Deep Space

Two things were dead giveaways: she was exactly on time and driving a vehicle that was the opposite of all-terrain.

At 11 o’clock on the dot, a long, low, full-sized sedan slowly turned into our cemetery driveway, driven by a woman who had scheduled a tour with me. Aside from being good manners, her punctuality felt like an extension of the planning she had set out to take care of: selecting burial plots for herself and others. The exterior of the car reflected its city life, showing no streaks of mud and only the faintest sheen of gravel dust, presumably from having crept along the winding rock road that surrounds our cemetery.

Hoping to ease what I sensed was anxiety as she timidly stepped out of the car, I asked how was her trip to the cemetery. She shared that it was somewhat intimidating being so far outside the city on unfamiliar rural roads. I praised her determination as well as her bravery. Most people stop far short of coming out for a visit. Most won’t even think about planning for death until it becomes an absolute necessity. (I don’t recommend this, but I’ll let you find out why.)

We began our tour as I normally do, giving some background on the land and guiding her through the mowed paths and cleared gardens. I pointed out available plots and showed her recently occupied spots. Our conversation began to veer into a discussion on perpetual care and land stewardship, something she seemed deeply concerned about. How long is this land protected, and who is going to make sure it always stays a cemetery?

I responded with what I know: it’s deeded as a cemetery with the county, so it will remain so until the county dissolves it, either by some herculean effort enacted by an entity who has consulted with all living family members and is willing to pay to move the remains somewhere else. It will be cared for by our cemetery organization for as long as we remain an organization or transfer it to another group willing to steward it, whether a land trust or another cemetery organization. However, I gathered my answer wasn’t enough. I asked what was on her mind.

“I just want to know that someone isn’t going to be digging me up in a hundred years,” she said finally.

Again, I answered with what I know: it’s unlikely, but there really are no guarantees against that. Archaeologists excavate burial sites of ancient people regularly. But at the same time, think of all the small pioneer cemeteries dotting our countryside that have been there for a century at least, left untouched. To put it more bluntly, it will depend on the stability and length of our society. Eventually, it will be out of all of our hands.

We ventured further into the cemetery, into a grove of cedar trees adjacent to our pavilion. She fell in love with a shaded spot near the path. She had wanted a double plot, so I began flagging two spots next to each other when she stopped me. “Can they be buried one on top of the other?” she asked.

People have inquired about double depth graves before, but in passing (not seriously wanting an answer), and they never pressed further when I said I didn’t know much about them. But this was different. She had family buried this way in Florida. It made sense to her, as it appeared to use less space. Humbled, I told her I actually had no idea if it was even legal in Texas. I promised to find her an answer.

I began researching the laws. It is legal in Texas. Does any cemetery actually do this? I found a few examples of conventional cemeteries that advertise double depth plots. That makes sense, because these are cemeteries that use cement vaults that would protect the deeper grave from being impeded when digging the second. What about cemeteries that don’t use vaults, like ours?

 

I called Dan, our gravedigger, who has been in the business for over twenty years and has dug graves all over the state. I’ve come to think of him as my burial guru, as he has seen and heard it all. He confirmed what I’d researched and said he has dug double depth before, but for our cemetery he doesn’t recommend it. “That is a lot of soil to displace for the first burial,” he said. “And even though we do our best to compact it, it will cave in eventually, and you’ll be refilling after that first burial for 25 years.”

Curious to know if other natural cemeteries encountered this, I asked my other burial gurus, the practitioners of the Conservation Burial Alliance. Initially, most of the practitioners advised against it for the reasons Dan stated. They added that deeper graves place the body in anaerobic parts of the soil, meaning little or no oxygen is present. Aerobic, or oxygenated, soil is vital to the philosophy of being buried naturally, which is to return to the earth. Without oxygen, our bodies decompose at a much slower rate and therefore don’t provide nutrients to the living plant layer we seek to regenerate.

Then we heard from a practitioner who does dig double depth graves. They stated that their land is forested hillside with large trees and deep roots. Digging side by side isn’t always an option, as it would disturb too many root systems. Double depth graves offer them the ability to accommodate two graves in a smaller footprint with less disturbance to their surrounding ecosystem. They did acknowledge that if they were burying in flat grassland, shallow side-by-side graves would be ideal. It all comes down to ecosystem specifics.

 

 

Fascinated by the exchange and differing perspectives, I thought about the points raised. We all agree that decomposition is the goal but seem to differ on the rate at which it occurs. Burying as shallow as legally possible (in Texas, that is 3½ feet) will give us the best chance of breaking down into regenerative material quickly. In deeper, more compact graves (double depth), bodies can develop adipocere, or “grave wax” as it’s poetically called, which slows decomposition by preserving tissue.

Then there is the issue of land occupancy. A lot of people balk at the idea of burials in general because it feels like they are “taking up space.” This may be true of conventional cemeteries, where bodies are surrounded by concrete vaults and paved roads that inhibit any other land activity (natural or otherwise) from taking place. But in natural burial grounds, you are meant to decompose, to become part of a natural world that will inevitably move in and consume you. You are not taking up space; you are becoming space.

People generally don’t like to think about decomposing, but they also don’t like to think about a world where there is no natural space. If we don’t allow for decomposition, if we paved everything or poured concrete everywhere, or coated everything in a sealed wax, we would run out of space very quickly. The more we let go of our attempt to control the future and of ourselves, the more space we create.

 

 

Eventually, we decided that double depth graves aren’t appropriate for Campo de Estrellas, and I reached out to the woman to share my research with her. I also confirmed that she did find her way back from the cemetery, though I sensed it was different than the way she came.