4 Spring 2016 Applegater
Grower of Souls
Unexpected visitor
BY LILY MYERS KAPLAN
BY BARBARA ELLIS
My first career was born from
my love for the earth. Working in a
greenhouse, I tended to nature. Planting,
propagating and pruning. Feeding
and watering. Back then (long before
marijuana farms) I was called a Grower.
Tending to the soul of nature was
foundational to my service. Forty years—
and several careers—later, I still tend to
nature—the inner nature of humans and
the essential nature of all beings.
A unifying thread winds through my
subsequent careers—from horticulture-
therapist to program director, from
workshop leader to hospice volunteer
manager, and finally, to minister and
soul-coach. Death is that thread, a
necessary force for transformation.
Transformation is expressed when
leaves fallen from trees decay into
nutrient-rich compost, feeding seedlings-
to-come. It is in the organic flow of
seasons—the vitality of summer dying
into autumn, then winter, followed by
new forms sprouting in spring.
So, too, death-as-transformation
is expressed through cycles of human
development. Teens die to adolescence in
order to become adults. Old patterns of
behavior give way to new, healthier ones
as we grow. Graduating from college and
leaving a job or home requires a death
of the old life in order for a new one to
be born.
For me it was the actual, real
deaths of my family, one right after the
other, which stunned, then catalyzed
transformation in life-as-I-knew-it. I’d
sat beside the deathbed of my father,
followed two years later by my mom.
Three months after that I ushered my
sister across the threshold, then, in nine
months, her husband, in a gestational
symbolism. I underwent a death of my
own after all that loss. Confronting
my own mortality, I knew—with the
kind of knowing that is far more than
understanding—how precious it is to
be alive. I vowed not to squander my
life-force.
The very idea of living more deeply
in tandem with nature—honoring its
cycles and caring for what I most deeply
value—became an urgent call. Putting
to rest a life in the vibrant Bay Area, I
moved to the equally, yet differently,
vibrant Applegate, where I have mapped
these cycles in a Medicine Wheel crafted
on my land.
Medicine Wheels are symbolic
str uctures found in native and
indigenous cultures world-wide. From
the monolithic rock circles of Stonehenge
to simpler, non-intrusive footprints left
by native peoples in North America,
Medicine Wheels often look much like
wagon wheels lying on their sides—
spokes marking each of the four cardinal
directions. Built with natural objects
gathered from the lands upon which they
rest, they symbolize wholeness.
The wheel on our land has, at
its center, a pole reaching to the sky,
surrounded by a single circle creating a
center-place filled with objects—simple
offerings from friends who recognize the
potency that has gathered there. They
recognize it as a place that honors all
life—human and other-than-human—
and its inherent cycles.
Walking the trail to this wheel, this
place here in the Applegate, I know that
no matter what is stirring in me or in
the hearts of those who join me, we will
remember that in the east there is always
and forevermore a new beginning—a
sunrise, spring, and birth or rebirth. I
take solace in recounting that, in the
south, the place of high noon, heat,
summer, and adolescence, there will
always be new ones to bring renewal
and a fresh perspective to the world. In
the west, the place of sunset, and the
maturation of autumn, I find acceptance
of death and its necessity for growth or
change. I often stand in the north, the
place of deepest night, winter, and rest—
where the reflective quality of budding
elderhood soothes my 60-something self
amid a culture which celebrates youth.
My life no longer centers on
careers—more importantly it centers
upon purpose—mine and others’—and
the renewal of seeds that are hidden
below the surface. I take my place in
the circle, carrying my personal mission
and supporting others to honor theirs.
Looking back to my beginning as a
Grower, I recognize this truth: that I am
a Grower still—a Grower of Souls.
Lily Myers Kaplan • 541-708-1383
aboutsoulworks@gmail.com
Wilfred Louis Simendinger
1920 – 2015
Wilfred Louis
AT&T for over 30 years.
Simendinger, who lived
He and his wife Rachel,
for more than 30 years
one of the founders of
on Upper Applegate
Ruch Library, were avid
Road in Jacksonville,
Los Angeles Dodger
passed away on Saturday,
fans. They also loved
December 19, 2015,
backpacking and fishing.
from natural causes.
Wil collected,
Wil grew up
displayed and operated
in Summerhill,
antique toy trains, and
Pe n n s y l v a n i a , a n d
will be remembered
served in the US Navy
by the local Applegate
during World War II.
Train Club. He also will
Wilfred
Louis
Simendinger
He worked for the
be remembered for his
on his 94th birthday on
Pennsylvania Railroad
work as president of the
September 10, 2015.
before and after serving
McKee Bridge Historical
in the navy.
Society to help save the
After moving to La Mirada, historic McKee Bridge.
