Groundwaters

Who are they? … the inside “scoop” on some of your favorite local writers

August 19, 2008 on 10:36 pm | In Contributor profiles | No Comments

Herbert “Herbie” Medlin

Herbie Medlin has agreed to be first in a series of profiles on some of the writers who have shared their special talents with the readers of Groundwaters. I hope to include one profile a month, if possible — no promises, though!

Herbie first submitted his poem, “Once Upon a Dream” to Groundwaters for the Fall 2007 issue. Actually, he submitted a number of poems at once and has allowed us to print them “as needed.” We’ve since published one or more of his poems in each issue, my favorite being “Winter Rose” (Winter 2008) and I have become his biggest fan. There is a gentleness to his writing that reveals a quiet respect for life and the people who live it.

Herbie grew up in the Bethel-Danebo area of Eugene and graduated from Willamette High School in 1972. He spent his childhood on a farm – milking cows, gathering eggs, feeding livestock – and he earned money for school clothes in the bean and berry fields and walnut orchards. He joined the local fire department as a volunteer when he was 16 and remained a member for 16 more years. After graduation, Herbie joined the U.S. Army as a firefighter/crash rescue specialist and was stationed at Fort Stewart, south of Savannah, Georgia. He was assigned to the 238th aviation attack helicopter unit.

“Most of our time was spent 20 miles from the main post at a heli-pad in the swamp – not much to see there but snakes and opossums.” He earned his EMT certificate while there. Nineteen months later, he was transferred to Puukuloa Training Area on Hawaii.

Herbie has worked a lot of jobs since then, trying to find something that he really enjoyed doing, but allergies and a permanent wrist injury have limited his options. His favorites over the years were horse logging and auto body repair, but he had to give up both eventually. He is now driving a dump truck for Delta Sand and Gravel.

When he is not working or taking care of his elderly father, Herbie enjoys spending time in the Coast Range, picking mushrooms, camping, hunting and relaxing.

“There are some days I just drive from Horton all the way to the coast on the mountain roads. The serenity and beauty always refresh me.”

The stress caused by his inability to do the work he loves and an unsuccessful marriage have turned him inward and his “scribblings” over the years have been therapeutic, providing him a much-needed outlet for the stress and resulting depression that began to build.

“A friend gave me a copy of Groundwaters and said I should submit something. After much thought, I did and have been surprised and humbled at your response. Groundwaters is the only place I have submitted anything to so far. You have spoiled me with your kindness.”

Be assured, Herbie, we’ll continue to do so as long as you want to be a part of the Groundwaters family.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Winter Rose

There is nothing more vibrant than a winter rose.
Its shear existence is a thing of beauty defying time
with its strength and grace.
More so even in the morning light with frost as a
veil trying to hide what lies beneath.

This is not so only in the garden, but in life as well.
The most vibrant, colorful women I know are no longer
of the spring but of early fall and on into late winter,
yet showing no signs of wilting or fading –
defying time with such grace that one forgets
winter even exists.

~Herbie

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In Honor

Somewhere today
A mother cries
Trying to show pride
Through her pain

With feet like clay
And red-rimmed eyes
She takes the long ride
To where her child will be lain

For her Soldier she prays
Who paid the ultimate price
In war they died
From the rockets rain

Taps will play
The salute will fire
As the Soldier’s final ride
Ends in a stone-filled plain

~ Herbie

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Hawk

As I sit in my truck and watch the miles roll by, the boredom and loneliness are a constant com- panion. Once again I find I am not my own best company. Although the heavy fog and ice- covered trees make for a wonderful sight.

Hawks with their own beauty soaring in their false free- dom looking for the next life-giving meal reminds me of the homeless, with their signs asking for help or the ones in a daze with the terrible weight of life showing in their bent shoulders – not seeing or caring about the surrounding beauty, for the cold damp is one of the enemies itself. They are the faceless and nameless legions, that those such as myself are maybe one step away from joining.

Their plight splits my emotions into shards of pity, hope, shame, happiness and most of all fear for the future of these legions and selfishly for me, as I know I am not strong enough to survive if my fate is to join them.

So for now the lonely boredom of my own company is still a dazzling diamond compared to the ones with the signs and the bent shoulders of hopelessness, lost in the beauty of trees of ice crystals and soft white fog.

As for the Hawk it just disappears into the mist adding punctuation to the loneliness and fear within me.

~ Herbie