On a hot August afternoon, muggy with the remaining moisture of this particularly wet summer dampening my skin but not my spirit, I put in another call to the Bastrop County Clerk’s office with this month’s edition of “how to flummox the county authorities” (hint: just mention anything about operating an all-natural burial cemetery!) However, it was my turn to be surprised. To my delight, they had an immediate answer to my question about where to send our burial records.
Given that our cemetery is planned with a commitment to working around and with nature, its meandering paths and garden locations look random. The minimal headstones aren’t easily visible, and folks often wonder how we keep track of who is where. They’re not alone, even funeral directors ask us how we know where the bodies are. In an effort to provide an extra layer of security and accountability, we decided to share our records with the county. Since I wasn’t sure of that process, I went ahead and called the office I’m most familiar with to ask.
The County Clerk’s office said there was a project underway to collect cemetery records from around the county, with plans to digitize them and make them available on their newly redesigned website. They shared the number for the Historical Society, who I promptly dialed next. I spoke first to a woman who said she would personally walk my information downstairs, to the office that would call me back with more information. This, I learned, was not because my request was so precious it must be handled with care, but because of the new phone system.
“I don’t know how to transfer calls yet,” confessed the woman on the other end of the line. Turns out their phone system was also new, and its mysterious transfer protocol had not yet been explained to her. She’d settle for doing it the old-fashioned way, by walking my information over to the appropriate personnel who would, she assured me, call me back shortly. Moments later, my phone rang.
It was the Collections Manager at the Historical Society, and while she didn’t exactly know what I was talking about when I referenced the county cemetery archival project I’d been told of, she certainly wasn’t dismissive. Rather, she proved to be a thorough and attentive researcher, adamant about closing any gaps in her knowledge and not missing a good archival opportunity. Determined to find the best possible route to preserving our little archive, she consulted ChatGPT about some concerns she had around collecting burial data.
“Archives,” she explained, “refer to records that are no longer ‘alive.'” Despite being records of the dead, cemetery records potentially contain personally identifiable information (PII) that can be traced to the living, therefore presenting a risk to their privacy. Her concern touched my heart, thinking I’d found one of the last remaining practitioners of privacy in this world of increasing surveillance. I clarified that the intent is actually for these deceased to be found! Our records only document the name of the deceased, the plot number, the garden name, the longitude and latitude, and date of purchase. Assured by my explanation (and ChatGPT’s failure to provide anything more useful than we already knew), she pointed me toward the Bastrop County Historical Commission, a different archival entity, though she understood the confusion. “We’re an independent but hard-working group of folks unaffiliated with the County offices,” she explained. Indeed!
hand-held GPS device with coordinates
So I put in another call and left another message, this time on a decidedly less personal answering machine. Shortly thereafter, the self-appointed head of “the Department of I-know-everything-there-is-to-know-about-Bastrop-County-History” (his words!) returned my call. He confirmed the rumors of the county cemetery archival project and that the records were “all ready to go, just waiting on them to finish the website.” Until then, he’d happily take my records and upload them at the appropriate time. I emailed him our spreadsheet of data, musing on the various communication technologies employed to make this happen. Phone, LLMs, email and plain face-to-face conversation finally resulted in our records being shared with the county. In our hyper-connected world, one can forget that outside of urban areas or tech spaces, things move at a more regular pace.
Our own system for mapping and plotting grave is similarly old-school and slow as well, save for the hand-held GPS tool we use. We first map out areas where we want to open graves by walking around the property either with a family or on our own, in search of areas that aren’t ecologically sensitive (near tree saplings, for instance). Once a plot location has been selected, we find the exact location using our GPS tool. We use a receiver manufactured by Bad Elf, which sounds appropriately mischievous and whimsical for the task at hand. On our master spreadsheet, we note the data I shared with the Historical Commission. After a burial occurs, we reinforce the location in the physical world, by stamping four stainless steel grave caps with the longitude and latitude coordinates, and place them in the corners of the plot. Finally, we note the burial date in the spreadsheet.
Plot cap with coordinates
For easier access, we also maintain a Google map, available on our website, that includes plot location, pictures and descriptions of our plots and landmarks. We’d love for you to check it out and add your own pictures!
Image of Google map of Campo de Estrellas
In addition to our commitment to sharing our information with our wider community and county officials through technology, we still maintain analog backup systems: compass, paper maps, landmarks. Like all competent celestial navigators, we can traverse our small domain through traditional wayfinding should Google go dark or the new historical archives website never go up. Just give us a call.