I first thought about the environmental impact of death while standing in a conventional cemetery five years ago, watching as my aunt’s casket—a gleaming hardwood box with brass fittings that had cost more than my first car—was lowered into a concrete vault in a perfectly manicured lawn that would need endless watering and mowing for decades to come. Something about the scene struck me as deeply disconnected from the nature-loving woman who had taught me to compost and grow vegetables as a child. “She would have hated this,” my cousin whispered, and I couldn’t help but agree.
That moment sent me down a research rabbit hole that I’m still exploring today. What I discovered about the environmental footprint of conventional death care practices in the UK and US was, well, the opposite of life-affirming. It turns out that how we care for our dead is nearly as unsustainable as how we live.
Let’s start with conventional burial, which remains the most common choice in many parts of the world. The resource use is staggering: in the US alone, annual burials use approximately 30 million board feet of hardwood (much of it tropical), 2,700 tons of copper and bronze, 104,272 tons of steel, and 1.6 million tons of reinforced concrete for burial vaults. Then there’s embalming, which typically uses formaldehyde, a known carcinogen that eventually leaches into soil and groundwater. And let’s not forget the ongoing environmental impact of cemetery maintenance—water-intensive lawns, pesticides, herbicides, and fossil-fueled mowing equipment.
Cremation, often assumed to be the greener option, comes with its own significant environmental costs. The energy required to sustain temperatures of 760-980°C (1,400-1,800°F) for the two hours needed for a typical cremation is roughly equivalent to the fuel a 500-mile car journey would use. Cremation also releases various pollutants into the atmosphere, including carbon dioxide, fine particulates, sulfur dioxide, mercury vapor (from dental fillings), and dioxins. A single cremation produces an estimated 250kg of carbon dioxide—about as much as an average living person generates in a month.
After learning all this, I found myself having surprisingly animated conversations about death care at dinner parties, which I don’t recommend as a social strategy unless you enjoy watching people put down their forks and edge subtly away from you. But the more I researched, the more I discovered a growing movement of people working to create end-of-life options that are as gentle on the earth as possible.
The simplest and perhaps oldest eco-friendly approach is what’s now called green or natural burial. This practice skips embalming, uses biodegradable caskets or shrouds, and places the body directly in the earth without a vault or liner. The grave is typically shallower than conventional burials to promote natural decomposition within the more biologically active soil layers. Green burial grounds often double as nature preserves, with native plants and trees instead of manicured lawns, and many use GPS coordinates rather than standing headstones to mark graves.
I visited a green burial ground in Gloucestershire on one of those misty English mornings that makes everything feel slightly magical. Instead of neat rows of headstones, I found myself walking through a young woodland with meadow flowers growing between trees planted to mark graves. The site manager, Helen, explained that family members often choose trees that had significance to their loved ones—a hawthorn for someone who made jam from the berries each autumn, an oak for a carpenter. “This place is actively becoming more alive with each person buried here,” she told me. “The bodies provide nutrients that feed these trees and support this ecosystem.””
What struck me most was how the space invited interaction rather than the hushed, formal atmosphere of conventional cemeteries. Children were welcome to run and play. People brought picnics to share at their family’s memorial trees. Dogs sniffed and wandered on leads. It felt simultaneously sacred and natural—death as part of life’s cycle rather than something separate and sanitized.
Green burial isn’t new—it’s actually a return to practices that were standard before the Civil War in America and the Victorian era in Britain, when embalming and elaborate caskets became normalized. What’s new is the intentional focus on ecological restoration and conservation as part of the burial process. Green burial sites are now establishing in all parts of the UK, from woodland settings to meadows and even coastal areas.
For those who prefer cremation but want to reduce its environmental impact, there’s aquamation (officially called alkaline hydrolysis). This process uses water, alkali, heat, and pressure to accelerate the body’s natural decomposition, reducing it to bone fragments that are returned to the family just like conventional cremated remains. The key difference is that aquamation uses about 90% less energy than flame cremation and produces no direct air emissions.
I was able to tour an aquamation facility in Scotland last year (again, not recommended as a typical tourist activity, but fascinating if you’re a bit morbid like me). The process looks remarkably like conventional cremation from the family’s perspective—the same respectful handling of the body, the same opportunity for viewing and ceremonies beforehand, and the return of remains afterward. The difference is all behind the scenes in the technology used.
“The families who choose this often tell us their loved ones would have appreciated the gentler process,” the facility director told me. “There’s something about returning to water that resonates with many people.” He explained that the liquid effluent from the process—which contains amino acids, peptides, sugars, and salts—is typically treated and released to the water system, where it actually provides beneficial nutrients rather than pollution. “It’s essentially an accelerated version of what would happen in natural decomposition,” he said.
