Groundwaters

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

Jo-Brew

My husband, Ken, and I, both went to high school and then college in Southern Oregon and still have some ties there. My first writing was for a high school journalism class, then the school paper and school events for The Ashland Daily Tidings. I was paid for the school events column. A big deal in my mind.

We moved to Springfield when we had four children, one entering high school, two in between and one in pre-school. I taught elementary school in Cottage Grove and then Springfield while Ken was a band director in Springfield and then Bethel.

When the children were through school, I made a foray into the business world and became a Real Estate agent and then a broker. Through both the career in teaching and in Real Estate, I wrote as part of my job but not much beyond. It wasn’t the lack of desire that kept me from moving ahead with the writing, it was my terribly intense battle with the typewriter. I didn’t ever get to the point I was comfortable with it although I typed hundreds, or more likely, thousands of pages. The typewriter made no allowances for thoughts that came faster than the fingers moved.

Several years ago, a gift of a computer from a son who was upgrading opened the doors to a flood of words that still keep coming. I began with a small family history/cookbook project and then began taking classes through Lane Community’s Extension Service. I started with Women Write, moved on to Essays for another year, Short Stories and eventually novels.

Now I write some of each, personal essays, a column for the Creswell Chronicle, the occasional short story and I have six novels published. All of my writing is based on women’s life experiences, even the short stories and the novels. There are elements of all of us in the characters and all our lives in the stories.

The first novel Preserving Cleo is the story of a young wife and mother who married into a farm family and has trouble finding her place in the family. The second, Cleo’s Slow Dance, is a sequel as an older Cleo is left a widow with a farm and teen age children.

From there, I moved to a young career woman making a decision between her desires and those of her mother in Finding Clarice. The last three are each based on women at retirement and they do all have satisfactory endings. What Next, Ms Elliott, is a widow trying to find a new future for herself after living years for her job. Marge, Back On Track, is retiring before she’s ready to take care of her second husband, a stroke victim. In Anne Marie’s New Melody, Anne Marie, the gourmet cook, musician, and childless wife in a fairly new marriage finds her future travel plans interrupted by her husband’s grandchildren.

The columns and personal essays are all drawn from my own life and often include family members, particularly grandchildren who have opened our minds to so many new experiences.

Family gatherings and events are important to both of us and have enriched our lives in countless ways.

With only two of us in the house now and no day job, I’m less confined with chores and can do more picking and choosing. I write several hours a day, garden a lot and take an active part in several organizations that are specifically aimed at helping women break down barriers or benefit education, AAUW, Mom’s Rising, I Stand For Children and the Women’s Business Network. Of course I belong to a few writing associations also, mainly Willamette Writers and Women Writing The West.

Jo-Brew’s “Favorite Place”

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“Anne Marie’s New Melody,” the latest novel by Jo-Brew is now available. Anne Marie, a musician, gourmet cook and a woman of the senses retires to spend more time with Robert. She had been widowed once and does not want to miss the opportunity to enjoy a traveling companion or more time for the activities she enjoys. Without experiencing children of her own, she was unprepared to contemplate assuming a parental role for Robert’s grandchildren. Nor was she prepared to give up her relationship with Robert. It takes a Disneyland moment of self discovery for her to find the road to the life she wants.

It is the last in the series of three northwest women and the retirement choices they make. “Anne Marie’s New Melody,” is available through some independent bookstores, from Jo in person, from www.bbotw.com or from www.Jo-Brew.com. For information about appearances and sources, go to www.Jo-Brew.com or watch for announcements.

Excerpt from Anne Marie’s New Melody

Anne Marie put those memories aside as she got closer to home and let herself move on to pleasant thoughts about the evening to come. Robert had suggested the two of them go out for a wonderful dinner. He’d probably have reservations in Eugene, at the Country Club or maybe the Marche. She’d love French. Flowers or a gift were almost a sure thing. She let herself think about fun private activities after dinner. All in all, a real celebration.

She’d need to be careful not to let him see the concerns she had about retiring. Marge was right. She was used to being a leader. The change would be hard. She couldn’t imagine how they’d spend so much time together. She’d always worked most of the year, even before they were married.

They’d had individual lives for the biggest part of the day. Nearly every evening they spent the first hour or so after she came home discussing their separate activities over a glass of wine. That exchange kept their marriage intermingled.

Now they’d be together all the time except for the occasional trip he made to spend a day working on his mother’s house and the one afternoon a week he played golf with his son Eric. They wouldn’t have anything to talk about, not even separate friends they saw on a regular basis. She was going to have to find new interests. She hoped he would also make an effort or they’d run into problems.

