When discussing nature-positive systems change, agriculture, energy, transport and construction typically lead the conversation. Seldom, however, does the conversation shift to our systems around death.
This is understandable, given the need to prioritise high-impact areas. Agriculture, for instance, is responsible for approximately 70-80% of tropical deforestation. But achieving a nature-positive future will require us to transform sectors and systems of all shapes and sizes. Every area of our lives, from the industries we work in to the choices we make, holds opportunities to address the urgent biodiversity and climate crises that affect us all.
Rethinking our systems around death offers us an opportunity to shift our impact on the environment from negative to positive, and in the process, find perspective and comfort in the fact we’re all part of nature.
Death affects all of us deeply, with diverse traditions and practices worldwide. Just as with agricultural systems, there is much to learn from the ways different cultures honour their dead. By drawing from both ancient and emerging practices, we can find environmental approaches to death that could evolve with population growth. Furthermore, these approaches could foster new economic models that benefit both local communities and nature’s ecosystems alike, creating a system that respects both life and death in nature-positive ways.
This newsletter explores what happens when we die and how environmentally-focused death practices are evolving. We’ll also discuss two end-of-life businesses that are exploring models that incorporate restoration projects in native forests and urban green spaces.
Content warning: This article discusses decomposition and death. If these topics are distressing or uncomfortable for you please stop reading here.
The death cycle explained
Decomposition ecologist Dr Philip Barton has studied death and decay at the molecular level. His fascination with the process stems from a deep understanding that, in nature, death is not just inevitable, but an essential cornerstone of life.
“Throughout their lifespan, plants and animals accumulate nutrients from the soil and the atmosphere,” he says. “They assimilate these nutrients into living tissues, and once their lifespan is up, those tissues break down and disperse all those nutrients again.”
Philip describes this cycle the way you might describe a nourishing, deep breathing exercise. It’s a constant in and out, an accumulation and release of nutrients, and it’s happening all around us, all of the time.
When a mammal dies (human or otherwise), the decomposition process is really just a transfer of energy, Philip explains. First, the lack of oxygen disrupts homeostasis in every cell — it throws off the balance that keeps everything where it’s supposed to be, in the right concentrations. In this new environment, bacteria can proliferate and gases are generated.
“It doesn’t take very long before a complex bouquet of smells, carbon dioxide and sulphur dioxide attract beautiful blow flies and all the different ants, beetles and other insects that are part of the natural recycling process.”
During the Australian summer, a dead rabbit will be 90% decomposed within two weeks — and Philip says about half of that can be attributed to flies alone. Meanwhile, other insects specialise in dispersing of skin or fur, while ravens and possums make short work of any flesh.
Then, through defecating or dying themselves, “nature’s cleanup crew” distributes these nutrients back into the soil, creating fertile soil for diverse plant life and attracting animals and insects.
And so the cycle continues.
It’s no surprise then that soils are the most species-rich ecosystems in the world.
As this article from Scientific American beautifully puts it: “Scoop up a shovelful of healthy soil, and you’ll likely be holding more living organisms than there are people on Earth. Like citizens of an underground city that never sleeps, tens of thousands of subterranean species of invertebrates, nematodes, bacteria and fungi are constantly filtering our water, recycling nutrients and helping to regulate the planet’s temperature.”
The evolution of death practices
Many cultures have long-standing traditions that honour the deceased in ways that are harmonious with nature.
Muslim communities, for example, have practised natural burials for more than 1,400 years. Typically, the body is washed by family members of the same gender, wrapped in a simple white shroud, and buried in a shallow grave, facilitating microbial activity that aids in decomposition.
Tibetan Buddhists have practised sky burials for at least 800 years. In this practice, the deceased's body is left on a mountaintop for vultures and other birds to consume. This ritual symbolises the impermanence of life and allows the soul to depart while the body nourishes other living creatures.
Coffins have a long and varied history too. Ancient Egyptians manufactured coffins from stone, wood and gold to prevent decomposition, which Egyptians believed ensured passage to the afterlife. In ancient Greece, caskets were often made of dried clay, and in ancient Rome, they were made from limestone.
But before the turn of the 17th century, coffins were a mark of social status, and reserved for the wealthiest members of society. It wasn’t until the Industrial Revolution that coffins were mass produced, normalised and spread with colonisation. In this sense, the way many of us practise death has evolved and spread in parallel with trends in how we dress, eat and spend our time.
Today, nearly 75% of America’s coffins are made of steel, and many coffins are lined with copper or zinc, aimed at preserving the body. One paper has likened a modern US cemetery to “digging through a toxic waste site”, citing elevated concentrations of copper, zinc, lead and iron.
However, environmentally friendly alternatives are on the rise too — from cremations to biodegradable coffins made from mushrooms, bamboo and willow, for example. These alternatives are a step in the right direction, but they tend to be focused on minimising negative impacts rather than on creating positive impacts.
Most cremations, for example, occur in a gas-powered cremator, using approximately 285 kWh of gas per cremation, resulting in the release of 160 kg of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere.
Is there a missed opportunity here?
The value of the global market for death care services was estimated at US$138.9 billion in 2023 and is projected to reach US$209.6 billion by 2030. As we rethink how we utilise and care for land, and our relationship with nature, is there room to step back and reimagine death-related business models too?
Natural burials to restore habitat
On the New South Wales coast, framed by 300-year-old spotted gum trees, is the entrance to Walawaani Way, an 18-hectare natural burial ground focused on conserving critical habitat, and the first of its kind in Australia.
‘Walawaani’ means ‘safe journey’ in the language of the Yuin people, the traditional owners of this land. It’s an apt name because here, death is not the end, but a transition.
