Around Here, We’re Partial to the Trees

Most people come to Oakwood in moments that matter deeply — times of loss, remembrance, and reflection. That’s never lost on us. But every now and then, an idea comes along that doesn’t take anything away from those moments — it simply offers another way to think about this place and what it represents.

A while back, Neil deGrasse Tyson — the kind of scientist who can talk about the universe and somehow make it feel both enormous and oddly personal — made an observation about burial that had nothing to do with tradition or theology. Just physics. Cremation releases our atoms quickly into the atmosphere; burial returns them to the earth — back into the soil, into roots, into the living system around us.

Every atom in your body — carbon, oxygen, nitrogen — has been around a long time. Forged in stars, scattered across the universe, eventually finding its way into soil, into plants, into food… and into you. Less ownership, more of a long-term lease. And at some point — sooner or later — it all gets handed back.

If you walk through Oakwood, you’re not just moving through history — you’re moving through something that’s still in motion. The grass. The soil. The slow, steady work happening underground. And yes — the oak trees, the ones that don’t seem particularly impressed by any of us and have clearly decided they’re in this for the long haul. Their roots move through the same ground that has been entrusted to generations. Quietly. Consistently. Without much need for explanation.

Of course, cemeteries have never been just about science. They are places of faith, remembrance, and deep personal meaning — where families gather, traditions are honored, and beliefs about what comes next are held close. But here at Oakwood, we get to witness a different kind of continuity. One that doesn’t reach outward, but stays close. One you can see in the soil, in the roots, in the trees that have quietly stood watch over generations. Not better. Not worse. Just… nearer.

So next time you’re here, take a look around — at the pecan trees, the shade they cast, the way they’ve settled in and made themselves part of the place. And consider this: the ground beneath your feet isn’t just holding history. It’s still doing something with it.