Then there was the cooking situation. The last several years he’d taken over the meals on weekdays while she worked. By the time summer came around and she was home, he was ready for a break. She’d want to do more of the cooking now, take her kitchen back. Her cookbooks were all tagged to mark new recipes she wanted to try and old favorites she wanted to repeat.

What’s Been Happenin’?

I apologize for the long delay in our blog. The past three weeks have proven to be busier than I anticipated and I just haven’t been able to get anything written. I guess that I should be much more organized and have several postings written ahead of time, but so far, that hasn’t happened… and I don’t know that it will for me, anyway. I don’t think that I’m alone in this type of procrastination. Each of us gets so caught up in our own lives and the lives of those around us, that sometimes we must just live one day at a time in order to get through it all. I’ve always been an advocate of planning ahead a bit, however.

If excuses are needed, I guess that two major ones pop into my mind. My mother, who just turned 93 years of age on September 28, came to visit for a week. If I have to live to such an advanced age, I hope that I am allowed to have the sharpness of mind and wit and the desire to live life to its fullest that define this beautiful lady who is my mother. She lives in Bend, Oregon with her husband of 19 years in a senior retirement complex where she leads an active life centered around crafts, games, reading, and wine and cheese parties among her friends. Each year she crafts wonderful things to give to her family and sell at holiday bazaars. In years past when her eyesight was a little clearer, she made delicate cross-stitch bookmarks. Last year, she made colorful tote bags. This year, her beautiful southwestern-look macrame beaded key chains are being taken in and sold in stores. She’s one of the main “home-run hitters” on her beanbag baseball team and she frequently comes up a winner in her pinochle and bingo games. She and a group of other ladies have once-a-month wine and cheese parties, rotating among their individual apartments. When her body, which needs to be supported by her bright purple walker if she is on her feet too long, gets tired, she loves to sit quietly and read and/or take a daily nap.

So, when she asked us if she could visit my sister and I for the week of her birthday, we laid aside any other plans we had so that we could enjoy and celebrate her presence in our lives. What an honor that is for us.

One of the things that I needed to do before her arrival was to complete the October issue of Groundwaters. The computer and printer that I use to print the issues lives in the bedroom in our home that is set aside for my mother’s visits. The printing process gives off an odor while the pages are being spewed out, so I knew that I needed to have them all printed before her arrival. By the time we went over to get her last Thursday, the issue had been printed and put aside until this week’s distribution.

We took Mama home yesterday and Pat, Jen and I will begin placing the issues in our distribution points today. You’ll find that this issue does not have quite the variety of authors that many do. Summer is a bad time to get people to send in their submissions – everyone is so busy – so we decided to feature those that were submitted along with our own writings that are sometimes put aside so that we can showcase others. My mother teasingly called it our “family issue.” I guess, in a way, it is. Besides my brother Jim’s and my contributions this time, the works of two of our granddaughters and our daughter, Kelly, appear. Of our Groundwaters’ family, Jen, Judy and Sonny have included a couple of wonderful pieces We were able to include three of Norm Maxwell’s stories. Norm is a prolific writer and sends us his writings almost weekly. We also were able to print more poems and song lyrics from Elizabeth Tyler Brown, Herbie and Spyder that we have in large numbers. The writings of other “Groundwaters family members” Nichole Bain, Riley Chambers, Tom Howell, Wanda Edwards, Avis Rust, Karen Vosika, Nick and Joe DeAngelo are also included. We take great pleasure in introducing Karen Wickham, Rebecca Bain, Don Baker, Bridgett Johnson-Elliott and Linsey Kau to our Groundwaters readers, as well.

I hope that you enjoy this issue. We take special delight in presenting it to you!

Themes and things…

The October issue of Groundwaters is almost complete. It’s so much fun to see how each issue shapes up. At the beginning of each, we’re not sure how it will look or what it will include. Oh, we usually know ahead of time what our cover is going to look like and because we have a theme each quarter, we have our own articles and poems to include. But, we never know what wonderful works will arrive on our doorstep from our readers and contributors. That’s the fun part!

I thought that I’d explain our use of themes. Even though we assign a one-word theme for each issue, we don’t require that our entire content be centered around it – but it’s fun if as many pieces as possible do. We try to select themes that can mean different things to different people. The October/Fall 2008 theme is “Root.” The word “root” can refer to a tree or a plant’s underpinnings or it can refer to one’s heritage or the beginning or foundation of something. It can mean “to cheer” for one’s team or refer to the way a hog digs in the ground with its nose for food.

The January/Winter 2009 issue’s theme is “Refresh.” This theme is a little more obscure and will make our writers think a bit harder about what they want to write. It can mean to begin again or to quench one’s thirst, or to change one’s thinking or actions, among others. The fun part is to see how many different meanings our contributors come up with to express the theme.

