To contact Heartwood Preserve Conservation Cemetery, go to Cemetery Contact Information
The Heartwood Preserve Conservation Cemetery Story
Laura Starkey, Executive Director of Heartwood Preserve, Trinity, FL
“Heartwood is located on land that has been in the family since the 1930s in what is now a suburban corridor outside Tampa Bay, with three quarters of the original ranch that my grandfather owned now under conservation. Heartwood is in a unique location with a main boulevard with bike path, that is developing quickly. I feel spiritually connected to the woods that I can now share with other people. The area is a longleaf pine flatwoods ecosystem, now endangered, and less than a tenth of what it was, that requires prescribed fires. We use the cemetery to educate the community about controlled burns. I started by creating business and financial plans, visited Ramsey Creek and Prairie Creek, had lots of talks, and spent time together with family members. Then I had to consider how to market it, for profit or nonprofit, and how to present it. The real help came from working with other cemetery owners while overcoming obstacles and legal challenges.”
A Heartwood Family Story: Lisa Weir
Photo courtesy of A. Ragan
Lisa Weir arrived on a warm October afternoon and knew this was her place. She walked into our office, vibrant, dignified, playful. She had long gray hair and wore a flowing colorful skirt; a beautifully aged hippie. She had read about us in a local magazine and wanted to buy a burial space. She was so sure of her decision that she filled out her paperwork and payment before she even walked around the grounds. Once they did walk, she seemed to know right where to go. The spot she selected is surrounded by the native palmettos, grasses and wildflowers that make this one of the most biodiverse plant communities in the country. It faces a lush cypress wetland nearby. She was thrilled.
The following spring we got the call from her daughter Amy. “Mom’s not doing good.” Lisa passed away in late May. Her daughters, spouse, close friends and family arrived on a bright sunny day to lay her to rest. Though her illness and death came unexpected to them, Lisa had planned out how she wanted her day at Heartwood to go. Everyone wore bright colors. She was wrapped in a cotton shroud the color of a clear sky. The group followed in a slow procession behind her, as one of her daughters held up a phone playing her first requested song, Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen. Smiles surfaced through the tears.
At the grave, the daughters and friends took turns reading poetry, telling stories about their mom, their life partner, their friend, crying softly. Laughing. One daughter FaceTimed a young grandson who was thousands of miles away, unable to attend. They showed him every part of the grave, described the day’s events, and showed where his grandma now lay. He asked 7-year-old questions. They answered him plainly, making sure he felt a part of this.
As the burial crew lowered her by ropes into the grave and then closed her into the earth one shovelful at a time, Amy said, “this place is so perfect for her. I mean, if Heartwood Preserve was a person, it would be my Mom.”
After the grave was closed, the crew raked the soil into a mound, dusted it with pine needles and the family sprinkled it with wildflower seeds. The sisters brought out a plastic sandcastle mold, filled it with dirt from the grave, and placed a sandcastle near her head. “She loved the beach.” They found five pinecones and arranged them alongside her. One for each daughter. Little by little the small gathering of loved ones made their way back to their cars. But Amy lingered. She found long bunches of dried grasses, sat down on the ground, sweat running down her neck, her eyes wet with tears, and wove a heart and a peace sign and laid them on the grave.
Two years later, Lisa’s grave is now covered in wildflowers. Three small pine trees are growing around her. She is indeed Heartwood Preserve.
The following spring we got the call from her daughter Amy. “Mom’s not doing good.” Lisa passed away in late May. Her daughters, spouse, close friends and family arrived on a bright sunny day to lay her to rest. Though her illness and death came unexpected to them, Lisa had planned out how she wanted her day at Heartwood to go. Everyone wore bright colors. She was wrapped in a cotton shroud the color of a clear sky. The group followed in a slow procession behind her, as one of her daughters held up a phone playing her first requested song, Fat Bottomed Girls by Queen. Smiles surfaced through the tears.
At the grave, the daughters and friends took turns reading poetry, telling stories about their mom, their life partner, their friend, crying softly. Laughing. One daughter FaceTimed a young grandson who was thousands of miles away, unable to attend. They showed him every part of the grave, described the day’s events, and showed where his grandma now lay. He asked 7-year-old questions. They answered him plainly, making sure he felt a part of this.
As the burial crew lowered her by ropes into the grave and then closed her into the earth one shovelful at a time, Amy said, “this place is so perfect for her. I mean, if Heartwood Preserve was a person, it would be my Mom.”
After the grave was closed, the crew raked the soil into a mound, dusted it with pine needles and the family sprinkled it with wildflower seeds. The sisters brought out a plastic sandcastle mold, filled it with dirt from the grave, and placed a sandcastle near her head. “She loved the beach.” They found five pinecones and arranged them alongside her. One for each daughter. Little by little the small gathering of loved ones made their way back to their cars. But Amy lingered. She found long bunches of dried grasses, sat down on the ground, sweat running down her neck, her eyes wet with tears, and wove a heart and a peace sign and laid them on the grave.
Two years later, Lisa’s grave is now covered in wildflowers. Three small pine trees are growing around her. She is indeed Heartwood Preserve.
I feel spiritually connected to the woods that I can now share with other people.
—Laura Starkey
