A Lasting Legacy

A menhir (standing stone) at Carnac in France where they have stood for thousands of years since the Neolithic age. Everything about those that made them has been forgotten, yet they still stand as fascinating testaments to those who built them. Photo courtesy of Wikipedia

The past year has pushed thoughts of mortality to the fore for almost everyone. The specters of disease and the disaster of climate change weigh down the mind on a daily basis. The roll of the dice that is the  Covid 19 tragedy leaves anyone over a certain age wondering what toll it might take. Contemplating how and where we will end up should be more than just an afterthought, since we will be a memory for about as long as we were alive and after that, just another person who lived among the billions who have ever lived.

Some people might think that it is not right to think about death. We should give it more attention than we do since one is dead much longer than they are ever alive. Egyptian pharaohs knew this and spent their lives building tombs that have lasted through the rise and fall of civilizations and will continue long after the remnants of our culture are mostly gone. Ancient graves like the pyramids and the balanced standing stones called dolmens have watched successive civilizations crumble to dust and will probably do so for ours as well. How long? Until the slow death of erosion literally wears them down over too many years to count. By that time, the rise and fall of a few thousand years of human civilization will be nothing but a thin layer in the soil. Those seeking to build durable monuments for the future need only look to the past. 

Invariably, when one travels to a cemetery, there are graves of the recent past that evoke emotion, but the vast majority are those who have passed beyond living memory. The lucky and the prominent have lines in the history books that spur different emotions of honor or regard. Most though are only known through the scant records they leave in Census rolls and obituaries that recount important but mundane lives lived and forgotten. Once those that remember them are gone, all that remains is an unremarkable grave—usually a small square piece of granite or something larger for those with more wealth. The social hierarchy of life leaves its mark on eternity as well.

For the regular person, though, why no evocative expressions of their lives and loves? Why not something that will endure in stone or metal? I am a fan of the German Russian graveyards' wrought iron crosses, just because they are a unique artistic contribution to a place that could use more art.

When I visit as a cemetery, my question is: why does everyone almost always follow the same pattern? The conformity of life carries over to that of death. The square box, straight-line folks may not think there is anything wrong, and there isn't. If your belief is that you want to be pumped full of toxic chemicals, put inside an expensive single-use package, and buried beneath a granite square, that is fine with me. 

Graveyards make me think of suburban housing developments, rows of identical houses, differing only slightly in color and ownership. To get some variety, one can walk to the older part of the graveyard where 19th-century stones evoke that era's different sensibilities. Some of them are broken or covered with grass and dirt, making one wonder how long they will persist. Why isn't there more variety in graveyard memorial? 

There are places where conformity is a good thing. The vast fields of crosses or small white tombstones of a military cemetery are evocative of the union of purpose all those interred share, and individualism would be out of place. I have never been more emotionally moved than when I attended the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier several years ago at Arlington National Cemetery. In that sense, it is not about the presentation,but the duty and service to ideas that endure long after we are gone. At Arlington Cemetery and other such places, the layout and design is itself a powerful message. In certain places, conformity can be a powerful thing.

There are some options for burial. The natural or "green" burial movement is a return to a time when the body was allowed to decompose naturally along with a simple decomposable container. I hope this movement grows. I think there is something wrong with preventing my body's elements from rejoining the natural cycle to nourish and become part of something new. To pump a body full of chemicals toxic to life and then lock it in a box built to seal it in, seems wrong, but if that is what you want to do, go for it. Is it a metaphor for our modern world, so divorced from the natural, that even in death, we seek to keep our body separate from nature?

To fill my body with toxic chemicals just so a few people can stare at it for a day seems like a very selfish legacy. I have never seen anyone in a casket and felt better by looking at their waxy skin. To purchase an expensive box that is essentially a human-sized throwaway single-use package is also a wasteful use of resources. I have long been a fan of cremation, returning my body to the earth instead of creating a toxic underground artifact. The idea of mixing my ashes with soil to nourish a long-lived tree has long appealed to me as a symbolic living representation of that act. I imagine a hearty long lived oak or cottonwood that under the right conditions could live for centuries. In other parts of the country, it could be a tree that has a chance of living for thousands. Unfortunately, our changing climate is upending the several thousand years of biological stability that has made human history possible. Long lived trees may be at their endpoint.

Cremation, especially in this age of dangerous pathogens, is the most sanitary and compact of methods. Though, to reduce a body to a small pile of ash that can be contained in a small package, or spread across the land, has a few negatives in the release of atmospheric carbon and the large amount of energy used to do it. I imagine that sustainably powered cremation and a form of carbon capture will be available at some point. In a world where billions will die naturally in the coming decades and where the percentage of people alive today is 7 percent of all humans who have ever lived, the way we handle death can have an impact on the climate.

 Today, graveyards remain unvisited, except on the solemn occasions of internment or memorials. In the 19th century, before the idea of parks became common, people would use cemeteries as park-like greenspaces since public parks were a rare thing in the pre-Frederick Law Olmstead era. I like the idea of creating a place where people can come and sit on stones while relaxing beneath trees. A place that will endure as a pleasant place in nature long after I am gone is what I would like to see. Imagine some stones set upright to a height of 5 feet or more while others lie recumbent at the perfect altitude to sit on and have lunch. All of it set beneath the partial shade of a cottonwood grove with its wonderful smell and relaxing sound.

The great standing stones found in every corner of the world are some of the longest lasting human artifacts. We should build more of them.  Long after I am forgotten, a large standing stone or collection would evoke wonder. I have a whole pile of massive granite stones in a rock pile on my land. Possibly that is a great place to put my ashes. Could they be arranged in a certain way that would be interesting to future visitors? A few pushed upright as sentinels, while others lie on their side to act as the longest-lasting chairs in history? I will have to look. What better place to have the elements of my body live on as part of the grasses and trees? The ancient dolmens found across the world that once were tombs, now only stand as objects of wonder at the skill of ancient humans. With its balanced rocks, a dolmen is a bit of a step too far, but that is the type of legacy I would like to leave.

Poulnabrone dolmen, Ireland. Courtesy of Wikipedia

 The idea of planting long-lived trees that will endure for centuries and regenerate, but also to cast the stones in just enough shade to make it a pleasant place to linger, is one I like. The human mind and maybe even the soul is most comfortable in the savannah grassland dotted with trees; that was our evolutionary beginning. In the Dakotas, long-lived cottonwoods or burr oaks would probably be the best choices. Examples, hundreds of years old, can be found across the plains. Possibly a mix of both, but I prefer cottonwoods. The smell released by cottonwoods is one of the best natural fragrances I know. The gentle oscillation of their leaves on a light breeze is one of the most relaxing sounds in the symphony of nature. On the dry plains, it is the equivalent of the soft babble of a small flowing stream. Their massive trunks and fountain-like branches reach into the sky and mark the landscape to the degree that they take on the role of living standing stones that can be viewed from miles away. They are the stonehenges of the flat prairies and steppes. They are also prolific givers of life, spreading their cottony, windblown seeds each summer to far off areas. 

As a marker, one of the stones could be deeply inscribed with something simple similar to the enigmatic runic texts on some of the old Norse stones of my distant ancestors. Today's English may be just as unreadable a thousand years hence, so keep it simple.