The theme for April/Spring 2009 is “Wonder;” the one selected for the July/Summer 2009 issue is “Light” while the October/Winter 2009 theme is “Journey.”

I hope that more of our writers will begin using our themes. One of those who has come on board only recently, but has managed to come up with some wonderful theme-based stories and poems, is Wanda Edwards of the Celeste Campbell Senior Center writers group in Eugene. She reflects the enthusiasm and the imagination that we are hoping to inspire and encourage in others.

We also try to match our content with the seasons and holidays covered by each quarter, too. Unfortunately, it sometimes delays publication for some submissions because they are submitted at the end of a particular season. Two works in the October issue are good examples. “Winter Waiting” was submitted to us by Karen Wickham last January after the Winter issue had already been published. We asked Karen if she would mind if we held it until at least our Fall issue covering the quarter of October through December. I think you’ll find that it’s well worth the wait. Another example that we are including this go-round is “Stumplord,” a story about tree planting in Oregon by Norm Maxwell. He sent it to us last Fall. Even though it would have been appropriate in the January 2008 issue, as well, we decided to hold it for our October “Root”-themed issue.

We encourage the writers groups who are increasingly using Groundwaters for some of their activities to use our themes as a writer’s challenge. And, by all means, send us your best! That’s what we are here for! We want to showcase the untapped talent we have in our local area. Even if you live outside of Lane County, don’t let that stop you from submitting. Groundwaters is gaining popularity in other areas, too. After all, good writing has no boundaries!

What’s Been Happenin’?

I have begun my Groundwaters contributor profiles but because of the logistics, I will try to post one every month… weekly would be too much of a stretch for me, I’m afraid.

We are busily preparing the Fall issue of GW for its October release date. I’m struck by the fact that it doesn’t have as many submitters as usual, but the quality is excellent, I think. Summer is a hard time for people to sit down and get much work done at their computers. It’s a time to get outside during what little free time most of us have and enjoy Oregon’s wonderful sunshine and summer breezes. It’s a busy time for other things, too.

The month of August was especially busy for our Groundwaters staff. We started it off with our monthly meeting on August 8. The next day, I met 23 descendants of the Jost and Jerusha Petrie family at King Estates Winery in Lorane to show them around the area where their great great grandparents had settled in the late 1800s. It was a fun day for not only them, but for me and their “tour guide,” Walt Hayes, as well. You may have read my story about the Petries in the September 4, 2008 edition of the West Lane News, but if you missed it, I am including it in the October issue of Groundwaters. It’s an interesting one.

Then, on Sunday, August 10, I opened the doors to the Dew Drop Inn, future home of Groundwaters, for another garage sale. My granddaughter, Hayley, “manned” the sale while I attended the Lorane Old Timers’ Picnic held at the Grange. That afternoon, Lorane celebrated its annual Ice Cream Social at the Fire Hall. It was such a busy day at the two events that Hayley didn’t have any traffic at the garage sale at all, but she was placated by having a great lunch at the picnic with dessert following at the ice cream social. We finally closed up early and went home around 4:00 p.m.

On Wednesday and Friday, August 13 and 15, I was invited to sit at the Oregon Author’s Table at the Lane County Fair. It was a very enjoyable experience for me. On Wednesday, I sat between Register-Guard columnists Bob Welch and Dorcas Smucker – both writers that I respect and admire. On Friday, I got to spend the day next to Jo-Brew, author and columnist for the Creswell Chronicle and Jane Lindaman, author of wonderful children’s books. I handed out a lot of Groundwaters magazines to fair-goers and authors alike and even sold a few of my books, so those two days were very enjoyable and successful for me, as well.

Jo-Brew and Herbie Medlin posed together for this picture at the 2008 Lane County Fair’s Oregon Authors Table.

Jen Chambers was busy in her own right. She attended the Willamette Writers Conference in Portland on August 15 and not only promoted Groundwaters there, but also picked up a lot of interest from literary agents for her first novel dealing with traumatic brain injuries. Congratulations, Jen! I’m attaching her report on the conference below.

Then, Jen, Pat Broome and I attended the Fern Ridge Library’s FRIENDfest on Saturday, August 23. Pat is the newly-elected chairman of the Library Board and was busy in that capacity at their table. Jen and I spent the 1:00 to 2:00 p.m. time slot reading from our respective books. We had an audience the whole time and I know that it was as much fun for the two of us as it was for those we were reading to.

I’m looking forward to Fall. The few days of rain we’ve had lately have been refreshing and I can feel the season beginning its gradual change. I just hope it doesn’t change too swiftly.

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Willamette Writers Conference
By Jennifer Chambers

I just returned from the annual Willamette Writers Conference in Portland, Oregon, a weekend devoted to the craft and fellowship with other writers. I had a wonderful time. I generally do when I indulge in the habit of further education. Plus, I was hoping to promote Groundwaters while I was there.