California, he was a city councilman
Wil is survived by daughter Terry
and mayor for 11 years and worked for and sons Mark and Tim Simendinger. Wil
One spring day I was on the deck,
soaking in the exhilarating energies of
renewed life. Enjoying the relaxation, I
stretched forward as I remained seated
and, for a brief moment, my gaze angled
downward. Just then, a small winged
creature alit on the strap of my sandal.
My first impression—admittedly,
a very telling one of my human
perspective—was that this critter was
ugly. Knowing better, I immediately
redirected my thoughts to the beauty that
had to be the true essence of this visitor.
While welcoming it, I also thanked it
for respectfully avoiding direct contact
with my skin!
When I engaged in intuitive
communication, my guest seemed
mildly surprised, but not so startled
as to beat a hasty retreat. I was in no
hurry and neither, evidently, was it. We
lounged peacefully while absorbing and
becoming acquainted with one another’s
energy. Once I sensed an adequate level
of comfort, I asked for permission to
view it more closely—unless that would
be received as a disrespectful intrusion.
With its consent, I gently raised my
still-sandaled foot. Closer inspection
confirmed the creature’s six legs and two
antennae. Perhaps an inch long, its back
looked like that of a flat-shelled water
turtle; it was dark green, speckled with
black, and fringed uniformly around
the edges. Now I was genuinely able to
admire its physical beauty, in addition
to its profound inner beauty. Yet I still
expressed gratitude for its courtesy of
remaining perched exclusively on the
fabric of my shoe.
Though my primary focus was
on my new friend, I couldn’t refrain
from feeling awed by the vibrancy of
color I had already been enjoying in
the vicinity. It occurred to me to ask
this being if it experienced comparable
appreciation of such joyful displays of
nature. Yes, it replied, but not in the
same manner as people do. Rather than
a predominantly visual affectation, its
species takes in the exquisite emotion or
feeling evoked from the bountiful colors
of the natural world. Furthermore, it
seems to compartmentalize the various
feelings in different locations within its
physical form. Wow! I paused to imagine
this type of experience. As foreign as it
struck me, there would be some definite
advantages. Beyond the poignancy of
undiluted emotion, which could be
almost incomprehensibly delightful,
the separation of feelings could alleviate
the debilitating chaos that results from
tumultuous concurrent emotions.
I decided to ask my visitor if it
would like to extend a message to a
larger audience. Belying its steadfast
stillness, this critter exuded elation at the
prospect of the invitation. Might this be
the purpose of the encounter? It reveled
in the idea of sharing that which it had
guided me to perceive experientially in
a matter of mere seconds. Here’s the
challenge: how do I verbally express
that which is so foreign to the common
human experience as to not have words
allocated for it within our languages?
My best attempt will inevitably fall
woefully short of an accurate portrayal.
Nevertheless, here goes. Color, or light
in general, is multidimensional to the
extent that I literally stepped into it, as
if into a whole new world. It surrounded
me in relative closeness yet did not even
begin to feel stifling. I found myself
reaching out to touch that which I
would not have recognized as light from
my conventional experience. It was
gorgeous. It was fluid, moving in graceful
undulations, almost like breathing,
although less rhythmically regimented.
Its composition included changing
contours. I gleaned an impression of
texture, as well, but this surreal-seeming
event came to a conclusion before I
could get any idea of potentially apt
similes. The world of light into which
I momentarily entered felt intricate
without being garish. Again, I wish
that I possessed the ability to articulate
the experience well enough for you to
perceive it as your own.
Let me assure you that I am of
entirely sound mind. I was under the
influence of neither intoxicants nor
mind-altering drugs. Such an “organic”
high is provided from Nature itself and
available for all. It is the feeling of pure
connection with others’ inspirational
perceptions and wisdom.
Barbara Ellis
barbara@interspecies-inspirations.com
left seven grandchildren: granddaughters
Rachel Stull, Ellie Brink, Anna Baker,
and Rebecca Bramnick, and grandsons
Ben, Luke, and Chad Simendinger. He
also left nine great-grandchildren: Peter
and Isabella Stull; Addison, Emelia,
Elliot, and Charlee Baker; Sydney and
Maddox Brink; and Malia Simendinger.
Wil’s ashes will be interred next to
his wife of over 50 years, Rachel Sorrells
Simendinger, at Eagle Point National
Cemetery in Eagle Point, Oregon.
— N O T I C E —
The Community Calendar,
usually found on this page, has
been temporarily relocated
to our website at
www.applegater.org.
We hope to return the calendar
to this location
in the near future.
ONLINE ARTICLE
Visit our website to read a
timeless article, “Riparian
ecosystems: At your
service,” by the late Tim
Franklin, written while
he was project manager at
Applegate Partnership &
Watershed Council.
