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Down on the Farm On a one-of-a-kind farm in Tennessee, bodies grow ripe in the Southern sun. (New York Times Magazine, Dec 3, 2000)

H igher up the slopes, there are other bodies. Three men embalmed by a local funeral home are spread in a row, their

well-preserved flesh noticeably thicker and tougher. Marks stoops to examine their dark orange toes. It seems that the raccoons have sneaked in again, and they have a fondness for toes. For this reason, another more recent arrival sprawls protected behind a wire cage. It's a middled-age [sic] woman who has begun to bloat slightly. Honeybees swarm her mouth and nostrils, searching for the eggs that blowflies like to lay in the body's dark cavities. To me, this intense insect commotion adds a note of horror, but Marks insists that the interaction between insects and corpses is one of the crucial areas of his research. "Insects are a vital key for us," he explains. "More than anything, we're trying to establish the exact time since death. We can determine that often by seeing how fat the maggots are or what stage the insect cycle is at. Insects are our friends. I especially love maggots. They're information bombs!" ...

(Chapter 3)

Died Orange Man is turned into pumpkin for Halloween. (Chapter 5) Slaughterhouse Wive Hell hath no fury like an abbatoiress spurned. (Chapter 6)

Cigarettes Will Kill You And we all thought smoking them was bad enough. (Chapter 5) Did Someone Say "Duck!"? Jetskier runs afowl of low-altitude mallard. (Chapter 4)

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