I have visited those of my ancestors in Holliday, TN and Port Arthur, TX, in Lehigh, IA and Luverne, AL. And now in Clarksburg, MD. I understand the quiet communion that can be had with the memory of those long gone; the connection one can feel through the sight of a engraved, well-known name; the pleasure of placing a rock on the headstone to mark remembrance (though sometimes I imagine the deceased as they are in Our Town, figures in folding chairs with a far larger view of life than the living).
And I understand the wish to be cremated--to refuse participation in this tradition involving leeching chemicals and insulation from the Earth. But it's not for me. When I die, bury me in a shroud or a simple box; plant a tree above me and let me feed it so you can visit me in my shade.