Such conferences are made up of mini-seminars from which to choose, in any given time slot. Since you have limited time, and the rooms generally have limited space, it’s prudent to plan well and know what you want to see going in. This was especially true for me, as I would only be able to attend one day.

I was most looking forward to a session by writer and editor Elizabeth Lyon, with whom I have had an e-mail dialogue about the magazine, and who I’ve just missed meeting on several occasions. I came into the session fueled up on endless cups of very good coffee (one of the perks at seminars in the NW) and intended to write down furiously all the bits of wisdom the veteran could brew up. I was also amped and coming off the adrenaline from a pitch session with an agent, to be honest, but it was one of those sessions that happened in my life at just the right time, the perfect doppio to my double-shot.

Ms. Lyon’s session was called, “Writing and Revising Your Novel’s Query, Synopsis, and Two Pages.” Her talk was informative, well organized and concise, but left room for questions and answers both during and afterwards. The initial focus was on the dreaded Query. Use the five paragraph format, Lyon explained: pitch, synopsis of no more than two paragraphs, short biography, and communication information. Lyon went on to illustrate with actual queries taken anonymously from her estimated 200 queries floating around her office. The anonymity was nice; I’m sure my query letters from the past could have been on her “bad examples” list. The sum of her seminar was that you should spend time crafting the query, not just the manuscript. The information was presented concisely, was well organized, and Lyon gave us a worksheet for further interest. It was a fantastic way for me to salivate over what more I could find in her book.

Another helpful session was given by Marilyn Allen; “How to Query and Pitch to Get Agents’ and Editors’ Attention.” Can you sense a theme in my class choices? Allen, too, used a handout to recap the information contained in the seminar. Her alliterative advice was fun: The Hook, The Book and the Cook. The “Hook,” is the pitch, the concisely-put teaser to make an agent want to know more. The “Cook,” is the writers’ credentials. For instance, if you want to write a cookbook, it helps if you’re Emeril—or at least that you’re a chef, a licensed nutritionist, etc. Cook credentials are your B.A., your professional experience, or the thing that makes you informed on your subject. The “Book.” of course, is your special material, condensed.

I was able to spread the word about Groundwaters, too. In fact, the person who sat next to me at lunch is going to submit her story of an alternative publishing experience. I was able to glean so much workable advice from the day. Each session was useful, and the speakers nationally recognized as masters of their craft. I recommend that anyone who wants to be a serious writer attend conferences regularly. Ms. Lyon was kind enough to sign my copy of her new book, and I’m using it right now to revise the manuscript the agents were interested in at the conference. Commitment to the craft. That’s what I want for my writing. That, and another cup of coffee, to stay up to revise the darn thing.

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

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.

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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

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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

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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

Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

Jennifer Byers Chambers

Jen Chambers was one of Judy’s first volunteers with Groundwaters and is the person on our team who provides the youth and fresh ideas that keep us all on track. Jen’s eagerness to carry out the projects that she takes on usually guarantees success. She’s not afraid of new directions and seeks out knowledge on how best to proceed whether it is through writing conferences, mentors or research. She’s the fiction writer on our team. Her wonderful imagination and her ability to make characters and settings come to life for her readers will ensure that she will get noticed some day soon by the publishing world.

Besides being an excellent writer, Jen is the mother of two (Riley and Quinn) and the wife of Ryan Chambers, a teacher and coach at Mapleton High School.

Jen has written for numerous publications including the Register-Guard and The West Lane News. She is in the process of marketing her book, Learning Life, which is the story about two women’s struggles with traumatic brain injury and how daily chores affect their lives. “TBI” is a much too familiar subject for Jen, who has lived her story following a near-fatal car accident during her high school years at Crow High School.

She is a member of Willamette Writers Group and the Brain Injury Association of America. You can find examples of her work and links to magazines and brain-injury-related sites on her website at http://www.geocities.com/jenniferbyerschambers.

I am including for your enjoyment a sample of Jen’s writing entitled “The Price of Recovery” that was published in Volume 4 Issue 1, the October 2007 winter issue of Groundwaters.

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The Price of Recovery

Traumatic Brain Injury Support Group
6:00 Wednesday
All Welcome

The other people in the support group were easy to loathe on sight. The idea of meeting with a bunch of other freaks was not something that would make her feel better at his point. Tom, the therapist, would say that she was cutting herself off before she started, but he was full of shit anyway. He didn’t know what it was like.

“Hello?” A woman in a gray suit jacket and pencil skirt raised her hand, waved it around for attention. “Excuse me? Everybody? It’s time to get started.”