At Walawaani Way, there will be no headstones. For the most part, there will be no site markers at all. Pacemakers will be removed before arrival, and eventually, the only non-organic matter in the ground will be the odd titanium hip or surgical pin.
Bodies will be buried about one metre underground, founder Fiona McCuaig says. It’s deep enough to abate one concern from a local that dogs will be digging up corpses, but shallow enough for the insects and microorganisms to get to work.
“When we break down, humans are made from all the same elements as soil. Putting a body back into the ground puts nutrients into the soil which helps more vegetation to grow and provides more habitat and food for wildlife,” Fiona says.
Walawaani Way won’t bury its first body until 2025 at the earliest, but already, Fiona has sold 51 plots upfront, and she’s taking people on tours through the property almost daily.
Part of the site is native forest, habitat for local birds such as glossy black cockatoos and ground-dwelling lyrebirds. But other areas were once farmland, home to herds of grazing cattle, and it’s here that the first natural burials will take place, strategically reintroducing nutrients back into the soil to help it regenerate. What’s more, the planting of native gum seedlings will support efforts to reintroduce koalas to this area.
Basic adult burials begin at $3,850, including government taxes and levies. For comparison, the average funeral cost in New South Wales ranges from $4,000 to $8,000. A percentage of every payment goes into a perpetuity care fund which maintains the site into the future, and Fiona is exploring options for additional revenue streams, including carbon and biodiversity credits.
“It’s a sacred space,” Fiona explains. “The fact that there are bodies here means the habitat is protected from redevelopment into the future. It’s a win for the environment, and also becomes a beautiful place for people to visit.”
This is because, under NSW law, cemeteries with perpetual internment rights ensure remains are left undisturbed indefinitely. In this case, this law protects the forest and its inhabitants too.
“People just love it. It makes them feel good. For some of them, all they’ve ever wanted is to be buried back in the bush,” she says. “A lot of people don’t want their last decision to be bad for the planet. They love the idea of their body being a gift to it instead.”
Human composting to greenify cities
Recompose founder Katrina Spade has always been drawn to the concept of a natural burial. But she’s a city girl, living in Seattle, and knew the space constraints in urban areas wouldn’t allow for this to be the norm.
So she asked herself: “What’s the equivalent? After we’ve died, how can we return to the earth that supported us our whole lives?”
Searching for answers, Katrina took a deep dive into papers on the benefits of composting livestock, and found herself obsessing over the nutrients found within topsoil.
The conclusion she came to was that healthy, thriving soil is at the heart of everything — and, if you can turn a cow into compost, surely you can do the same with a human.
At Recompose, bodies are placed into vessels with a precise mix of alfalfa, straw and wood chips, designed to accelerate the composting process. Over a period of about four weeks, oxygen and moisture levels are carefully monitored to create the perfect environment for microbes, which break down the body in the same way they would in the wild. Eventually, all that remains is soil and bones, which are crushed and re-added into the mixture for another couple of weeks.
The service is priced at US$7,000, a touch more than the average cremation, and includes personalised services from the team of funeral directors, death certificate filing, transportation of the body within the service area, sheltering of the body if needed, and transformation process itself.
What’s returned to families is anything between 250 kg and 500 kg of highly nutritious soil. In addition to making use of nutrients that would otherwise go to waste, Katrina says composting, in comparison to cremations and burials, can save up to a metric ton of carbon, per person, from entering the atmosphere — and sequester it back into the soil instead.
In Washington State, regulations around spreading compost are the same as spreading ashes, meaning the soil can be used to enrich families’ gardens, including the flowerbeds the loved one tended to in life. They can be distributed into public parklands or forests too, or with permission, can be spread on private land. Through ‘The Recompose Land Program’, customers can also choose to donate a portion of their soil to conservation organisations, contributing to restoration or rewilding efforts.
Katrina has seen enthusiastic demand for Recompose’s services — and even a palpable relief that it exists. But she’s faced legislative barriers too. She personally led the charge to get human composting legalised in Washington, and has since driven legislative change in 11 more US states.
But Katrina says the biggest challenge is bringing nature-positive death services into the mainstream — and rewiring perceptions of what ‘should’ happen when a loved one dies. People know Recompose exists, but in the hours and days after a death, it doesn’t necessarily spring to mind.
“In that emotional moment, they don’t think to connect the dots,” Katrina says. “It’s really about outreach and making sure people know this is possible.”
Reimagining our systems
It’s telling that Katrina, Fiona and Philip, whose lives are so intertwined with death, are so boundlessly positive about it. For each of them, death is inseparable from life, and they all seem to take comfort in that.
“The thing that gets me the most excited is building nature into the city. The idea that after I die I could be folded back into that landscape is very appealing to me,” Katrina says
“Death is a reminder, on a daily basis, that I am part of nature,” she continues.
“I appreciate the very tactile fact of the atoms and molecules that were once us becoming something else. It’s a reminder that we are part of something greater than ourselves.”
And perhaps it’s also telling that Katrina has a background in design and a passion for rethinking the human-made systems that no longer serve us.
She understands that while death is certain, the systems we build around it are not. Our systems are constructed, inherited and often far younger than we realise — which means we all have the power to transform them.
It’s easy to feel like we’ve inherited a crisis that’s too big to solve, but the future is still being shaped and our only real constraints are life, death and our imaginations.
This newsletter has explored our systems around death — but what else needs reimagining beyond energy and agriculture? What about the systems we’ve built around publishing, tourism, waste, fashion, live music, education and urban design? How else can we look backwards and sideways to find new models that benefit people and nature alike?
