Woodland Peace

As small as Germany is (compared to the USofA), there is a good bit of wooded land here and the Germanic folk have ancient and mythic and mystic connections to the wood.  (Just think Black Forest!)

Our wooded areas in north Germany aren't as dense, but there's plenty to walk and wander through, without fear of stepping on a snake, I hasten to add.  But you could run into a wild boar or deer.

The woods are managed, and now the foresters are branching out into the ever-after business and so we've been thinking about a final resting place. Really, it's not maudlin, it's just practical.  And our dear friend Ursula is nothing if not practical.

Some years ago she decided she'd like to be buried close to her family home and bought a tree.  Well, you don't really buy the tree, but you buy the space under the tree where you'll be buried.  No casket, but ashes in a biodegradable urn. Green.

We do Green here.  And you know how that appeals to me.  For goodness' sake, we recycle the heck out of stuff and look how we can recycle more.  Our trash can is 1/10 the size of most cans in the states and it only gets picked up every other week.  I know, we're two folks and not four, but...we do recycle.

So ultimately the tree in south Germany was too far away and Ursel wanted to share her space, so to speak, with friends, so she found the Friedwald Bremer Schweiz here in our neighborhood.  Friedwald is a bit hard to translate, but basically, a place of rest and peace.  We could all use that! They designate places in the federal forests for urn burials and sell the space.  It's a natural burial.

This is our tree.  We biked out there the other day to take a look.  It's a beech tree, over 100 years old.  It should stand for a while yet.  There's a group of 10 or maybe 12 of us who'll be interred there.  None of us are related except by friendship.

There are wild blueberry bushes nearby.  And blackberries, too, but it's too early for them.

Here's a poem that says some of what I mean.

WOODLAND BURIAL by Pam Ayres.

Don’t lay me down in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall
Where the dust of ancient bones has spread dryness over all.
Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold
Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold.
There  kindly and affectionately plant a native tree
To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me.
The roots will not disturb me as they wend their peaceful way
To build the fine and bountiful, from closure and decay.
To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done
I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the Sun.

 P.S.

We went with Renate and Gerd later in the week to see if the tree was a good fit for them (it was!).  But next to our tree, there had been a recent burial.  I found it soothing. 

A slice of a tree, greenery placed around it, looking so natural in this natural setting.