The people milling about the large meeting room slowly filed in to their seats. No one sat in the front; all the rows were wide in order to accommodate the various pieces of equipment that assisted the TBI survivors. SarahBeth didn’t bother to hide the disgust she felt at being in the same room with these people. Lip curled, she hobbled with her walker, much slower than she would have liked, never looking up from the cracked tile until she got to her own chair. For a relatively easy retreat, she selected one on the interior aisle near the back and maneuvered herself into the orange plastic bucket seat.

“All right,” the lady in charge was sweating profusely through the faint shadow of a moustache on her upper lip. “It’s time to get to know each other. Now, you don’t have to say your name if you don’t want to. If you aren’t comfortable, say ‘pass,’ okay?” In a businesslike manner, she pushed up the sleeves of her jacket until they were three-quarters length and checked the dial of a thin gold watch. “Just want to get started on time,” she looked at the group, eyes wide and reflected in chunky glasses ten years out of date. “Okay. I’m Melody Gates, and I’m a support group facilitator. My son died from a traumatic brain injury six years ago this fall.”

“Hi, Melody,” some of the more experienced support-groupers chorused. Oh, please, SarahBeth thought, like I need AA. I don’t even want to see these people, let alone identify with them. The chair was uncomfortable, and she could feel the stares of the people around the room settle on her like pins in a butterfly’s wings.

“Oh.” It took a minute to find the words, and her face burned with embarrassment. Would it always take this long? “S- SarahBeth,” she forced out at last, and ducked her head to hide the anger. God, she should have just said “Pass,” what an idiot. Since her head was down she didn’t have to look anyone in the eye, especially that kid in the special wheelchair, the one with a breathing tube. She was definitely not as bad as him. His mom held up a straw for him to drink from. Oh crap, they were still waiting. It felt like time spun thick in the air while she waited it out, but thank goodness Melody stepped in.

“Thank you, SarahBeth,” she said with a big smile, “I’m sure I read about you. Everyone, SarahBeth here’s the one who was trapped in a car for seven days. Remember? Up on the mountain there? Well, here you are. Nice to see you, SarahBeth.” It was hard to tell if Melody was sincere; her voice had a ring of admiration in it but her eyes were soft with pity.

There was no way she was going to talk to any of these people. The only stuff she could remember before she was trapped in the car was not good, so why talk about that? What was she supposed to say, in a group like this? Hi, I’m SarahBeth; my brain’s totally screwed up, nice to meet you? That is, if she could find a way to make the right words come out of her mouth. A few bits of black fingernail polish remained on her fingernails, and she concentrated on chipping them off to tune the group out.

The person to her left was finished speaking at long last. “You are supposed to have sympathy for people less fortunate than you,” a phrase her foster mother said like a mantra, floated through her mind. Well, foster mom wasn’t stuck here in the loony bin with a bunch of crazies.

“I’m Dr. Catalano. I’m a Brain Trauma Physician here at the hospital. I like to check out the support group when I can.” He waved his right hand to the crowd, gave a reassuring smile. “I brought a guest. This is Maggie McLeod. She was a patient of mine many years ago.”

The woman sitting next to him sat on the outside of the aisle, her back to the wall, watching the people in the room with a guarded look on her face. Her hair, halfway pulled up, was more brown than red. Fish-belly white skin showed as her sleeve rode up when she, too, raised her hand to wave.

“I’m Maggie.” A deep, in through the nose, out through the mouth breath escaped before she went on. “I used to live here too.”

It was said with some surprise, whether as to her being here, or as to her being lucky enough to get out, SarahBeth couldn’t tell. It was hideous having someone from the outside see her. Who did she think she was, coming in here all… normal? Misery overtook SarahBeth. Drawing her walker to her, she leaned her upper body on its support and felt the peculiar aloneness one can only experience when surrounded by people who ostensibly feel what you feel.

Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

Jim Burnett (aka Jimminy Cricket – yes, he knows that’s not the correct spelling for the other Jiminy!

Jim Burnett

I’ve known Jim all of my life – literally. He’s my brother. When he learned that I was becoming involved in a literary magazine, his interest was immediately piqued. Jim has always been the philosopher in the family. His thoughts and meditations run deep. He has always loved to delve into the whys and the why nots of life and has studied many religions and beliefs. In fact, he has long had his own ministry based on the faith of the Unity (not Unitarian) faith. He has performed marriages and led worships for many years.

Jim is the father of eight as well as grandfather and great-grandfather of many. He and his wife Jonni live in a 5th wheel RV which they have taken to many destinations around the U.S. the past few years since they both retired. Unfortunately, with gas prices being what they are currently, their wings have been somewhat clipped this year and they have stayed pretty close to their original home of Portland, Oregon. In addition, Jim’s oldest son, J.R., has been undergoing very traumatic treatment for throat cancer this year and it’s really the main reason he and Jonni have wanted to stay close by.

