She was a woman of sharp mind and unyielding strength, a professor and a fierce feminist whose presence could feel distant, even formidable. Yet those who stepped close enough discovered another truth: behind the armour was a heart that gave freely, with quiet kindness and unshakable generosity.

​

When illness touched her life, Joyce faced it with clarity. She asked not for stone or marble to mark her passing, but for life to grow where she would rest. She chose a tree burial pod; her body returning to the earth, nourishing a seed that would rise in her place.​

​

And so, in 2018, beneath the hush of a woodland, we laid her to rest. An apple tree now grows above her, branches stretching skyward, blossoms carrying her spirit on the wind. Her farewell was not only sorrow, but celebration: a life of conviction, of principle, of love.

​

Though Joyce no longer walks among us, she lives in every leaf, every apple, every shadow beneath that tree, a presence rooted in the earth, forever becoming.