Perhaps the most talked-about innovation in sustainable death care is human composting, officially called natural organic reduction. This process transforms the body into soil in a controlled environment over about 30 days. The body is placed in a vessel with wood chips, alfalfa, and straw, creating the perfect conditions for natural microbes to do their work. The result is about a cubic yard of nutrient-rich soil that can be used to plant trees or nourish conservation land.
Human composting was first legalized in Washington state in 2019, and other US states have followed suit. It hasn’t yet been approved in the UK, though advocacy groups are working to change that. I’ve only been able to experience this option through virtual tours and interviews with providers, but what struck me was how intentional and ceremony-rich the process can be. Families can be involved in preparing the vessel with flowers and meaningful objects that will compost alongside their loved one. They can return for a ceremony when the composting is complete and use the soil in ways that honor the person’s values and connections.
“Many of our clients tell us they find comfort in the idea of becoming soil that can support new life,” explained Katrina, whose company offers human composting in the western US. “Especially for people who have been environmentally conscious during their lives, it feels like a final act of giving back to the earth.”
For those who want to be cremated but hope to make a positive environmental impact, there are increasingly creative options for their remains. Memorial reefs create marine habitat from concrete mixed with cremated remains, providing new homes for coral and fish in damaged ocean environments. Conservation burial programs use cremated remains to support land restoration projects. There are even companies that will incorporate ashes into growing materials for memorial trees, or mix them with mycelium (mushroom roots) to help remediate contaminated soil.
I spoke with Jae, whose husband’s ashes were incorporated into a reef ball now providing marine habitat off the coast of Florida. “Mark was a diver who loved the ocean, and the idea that he’s now part of a living reef where fish and corals are thriving—it’s exactly what he would have wanted,” she told me. “When I dive at the reef and see the life growing on and around his memorial, it feels like he’s still contributing to what he loved most.”
As I’ve explored these alternatives, I’ve found that sustainable death care isn’t just about reducing environmental impact—it’s often about creating more meaningful, personalized experiences for grieving families. Many of these approaches allow for greater participation and connection than conventional practices, where much of the process happens behind closed doors, handled exclusively by professionals.
“We’ve become so disconnected from death in modern society,” explained Sarah, a death doula I interviewed who helps families navigate end-of-life options. “Reclaiming some agency in how we care for our dead can be immensely healing. When families wash and dress the body themselves, or help lower their loved one into the earth without all the industrial trappings, or plant a tree with soil created from their remains—these acts connect us to ancient human traditions of caring for our dead directly.”
That connection to tradition resonates with me. Humans have been caring for their dead in simple, natural ways for far longer than we’ve been embalming them and sealing them in concrete vaults. There’s something deeply reassuring about returning to practices that feel intuitively right—allowing our bodies to nurture new life rather than trying to preserve them indefinitely.
Of course, changing deeply ingrained cultural practices around death isn’t simple. Many people aren’t aware that alternatives exist, or assume they’re not “proper” funerals. Religious requirements may limit options for some families. And accessibility remains an issue—while green burial is often less expensive than conventional burial, newer options like human composting currently cost about the same as traditional approaches.
But the landscape is changing rapidly. More funeral directors are offering green options, more cemeteries are designating natural burial sections, and advocacy groups are working to change legislation to allow practices like aquamation and human composting in more regions. As environmental consciousness grows, more people are including end-of-life wishes in their advance planning.
I’ve updated my own advance directives to specify that I want the most environmentally friendly option available where I die—currently, that would be a green burial here in the UK, with a native apple tree planted above me (an homage to my lifelong love of apple crumble). If human composting becomes legal here, I’d choose that, with instructions to use some of the resulting soil to nourish fruit trees in community orchards.
These conversations can be uncomfortable—we’re not exactly a death-discussing culture—but they’re essential. By planning ahead and communicating our wishes, we ensure that our final act on this planet aligns with our values. Just as we strive to live sustainably, we can choose to die sustainably too.
The growing interest in green death care reminds me of the early days of the organic food movement or sustainable fashion—what begins as a niche concern often grows into mainstream awareness as people recognize the impact of their choices. Death is inevitable, but its environmental cost doesn’t have to be as heavy as current practices make it.
As I stood in that green burial ground watching a robin hop along a path between memorial trees, I couldn’t help but think how much my aunt would have preferred this setting to where she was laid to rest. For those of us with the privilege of choice, considering how our bodies will contribute to the web of life after we’re gone seems like one final opportunity to tread lightly on the earth we’ve called home.
