Photo credit: Elizabeth Fournier This week I'm featuring a post by "Green Reaper" Elizabeth Fournier, owner of Cornerstone Funeral Services which serves five small towns in rural Clackamas County, Oregon. Enjoy this glimpse into what it can look like to serve families "outside the box" of the contemporary funeral industry - literally. The family's names have been changed to respect their privacy.
Jamie lived her life with a respect for the environment. She wanted to show that same respect in death, too. When she was near the end of her time in this world, her life partner Eric contacted me to walk him through the steps to ensure a smooth transition.
“She's always spoken of being buried under the oak tree in our backyard, but I really didn’t take her too seriously," Eric said. "But you helped the family down the street and they said we can actually do this?” "Absolutely," I said, a broad smile on my face. Another had learned the secret of backyard burial.
I ran through a few questions to make sure their property complied with county regulations: they were in rural Clackamas County, which would make it easier; they owned the land, so wouldn't need permission from the landowner; they had a suitable spot with at least an acre 30 feet from a public right of way; and so on. I promised to call the county zoning and planning commission for due diligence and told him, “You must know that you cannot deem this a ‘cemetery’ nor can you ever charge anyone for a burial space. You can bury everyone you know back there if there's room, but it cannot officially have a name and you can’t take any cash. Got it?”
We were ready to proceed.
Jamie lived her life with a respect for the environment. She wanted to show that same respect in death, too. When she was near the end of her time in this world, her life partner Eric contacted me to walk him through the steps to ensure a smooth transition.
“She's always spoken of being buried under the oak tree in our backyard, but I really didn’t take her too seriously," Eric said. "But you helped the family down the street and they said we can actually do this?” "Absolutely," I said, a broad smile on my face. Another had learned the secret of backyard burial.
I ran through a few questions to make sure their property complied with county regulations: they were in rural Clackamas County, which would make it easier; they owned the land, so wouldn't need permission from the landowner; they had a suitable spot with at least an acre 30 feet from a public right of way; and so on. I promised to call the county zoning and planning commission for due diligence and told him, “You must know that you cannot deem this a ‘cemetery’ nor can you ever charge anyone for a burial space. You can bury everyone you know back there if there's room, but it cannot officially have a name and you can’t take any cash. Got it?”
We were ready to proceed.
Credit: Gardening Know How We hopped in his truck to take a look at his property. I don’t feel 100% sure about advising someone on a backyard burial unless I can fully see, smell and survey the space. First, a quick stop at the Jackpot Food Mart to pick up Jamie’s favorite Tiparillo cigars. Eric said, “She’s got cancer and is gonna die anyway, so why not let her enjoy herself anyway she wants?”
They live way out in the country. We passed Estacada, headed more miles east, and finally made our way up a dusty hill. I had a great feeling about this. We stopped for a moment to chat with his neighbor, Natasha, a lovely woman with a pleasant smile in an aged face. Eric introduced me as “the town mortician lady". As we turned into his property he told me Natasha and Jamie had been best friends for 30 years.
It was a lovely day and we had all the windows down. Birds were chirping and the whiff on the air was a heady fragrance from the rows of lilac Jamie had cultivated. “Pretty damn nice, right?” Eric said sadly. “We finally get this place to stop looking like a ghetto and she has to up and get sick on me. I’m just glad our kids are grown so they can just show up when it happens. I just need her to leave this Earth in a good way.” I reassured him that Jamie would have a sendoff fitting for a woman who collected cans to recycle before it was cool, and who never took a drink from a Styrofoam cup.
They live way out in the country. We passed Estacada, headed more miles east, and finally made our way up a dusty hill. I had a great feeling about this. We stopped for a moment to chat with his neighbor, Natasha, a lovely woman with a pleasant smile in an aged face. Eric introduced me as “the town mortician lady". As we turned into his property he told me Natasha and Jamie had been best friends for 30 years.
It was a lovely day and we had all the windows down. Birds were chirping and the whiff on the air was a heady fragrance from the rows of lilac Jamie had cultivated. “Pretty damn nice, right?” Eric said sadly. “We finally get this place to stop looking like a ghetto and she has to up and get sick on me. I’m just glad our kids are grown so they can just show up when it happens. I just need her to leave this Earth in a good way.” I reassured him that Jamie would have a sendoff fitting for a woman who collected cans to recycle before it was cool, and who never took a drink from a Styrofoam cup.
Photo credit: Holly Hox Jamie died of complications from cancer the next morning before sunrise. Eric was blindsided by how quickly she went. He had hoped to have the grave pre-dug, the casket made by an old carpenter buddy of his, and their house painted lilac lavender in her honor. He was grieving over his Jamie being gone, but he was also inconsolable over all the things he wanted to do for his beloved but just couldn’t make happen.