Jim loves the written word, as well as the spoken one. He reads voraciously and has long been a reviewer for a statewide writer’s association.

Life isn’t all mental gymnastics for him, though. He is a natural “Santa Claus” and he frequently allows his snow white beard and hair to grow out a bit as the holidays approach. He’s the real thing, not only in appearance, but his love for children and for the holiday season adds that unique sparkle to his eyes that cannot be replicated by those without “the gift.”

The Groundwaters staff is so privileged to have Jim as a member and contributor – even if it is a long-distance membership/relationship.

Jim hasn’t been able to provide an autobiographical sketch for the blog, so instead, I am including here a special story he wrote for the Winter 2008 “choice” issue. It will give you an idea of his writing style and a flavor of who “Jimminy Cricket” really is…

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Apricot Tree
By Jim Burnett

Before I lay this mortal by, I want to become an apricot tree. Many years ago, I bought a house with a large yard that included three trees. One was a nectarine tree, bearing wonderful fruit year after year; one was a white Dogwood tree which celebrated the coming of each spring with an abundance of blossoms. The other tree… well, it was my mystery tree. According to leaf and bark, it was obviously some kind of fruit, but no one knew what kind. It had been barren – blossom-less – for many years. Each year, I tended and pruned each tree, but the mystery tree continued to withhold its fruit. Then, one fall as I was pruning, I decided that I would replace the mystery tree the coming spring. To simplify its removal, I pruned its branches, then cut back its limbs so that none smaller than two inches in diameter remained. All winter, that stark skeleton-of-a-tree stood deathlike – its doom sealed by my decision and my cruel saw.

That spring, however, I wore my procrastinator’s mask, and as the weather warmed, the mystery tree began to put forth fresh green sprigs which soon became leaf-filled branches. Because of its seemingly renewed burst of energy, I granted it a stay of execution. Nobody had seen this tree bloom in several decades, but this year, it bloomed! And as the weeks passed, blooms became fruit. My tree was no longer a mystery. There, alongside the nectarine tree, was an apricot tree bearing round, robust fruit – not many, but nevertheless, real apricots. Oh! and what apricots they were! Several decades before, I had plucked and devoured sweet, ripe golf ball-sized apricots from my Grandmother Zander’s tree in Southern California. The apricots in my backyard were twice the size of those, and as they ripened, they radiated an inviting, irresistible golden glow. The tree produced only a couple of dozen of its golden fruit and I think I ate every one, directly from tree to mouth. To say that tree’s fruit was good, is a gross understatement; I had never eaten – before or since – such luscious fruit!

Then, almost as quickly as its last precious fruit was plucked, the tree died. Before any leaf had fallen from the other trees, it had given up its fruit, its leaves and its life-energy. I thought at the time, “What a way to go!”

A couple of weeks later, as the last bits of the tree were reduced to glowing embers and wispy smoke curling up into the sky, I said to myself, “That’s the way I want to go – just like the apricot tree! I want my last efforts on Planet Earth to be spent bearing fruit of such quality that I will be fondly remembered by those who knew me.

Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

Sonny Hays-Eberts, Photographer/Contributor

Sonny Hays-Eberts at Groundwaters party 2007

Sonny Hays-Eberts is the husband of Judy, who founded Groundwaters magazine. Sonny is a database administrator at Oregon State University, but is also a talented photography hobbyist. He has taken many of the pictures featured in Groundwaters as well as designed many of the graphic images used in advertising and features. Sonny has created and designed the Groundwaters website at http://www.groundwaters.org and oversees its growth.

Sonny is best known for his Groundwaters series of articles called “Moments of Valor” in which he profiles the experiences of local military veterans. The respect he has for them is obvious to his readers.

Sonny wrote a biographical sketch about his brother and himself for the January 2008, Volume 4 Issue 3 “Choice” issue. The following piece will tell you a little bit about Sonny and is an excellent example of his writing skills.

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A Matter of Choice
By Sonny Hays-Eberts

Choice. Rarely does such a simple word impact our lives so dramatically. Some choices alter our lives forever. The results of these choices, such as decision to act violently, pursue an unwise business decision or to choose unhealthy or illegal activities can have lifelong consequences.

Some choices segregate us from others. In the realm of politics, religion or sex, the difference in our choices can range from vocally passionate to violent confrontation.

Sadly, I feel, we as a people look at the choices we and others make and use those to distance ourselves from others. We consider only the result of a choice and not the experiences we all share which help mold our own individual choices.

