclosure, and I hope anyone who visits will reap the benefits of my honesty. I try so hard not to contrive; to be lyrical without being artificial. To be passionate without being preachy. To be connected without being a new-aged flake. (If I recognize the stereotype, does that mean I still fall into it?)

I have so many many emotions and notions and commotions crashing around in my head and heart and bones... and it's often very difficult to put that shit into words. It's so difficult to put that shit into any visible form. Maybe it's just hard to find the right people to share it with. Most of the free-spirited and open-hearted people that relate to me are not the type to be grounded by a communication box, a.k.a computer. I like the way the screen centers me and channels my thoughts from my head to my fingers into characters into words into thoughts that speak back to me and reach others at the same time. I think it's amazing- and still, I think I live a little too attached to this type of expression. I would like to put myself out there physically as ferociously as I put myself out there mentally. I seem to take more risks with sharing my mind than I do with sharing any part of myself in the flesh.

Ahhh, I should back up and attempt some linear, structured introductory thought. But, I've had one mega-glass of wine, which constitutes for 3 I'm sure, so I would rather trail off at this vulnerable and incomplete moment in hopes that it does not end as abruptly as---

So, is this a good start?