This is where the Green Reaper could do the most good. I told him to stay with his beloved, to talk with her about all of the beautiful things they had done in this lifetime, and to tell her about all of the even more amazing things the two of them would experience when they meet up again. I then asked him to put Natasha on the line. She walked out onto the porch for privacy and I could hear her light up one of their mutually favored little cigars.
“Natasha, we can do this," I said. "I need some help from you, but we can honor Jamie and have her burial by sundown. I need you to phone their kids and have them get in their cars. Eric's got that little utility tractor out there. I'll call a friend to come over now and start digging. Do you think Eric would be good with that, or do we need to bring a backhoe out?”
Natasha said Eric was immobilized. “I can guarantee he is going to stay in there and not come out until he takes her out with him.”
“That’s just fine," I assured her. "I've already talked to her hospice team so we have the death certificate and permit taken care of. We just need the space prepared and my friend is a pro. Stay by the phone and I’ll have him call when he's on his way out there. All you have to do is meet him outside and show him the space Eric showed me yesterday. How are you doing with all of this?”
“I guess as well as can be expected," Natasha said. "It feels odd that she isn’t here to tell about all this. Well, I guess she sort of is.”
I paused long enough to make sure she had completed all her thoughts. “You are doing very well, Natasha, and you are really helping your friend. When you feel ready, maybe in a few hours or so, you might want to help Eric decide on what blanket or quilt or shrouding you want to use, okay? Or we can use a natural casket I have here. Anything he wants is perfect.”
In my selection room I had a non-toxic cardboard shell which looks similar to an IKEA flat pack, a moss-lined woven willow casket, a hand-crafted pine box, and a natural fabric shroud. But I had a feeling they would choose her favorite lilac-colored, hand loomed rug which hung on the wall of their bedroom.
We agreed that Natasha would call their tribe to have them come out for a 7pm ceremony. Throughout the day I spoke with friends who phoned me to coordinate their thoughts on the service. At 4pm I arrived to bathe Jamie and get her ready for her final farewell. Eric had decided the wall tapestry was the ideal choice to serve as shroud.
When I arrived, Jamie’s brother ambled over waving, carrying a small tree. “Will this be okay?” he asked. "I wasn’t sure what would be best for the top of the grave since I don’t think we want any headstone.”
I was so touched by how delicate the sapling was in his burly hands. “It will be picture-perfect. It really is so exquisite.”
“I just want her to have something nice," he said. "And for Eric to be able to come out here in the evenings and know that she's with her lilacs and this tree, and that she'll provide the nutrients for new life and do good stuff like provide food and shelter for all these birds out here.”
We spoke a few minutes more and he suggested I go inside to partake of the big pot of gumbo his aunt had brought over. One perk of my job is the scrumptious food. If it is sincerely offered to me, I am never shy about accepting.
Inside I found a hubbub of activity: Auntie Rita washing dishes, Willow braiding flowers to make a lovely crown for Jamie, Florence tuning her guitar for the celebration’s acoustical accompaniment, Natasha painting Jamie’s toenails a delicious shade of purple, and Eric sitting beside his beloved, holding her hand and softly singing. The love in that two-room home overflowed into the universe. I stood in silence, moved to tears, knowing that my still presence was all they needed. They were all being divinely guided.
An hour later we filled a large basin of water and brought it to the bed. I had brought lavender colored and scented loofah sponges for the ritual of bathing Jamie. Eric grabbed the camera and snapped pictures of the women's tribe surrounding his beautiful bride, gently applying oils with love.
When the sun was getting low in the sky Eric affirmed he was ready. We easily wrapped Jamie in the gorgeous rug. Her brother arrived at the perfect moment with a long cart to wheel his sister out of the house for her last ride. Friends gathered and flowed over to the open meadow near the lilacs.
We carefully placed Jamie in her chariot. As Florence strummed Cat Stevens' “Where Do the Children Play” on her black-faced guitar, we processed to the gravesite, Eric walking behind in deep thought while Auntie Rita and Natasha, arms held high, half-walked, half-swayed to the music.
At the hole we lowered Jamie into it and gingerly tossed lilac boughs on top of the purple shroud. After a half-hour of singing as the sun set, Jamie and Eric's shovel-bearing son, slowly taking time to mark this moment, broke down in tears. Arms held him, as arms held the person holding him. A perfect chain of bodies was formed and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next started. After some time he primed the area right next to the grave and we planted a tree, all eyes watching the sweet leaves stir in the slight breeze.
When everyone left for Natasha’s to gather around a potluck, my friend John climbed onto Eric’s tractor and replaced the rest of the soil which was previously dug from the now occupied grave. I stood by, keeping vigil over precious Jamie.
This is where the Green Reaper could do the most good. I told him to stay with his beloved, to talk with her about all of the beautiful things they had done in this lifetime, and to tell her about all of the even more amazing things the two of them would experience when they meet up again. I then asked him to put Natasha on the line. She walked out onto the porch for privacy and I could hear her light up one of their mutually favored little cigars.
