As early as 2005, her family began discussing a project to regenerate a section of land that was looking sparse. One person brought up the idea of putting in a cemetery. “It just kind of melded together and evolved naturally,” says Walmsley. “We want to plant trees. We want a cemetery. Then we may as well plant ourselves.”
After a 15-year journey, their urupā, or burial ground, is finally ready. What once was an empty plot with a lone pine tree is now a picturesque meadow filled with native trees and shrubs. As Walmsley points out, the Māori refer to themselves as tangata whenua, or people of the land, so it is only fitting that they go back into the land to nourish it. All things are connected through mauri — a life force or energy that is continually transferred from the people to the land, and vice versa.
Historically, Māori wrapped their dead in whāriki(mats) and placed the bodies in shallow graves, caves, or sometimes tree hollows. However, by the early twentieth century, most had adopted the practices of the European settlers — employing the services of undertakers to prepare the bodies, with burial done in coffins six-feet under or in mausoleums. Walmsley’s urupā is a step toward reclamation of traditional Māori practices.
She, along with other Māori, are hoping to bring more of these customs to the forefront and are resurrecting lost rituals around burials, from prayers and incantations, to methods of preparing the body. Weavers like Pania Roa are helping to bring back the art of making kopaki, or hand-woven burial mats.
Made from the same harakeke as Dewes’ delicate paper shrouds, Roa’s kopaki are intricately woven mats that are wrapped around the body before being placed in the earth. Roa began weaving as a teenager but has shifted to making kopaki in recent years. One of her mentors, Maata Wharehoka, revitalized the practice in the early 2000s, and in turn Roa now teaches workshops to others so that they can become self-sufficient in making their own kopaki.