Remember the words to that lonesome cowboy song, “Bury me not on the lone prairie?”

"O bury me not on the lone prairie"

These words came low and mournfully

From the pallid lips of the youth who lay

On his dying bed at the close of day.

"O bury me not on the lone prairie

Where the wild coyote will howl o'er me

Where the buffalo roams the prairie sea

O bury me not on the lone prairie"

"It makes no difference, so I've been told

Where the body lies when life grows cold

But grant, I pray, one wish to me

O bury me not on the lone prairie"

He really wanted to be buried by a little church on a green hillside next to where his father lay. But guess where he was buried:

In a narrow grave, just six by three

We buried him there on the lone prairie

You know what happens to your body when you die, don’t you?—either burial in a cemetery or cremation and ashes put in a jar. In some countries you can have your cremated remains buried beside a mature tree to be soaked up by the root system. It’s called a green memorial. Now that appeals to me. I’d thought of having my ashes scattered from a plane over a forest or the open sea. But then no one could visit me!

The ashes of the deceased are buried in the drip line of a tree which is preserved as a living memorial of the deceased in a natural forest setting. (Washing Post photo)

My problem starts even before burial or cremation. I’ll probably be given a traditional Buddhist funeral, even though this is what I really want: a twenty-four-hour wake; my favorite songs played non-stop; and friends dropping by to have a drink. I won’t be drinking, never did, so they’ll have to bring their own beer. Then have my ashes buried near a tree in a forest.

I’ve tested this last idea out. When our dog died, we buried him under this tree. Since he’s been dead these past few years, I’m pretty sure he’s now become part of the tree, in the leaves and bark!

The tree before (left) and after (right) the dog was buried. He’s now the leaves and bark of this tree. (TP)