“When I die I don’t want to be buried, but I don’t want to be cremated either,” wrote the late George Carlin in Napalm and Silly Putty. “I want to be blown up. Put me on a pile of explosives and blow me up. Or throw my body from a helicopter. That would be fun. One stipulation: wherever I land, you have to leave me there. Even if it’s the mayor’s lawn. Just let me lie there. But keep the dogs away.”
I once read a New York mobster’s last will and testament. It opened with a lengthy description of his mausoleum. He was particular about the size, materials, design, and so on. I suspect he agonized more over the preservation of his remains than the disposition of his assets.
Humans have long obsessed about the after-death. Not life-after-death, which is different, but death and its initial complication: how to dispose of the remains. From pyramids to crematoriums, we have imagined numerous options for our final planting place.
The Final Planting Place
I use the phrase “final planting place” deliberately, given a bill recently introduced into the Arizona legislature.
You know legislation is getting down to earth when the phrase “or soil” appears in the text five times. “Or soil” is the most frequent new language quoted in House Bill 2081, which would amend statutes that govern the funeral industry.
The Arizona Daily Star reported on January 22nd that the bill "would allow companies to offer 'natural organic reduction' as an alternative to burial or traditional cremation." "As with cremation, the family would get back the remains," writes Howard Fischer. "But this process produces what amounts to mulch."
According to lobbyist Jake Hinman, “The family can then use the soil to plant a tree." He added they could also use the loved one’s mulchy remains to “plant the grieving family’s favorite flowers.’’ One legislator even suggested a “Circle of Life,” impact, inspired by “The Lion King.” Imagine a vegetable garden fertilized by deceased loved ones, pushing up tomatoes, carrots and lettuce that winds up on the dinner table. (“Aunt Bessie is gone now, but lives on in our arugula. Amen.”)
Give it up to State Representative Laurin Hendrix, sponsor of HB 2081, for thinking outside the box – literally.
Farewells and Fairways
But why stop with mulch? There is another creative way to dispose of human remains that resolves a long-standing land use issue.
According to the Washington Post, "In 2020, 56 percent of Americans who died were cremated." That means nearly half were preserved, many of them in cemeteries. Cemeteries take up a lot of space and are only visited by a handful of people – just like golf courses.
This is a land use problem with a land use solution: combine the two. Why have cemeteries and golf courses occupying huge tracts of land for the benefit of a few when they could share the same space? Would that not be more efficient?
Graves could be incorporated into golf course design. Headstones would make interesting hazards. And think of the prominence your loved ones would enjoy being interred under the links. Did your grandfather love to play golf? Bury him near the 18th green with a prominent marker. Everybody who completed a round would see his name and acknowledge his subterranean presence. Why hide the dear departed’s last location where hardly anybody sees it? Place it near a fairway, or a green, or a sand trap. Let them stay in the game.
Coffins and Windmills
Maybe your loved one didn’t play golf but still enjoyed entertainment and competition. Perhaps a full-sized golf course would not be an appropriate resting place. Don’t overlook miniature golf, which more than 130 million people play every year, according to Front Office Sports. That’s a lot of exposure for final resting places.
Imagine a family’s pride when the Windmill Hole is dedicated to their late Uncle. Hundreds of miniature golfers would remember him as they line up their putt. If your loved one was a plumber, plant him or her at the Pipe Hole. The infamous “Impossible Angle” hole could honor a logistics engineer. A track-and-field athlete could be buried near (or under) the Jump Hole. The Tire Hole inspires numerous possibilities: mechanics, race car drivers, tire dealers, hubcap thieves. You could feature a miniature golf course with decedents in mind, incorporating their memories into course design. The Whale Bone magazine website notes several intriguing possibilities: the Matterhorn, waterfalls, volcanoes. Las Vegas even has a glow-in-the dark golf course. What an appropriate resting place for entertainers, magicians, and stoners.
The ant hill would be The Aunt Hill.
Turning deceased loved ones into garden mulch is a good starting place. But there is so much more land use planners could do. Why not combine golf courses with cemeteries and make better use of the sprawling acres they occupy?
Now, that’s a hole-in-one!
© 2024 by Mike Tully