“Natasha, we can do this," I said. "I need some help from you, but we can honor Jamie and have her burial by sundown. I need you to phone their kids and have them get in their cars. Eric's got that little utility tractor out there. I'll call a friend to come over now and start digging. Do you think Eric would be good with that, or do we need to bring a backhoe out?”
Natasha said Eric was immobilized. “I can guarantee he is going to stay in there and not come out until he takes her out with him.”
“That’s just fine," I assured her. "I've already talked to her hospice team so we have the death certificate and permit taken care of. We just need the space prepared and my friend is a pro. Stay by the phone and I’ll have him call when he's on his way out there. All you have to do is meet him outside and show him the space Eric showed me yesterday. How are you doing with all of this?”
“I guess as well as can be expected," Natasha said. "It feels odd that she isn’t here to tell about all this. Well, I guess she sort of is.”
I paused long enough to make sure she had completed all her thoughts. “You are doing very well, Natasha, and you are really helping your friend. When you feel ready, maybe in a few hours or so, you might want to help Eric decide on what blanket or quilt or shrouding you want to use, okay? Or we can use a natural casket I have here. Anything he wants is perfect.”
In my selection room I had a non-toxic cardboard shell which looks similar to an IKEA flat pack, a moss-lined woven willow casket, a hand-crafted pine box, and a natural fabric shroud. But I had a feeling they would choose her favorite lilac-colored, hand loomed rug which hung on the wall of their bedroom.
We agreed that Natasha would call their tribe to have them come out for a 7pm ceremony. Throughout the day I spoke with friends who phoned me to coordinate their thoughts on the service. At 4pm I arrived to bathe Jamie and get her ready for her final farewell. Eric had decided the wall tapestry was the ideal choice to serve as shroud.
When I arrived, Jamie’s brother ambled over waving, carrying a small tree. “Will this be okay?” he asked. "I wasn’t sure what would be best for the top of the grave since I don’t think we want any headstone.”
I was so touched by how delicate the sapling was in his burly hands. “It will be picture-perfect. It really is so exquisite.”
“I just want her to have something nice," he said. "And for Eric to be able to come out here in the evenings and know that she's with her lilacs and this tree, and that she'll provide the nutrients for new life and do good stuff like provide food and shelter for all these birds out here.”
We spoke a few minutes more and he suggested I go inside to partake of the big pot of gumbo his aunt had brought over. One perk of my job is the scrumptious food. If it is sincerely offered to me, I am never shy about accepting.
Inside I found a hubbub of activity: Auntie Rita washing dishes, Willow braiding flowers to make a lovely crown for Jamie, Florence tuning her guitar for the celebration’s acoustical accompaniment, Natasha painting Jamie’s toenails a delicious shade of purple, and Eric sitting beside his beloved, holding her hand and softly singing. The love in that two-room home overflowed into the universe. I stood in silence, moved to tears, knowing that my still presence was all they needed. They were all being divinely guided.
An hour later we filled a large basin of water and brought it to the bed. I had brought lavender colored and scented loofah sponges for the ritual of bathing Jamie. Eric grabbed the camera and snapped pictures of the women's tribe surrounding his beautiful bride, gently applying oils with love.
When the sun was getting low in the sky Eric affirmed he was ready. We easily wrapped Jamie in the gorgeous rug. Her brother arrived at the perfect moment with a long cart to wheel his sister out of the house for her last ride. Friends gathered and flowed over to the open meadow near the lilacs.
We carefully placed Jamie in her chariot. As Florence strummed Cat Stevens' “Where Do the Children Play” on her black-faced guitar, we processed to the gravesite, Eric walking behind in deep thought while Auntie Rita and Natasha, arms held high, half-walked, half-swayed to the music.
At the hole we lowered Jamie into it and gingerly tossed lilac boughs on top of the purple shroud. After a half-hour of singing as the sun set, Jamie and Eric's shovel-bearing son, slowly taking time to mark this moment, broke down in tears. Arms held him, as arms held the person holding him. A perfect chain of bodies was formed and it was hard to tell where one stopped and the next started. After some time he primed the area right next to the grave and we planted a tree, all eyes watching the sweet leaves stir in the slight breeze.
When everyone left for Natasha’s to gather around a potluck, my friend John climbed onto Eric’s tractor and replaced the rest of the soil which was previously dug from the now occupied grave. I stood by, keeping vigil over precious Jamie.
Elizabeth Fournier My deep thanks to Elizabeth for sharing this beautiful story, and for the work she does every day to restore for families the green and family-controlled burial options that were once the norm.
You can follow her on Facebook at Green Burial Portland or join the Green Burial Portland discussion page she moderates.
You can follow her on Facebook at Green Burial Portland or join the Green Burial Portland discussion page she moderates.
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