I, said the Beetle, with my thread and needle
I'll make his shroud.
A Shroud, a winding cloth, a ‘garment for the grave1’.
A shroud can be the final wrap that covers you no matter your choice of disposition. No matter how we die, or where. It can be a simple sheet, and in desperate situations that might be the only choice we have, or it can be a masterpiece of woven threads. A blanket from a bed. A silk beauty from Esmeralda Kent2. An upcycled shroud from Dina at Last Dance Shrouds3. Your shroud can be purchased or handmade. Embellished or not.
For natural and conservation burial grounds, we want what goes into the ground to naturally decompose. The best choices for a shroud are cotton, linen, silk, wool, hemp, or bamboo. Deciding to make a burial shroud in preparation for your own death can be a creative and cathartic project. Producing a shroud in a short time for someone who has just died can be part of the process of communal grieving in the context of a community or family-led funeral.
This one I’m working on is tiny. A tiny shroud for a dead bird. For Robin.
The Cock Robin story speaks of a community coming together to care for one of their own at his death. Cock Robin’s death was traumatic. It was a senseless murder.
It is Sparrow who admits to killing Cock Robin with a bow and arrow.
“House Sparrows are fierce competitors and vigorous colonizers. They are aggressive and ruthless. House Sparrows will evict other species attempting to nest in their territory, by destroying eggs, killing nestlings, or even killing females that are incubating eggs.”
We learn that the fly watched him die, the fish caught his blood and the beetle stepped up to take on the making of Robin’s shroud.
I'm telling this story with local celebrities. The Cock Robin story is cast with birds; nomadic and seasonal migrants, herons and owls and Sandhill Cranes who call these 48 acres home, with Rainbow and Brook Trout who live in the Creek-Whose-Name-Has-Not-Been-Remembered, flies who frequent our humble abode, and importantly, the Burying Beetle, who I was gobsmacked to meet in our yard this summer. A sorry member, perhaps, of the Insect Apocalypse.
I have more news on this fascinating Beetle, which, as it turns out, is not the extinct American Burying Beetle as I first thought. No less important, but I’ll write a separate post about our Burying Beetle soon to clarify some things.
Ours is the Banded Sexton Beetle, one of the Burying Beetles. “The American burying beetle is the largest of the 31 species of North American carrion beetles. With his orange-tipped antennae the male beetle scents carrion (usually a bird or small mammal) sometimes from two miles away. Often there’s a fight for possession. The winning male attracts a mate by releasing a pheromone from the tip of his abdomen.
After an elaborate courtship, the pair moves their prize, which may weigh 200 times more than they do, to an appropriate site and buries it. Then they strip feathers or fur, coat the carcass with oral and anal secretions to discourage bacterial and fungal growth and repel any maggots they don’t kill with their mandibles. They stay with the carcass, feeding pieces to 10 to 30 grub young until they pupate in 12 to 14 days.”4
And so, our Burying Beetle arrived on the scene like a gift. For our story, as our shroud-making beetle.
Who better to create the shroud and gather this deathcaring community together? The Burying Beetle with her thread and needle. The shroud for Poor Cock Robin. Will you join me in creating a tiny shroud for a murdered bird while mourning the insects we are losing at an astonishing rate?
Here are two YouTube videos that offer some (human-scale) shroud-making inspiration and ideas.
For Cock Robin’s shroud, you might write a poem, draw on cloth, embroider, or try eco-printing with leaves and flowers. Use a fabric about 12 x 12 inches. Big enough to have some fun with. Small enough to shroud a bird.
My first try at eco-printing. Why this eco-printing? Because it’s a burial shroud and the vibrant colours you might get initially don't need to last. They are going into the ground. And the hammering required is very cathartic.
I’ll share what I create, and I would love to see the tiny shroud that you dream into being, design on paper, or physically create for Poor Cock Robin when we meet again.
Auguries and Orisons. Shrouds for dead Birds ~ and the insects who bury them.
Here again, is the Cock Robin story in its entirety.
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Here lies Cock Robin, Dead and cold; This tale his end will soon unfold.
We must be told, for now we mourn; Who would kill Cock Robin?
It was I, the House Sparrow with my bow and arrow. I killed Cock Robin.
— To all of us here, this notice apprises that Sparrow will stand trial at the next bird assizes. —
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More pressing now is Who will gather? Who will care for poor cock robin?
Coming forward:
The Burying Beetle, The House Fly, The Crow, The Red-tailed Hawk, The Mountain Chickadee, the Great Blue Heron, The Sandhill Crane, The Barn Swallow, the Great Grey Owl, the Marsh Wren, and the Mourning Dove.
We are all of us asking: Who saw him die?
I said the fly; with my little eye, I saw him die. He said goodbye before he died.
Who caught his blood? I said the fish with my little dish, I caught his blood.
Who will sew his shroud? I, said the beetle, With my thread and needle, I will sew his shroud.
Who will dig his grave? I, said the crow, With my spade and hoe, I will dig his grave.
Who will hold the torch? I said the dee, If you will stand by me, I will hold the torch.
Who will carry Robin to his grave? I, said the heron, With my wings spread wide, I will carry him there.
Who will bring the pall? I said Grey Owl, I’d be honoured to carry his Pall.
Who will officiate? I, said the hawk; if it isn't too dark, I will officiate. And I’ll be calling on all of you, as there is much to be said now that Robin is dead.
Who will be the Clerk? I said the Lark. I will write in the book, I will be the clerk.
Who will lay him in? I said the crane; in the sun or in the rain, I will lay him in.
Who will sing his song? I said the Barn swallow, from the rafters, I will sing. A lament for us all and dear Robin’s end.
Who will weep and mourn? I said the marsh wren, For my grief might never end; I will weep and mourn.
Who will toll the Bell? I will said the Dove, in Mourning and with love.
And all the Birds in the air fell to sighing and sobbing as they bade farewell to poor cock robin.
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https://linktr.ee/PiaInterlandi Pia Interlandi — Garments for the Grave.
https://kinkaraco.com/ Esmeralda Kent — Kinkaraco
https://www.lastdanceshrouds.com/ Dina Stander — Last Dance Shrouds
https://blog.nature.org/2016/05/17/recovery-saving-american-burying-beetles-endangered-undertakers/