chew me up, spit me out

My fascination with Lone Fir Cemetery’s ecosystem began with an impromptu, aimless walk to distract my mind.

Streaks of lavender and cream patterned the sky as I drove through unfamiliar residential streets one evening in Southeast Portland. When I parked at the cemetery’s southern gate minutes later, shadows had already washed across the field. As I opened my door, spring air tapped on my cheeks and my legs longed to remain glued to the heated seat. Temptations to avoid the cold wouldn’t do.

My eyes caught a vibrant green glow, which enticed me to wander deeper into the twilight.

Imagine something radioactive – like a radium glass dish. A ghostly armada’s shimmer along a craggy bay. Flubber on steroids. A fest with gobins, ghouls and everything in between. Exaggerations (not) aside, emerald and milky spots from moss- and lichen-covered gravestones before me starkly contrasted the dim field. Almost as if the plants tucked every lumen from the day under its clumps and flakes, failing to keep the light a secret. Even when I bent down to face the unassuming splotches, now a mere inch from the tip of my nose, the growth seemed to shine.

The fungi and algae detracted from the lifelessness the headstones represented. A cemetery’s purpose isn’t reduced to only holding the dead down, nor are dread and drear permanent residents. Instead, life is. Obviously, I am not the first to say this, as a international suite of experts (and teenage taphophiles) have dedicated their careers to investigating this exact topic.

Among China’s most heavily farmed fields, conservation biologists found burial sites serve as pockets of botanical preserves. Here, regardless of a park’s size, pollinator and local plant richness soared beyond what neighboring agricultural land had, according to a 2021 study in Scientific Reports. Ecologists have discovered cemeteries in Turkey hold rare orchids and ancient burial spots in Ukraine protect endangered European grasses.

In fact, in light of rapid urban expansion, cemeteries could be seen as islands of biodiversity conservation.

Hungarian and Austrian researchers explored how public cemeteries harbor native plants among urban sprawl in their article “The Role of Urban Cemeteries in Ecosystem Services and Habitat Protection,” published in March 2023.

Beyond providing a sacred place in hearts and communities, burial grounds support urban ecosystems like any public park or green space, they wrote. Here, plants and trees can stretch unabated as they freshen air and absorb stormwater. Pollinators and creatures escape concrete jungles to buzz and slink among still trees. People can find silence and solitude.

In examining two large cemeteries in Budapest and one in Vienna, the authors focused on the inner workings of urban burial grounds’ natural processes and what conservation existed to protect them. Unfortunately, they admitted this is generally under-researched. Instead of viewing cemeteries as complex systems, municipalities typically merge elements of heritage, conservation and tourism under one umbrella of management (resulting in little to no databases detailing native plant and animal species).

Still, as outlined in the 2023 study, it’s undeniable that cemeteries are an integral component of urban green spaces that can support habitat diversity and carbon sequestration. Amid climate change threats and unrelenting urban development,  we want to keep any green tool stored in our back pocket.

So, what about Lone Fire Cemetery?

Considering the burial grounds’ first inhabitant was first interred in 1846, just years after settlers began to establish what is now Portland, I thought it must contain a time capsule of the area’s original ecosystem.

To an extent, this wasn’t a baseless assumption. Most trunks of Lone Fir Cemetery’s grove were planted over the past 150 years by those who had a connection to the deceased, according to Portland Metro. Of these, many are native to Oregon, including cedar, maple, oak, spruce and yew trees. Don’t forget the titular Douglas fir, either. 

However, the scope of the cemetery’s reaches into the biodiverse universe (and subsequent ecological impacts) is unknown.

To date, I asked Portland Metro and Friends of Lone Fir, a nonprofit dedicated to maintaining the park, whether anyone has looked into this. Metro’s silence was nearly on par with that of those who live at the cemetery (fortunately, the city’s continuous social media presence reassured me that they were still very very much alive). According to the Friends’ research director and archivist, investigating all things living and seen within the cemetery’s steel fencing has yet to be done (though, she admitted, would “certainly be a fun endeavor”). Instead, the field’s heritage trees and pioneer roses have stolen the attention of those who frequent it, as reflected by numerous brochures and tours you’ll find online – a tangle of conservation and tourism, similar to Budapest and Vienna.

My stint of research wasn’t fruitless, however.

I continue to spend time with Lone Fir’s diverse plant community, with my latest visit involving a bucket and toothbrush to scrub dirt lodged in worn letters. During these trips, I always see something new – from ravenous, gravestone-eating oak trees to heartfelt and witty memorials. Sounds of soft wind jostling leaves and tiny rodent feet scratching on stone always remain. Though this time, as the sun’s early amber glow encroached upon the field, the hushed nocturnal sounds I initially became acquainted with faded. Car engines grumbled, a basketball slapped the pavement and people laughed while on a stroll.

If I’ve learned anything from these research articles or gravestones consumed by trees, it’s that nature physically embraces us long after we’re aware of it. Human life is transient and will inevitably end up within the earth, whether in a casket or urn. Perhaps gobbled up by a bog (though possibly antiquated) or thrashed to and fro by gusts of air into the mouths of strangers (say, if you ask your child to sprinkle your ashes in the ocean but the universe is bored and has twisted humor).

The best we can do now is enjoy the trees before they swallow us whole.

l.e.