Consider two mythical people who grow up poor and often hungry. As a result of her experience, one person is determined to never be poor or hungry again, and to ensure the same for her family by ensuring fiscal stability for all. Her focus may be on employment opportunities or stock performance. A second individual might use that same experience and yet make choices leading to his efforts to ensure community or global hunger is eradicated. It is likely these people will consider themselves to be at odds philosophically and perhaps find it difficult to understand each other’s choices when they focus on the results of the choice.

For a more concrete and less politically-charged example of how shared experience can shape our choices, I will take a detailed look at the hobbies my brother and I chose to pursue. On the surface, his decision to collect glass and pottery and mine to collect militaria do not seem to share much beyond the aspect of collecting. His collection is fragile, colorful and based on art and the beauty of creation. My collection is musty and, other than some colorful ribbons, drab. It speaks of valor, blood and even destruction.

But, when one considers the experience we had growing up as military brats – having to often leave possessions behind to make weight, exposure to historical people and places and living overseas and feeling separate from American culture, it makes sense we would be drawn to collecting.

Every two or three years, our family would move to a new home. Often this was overseas, and the Air Force would only pay to ship a certain amount of weight. The cost of shipping any additional weight was prohibitively expensive. This was not a large amount, usually just enough to cover important items like clothes and some household items. We oftentimes discarded games, comics and all the little things important to a growing boy. I think this experience we shared helped create an attitude that cultivated a desire to keep things, and by extension, collect things.

We also lived in many places; New Mexico, New York, Japan, Canada, Germany, Holland, Virginia, Mississippi, New Hampshire and other locations. These locations exposed us to a vast sense of history and I think may be why our collections are composed of older items that share a link to history. My brother knows the lineage of his various pots and each artist. He knows that some of his Scheier pots were owned by the youngest scientist in the Manhattan project in Los Alamos. He knows which potters studied under others, where the studios were and what the timeline of glazing styles are. He knows the founder of La Luz pottery (his first collection), R. Hazard, who was also the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous. I know the lineage of various Army units and what campaigns they were involved in and what insignia was in use at what period.

By the time I was 20 and my brother 18, we had lived overseas for 11 years. Our collections are focused on American culture. He focuses on pottery created in La Luz New Mexico, and also the American Pottery movement of the 40s and 50s. I have some militaria from other nations, but the bulk of my collection is from the U.S. armed forces.

Often it seems our choices serve to separate us from others. The debates of political, religious and sexual choices are often incendiary and divisive. The phrase ‘pro-choice’ itself is the basis for contentious struggle.

But what can appear to be widely varying decisions made by different people may be found to be different interpretations of a shared experience. It is my hope that by understanding why people make choices, we can more easily identify with them instead of distancing ourselves from those who make choices different from our own.

Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

Pat Broome, Editor/Contributor

Pat Broome was the first of the current staff members to contribute a story to Groundwaters. It appeared in the very first issue and was titled “Revolt in a Nunnery.” I am including the autobiographical sketch that she wrote for our “Choice” issue, Volume 4 Issue 3 printed in January 2008. This will give you a little bit of background on Pat herself and the “flavor” of her considerable writing talent.

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Roads Taken: A Personal Journey
By Patrice Broome

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler…Robert Frost

Every spring there occurs in the United States a rite of passage known as high school graduation. It is the end of one journey and the beginning of another. The students are happy to be finished with high school, but they are also anxious about what they will do next. What path in life will they follow? Will they go to Community College, Technical School, University? Will they go to work? Will they get married and begin a family? Will they volunteer for AmeriCorps or a church mission? Will they go into the military? Some of them may already have their plans prepared but not all.

I know what they are going through because it was 35 years ago this May that I began my own journey on this path. The path is different for everyone. Sometimes it is straight, well-marked and clear. Often it is a meandering one that wanders here and there. Sometimes the path branches off in one direction, stays straight for a while, then branches off into a completely different path altogether. I started out on one path 35 years ago with just a sketchy outline of where I was going and did not really know where I would be at this time in my life. Not many people can predict the future when they are 17.

The theme of this issue is “choice.” Robert Frost’s poem “The Road Not Taken” has always resonated with me even though I am not one for reading poetry. I started to think about chosen paths and how the path or paths that each one of us chooses is not without consequences, positive or negative. With this in mind I am sharing my story with you and some of the paths that I have traveled down to be where I am today.

I graduated from a small public high school in a rural, conservative town in South Texas. My graduating class had 48 people, 30 girls and 18 boys. There were fewer options available to us than there are today, especially for the girls. Most of my classmates were going straight to work; either on a family farm or ranch or in the city of San Antonio, which was 30 miles to the north. Some of the girls were going to get married and some of the boys were going into the military. Only about 4 were going to college.

I wanted to go to college very much, but my family could not afford it. So I decided to do something completely different. I enlisted in the Army because it still offered the GI Bill of Rights that paid for a complete college education after the end of enlistment. This was something of a shock to my friends and people in the community, because while it was acceptable for males to enlist in the military it was not so for females. Women who did such a thing had something wrong with them. However, I wanted that college education and if that was the only way to get it, then that was what I was going to do.

Because I was only 17 when I graduated from high school, I had to wait until December when I turned 18. Those were the rules then; female enlistees had to be 18. I took several tests to find out what areas I would do well in. I was interested in photography, but I did well on the language test. I decided to study Russian because it was in demand and I would almost certainly be stationed in Germany, where I could learn German as an added bonus. I also had a more personal motive. My grandmother’s family came from Germany and she grew up speaking it at home. After she married my grandfather she did not use it again and had forgotten most of it.

My journey along that road began the following January when I was sent to Ft. McClellan, Alabama for basic training. It was not easy learning to live in a large room with 39 other women of varying ages and backgrounds. The noise and lack of privacy took some adjustment. I had to learn how to do things that were totally foreign to me, like marching in formation and going out for a week on field training. No camper, I! The highlight was when we had to go through the gas chamber to make sure we knew how to get our gas masks on in case of emergency. Because you weren’t allowed to have your glasses on, I think I almost ran into a tree after exiting the chamber. I felt something brush against the side of my head but I’m still not sure what it was since my eyes were burning and had tears flooding out from breathing a snoot full of teargas.

Afterwards, I was sent to one of the most beautiful places in the United States for language school. The school was located at the top of a high hill in Monterey, California and if you wanted to go anywhere off post the only way was down. I spent the next 9 months there studying Russian for 6 hours a day 5 days a week. It was very intense. On warm nights after a long day of class and homework, I would sleep with my window open and when the wind blew the right way, I would fall asleep to the sounds of the sea lions barking on the rocks off Cannery Row and Fisherman’s Wharf.

I met my husband Dennis there. He was studying German and we spent our time off exploring Cannery Row and Fisherman’s Wharf and Carmel.

The following spring, I got my orders for Germany where I was assigned to a base in Augsburg, which is located about 40 miles northwest of Munich. The country was beautiful and I spent as much time as I could traveling around the area and observing the people. After Dennis joined me, we found an apartment in a local neighborhood and did our best to blend in. We bought a small car and went driving some of the back roads and spending time in smaller towns and villages. We enjoyed going down to the local market on Saturday and seeing the vendors, mainly elderly women, with their fresh flowers, fruit and vegetables. Some of them were real characters. They would be chatting with each other and I sometimes saw Dennis’ face turn red. Since my knowledge of German was somewhat limited at that time, I asked him what they had said and he told me it was none of my business. I figured out that it was probably something quite naughty.

I finished my enlistment in Germany and we stayed there a total of almost 6 years. I started classes with the University of Maryland and we traveled widely through Western Europe. Holland was probably our favorite place to go. I even got the chance to go to Russia when it was still the Soviet Union. Walking down some of the streets in Moscow in the cold and snow was definitely an experience. It was somewhat creepy because it felt like being under surveillance. I saw people standing in a long line outside a shoe store because they heard that a shipment of new shoes had arrived. One of my most interesting memories of Russia was when we were in Leningrad/St. Petersburg and we saw dump trucks piled high with snow passing us on the street as we were going to the Hermitage Art Museum. I was wondering where they were taking it when I got my answer a few blocks later. A truck backed up on the bank of the Neva River and proceeded to dump the entire load into the frigid waters. I had never seen snow removal like that before.

Dennis and I eventually returned to the United States and had to decide where we were going to live and what we were going to do. We chose to move to San Antonio, Texas because that was where my family lived and I thought I would go to school and get my Secondary Teacher Certification. Dennis went to work as a police officer at the University of Texas Health Science Center and joined an Army Reserve unit.

Our path then followed that of many of our contemporaries; we bought a house and had a child. I quickly realized that trying to teach history to high school students was not going to work because I found myself being more enforcer than instructor. I stayed at home with my son for a while before deciding to go to graduate school at the University of Texas in Austin and study Library Science. I had worked in a library in Germany and really liked the job.

Because of his work schedule, my husband remained behind in San Antonio while Jonathan and I moved into student housing in Austin about 90 miles away. We stayed there a little more than a year before a health problem forced me to return to San Antonio and I was unable to finish.

I wasn’t finished with libraries altogether. I found a job as a Library Technician/Cataloger at Our Lady of the Lake University in San Antonio where I stayed for 5 years. As part of my job, I also supervised a small team of college students in processing library materials to get them ready for shelving. They were a great group of young people and many of them were the first members of their families who had ever been to college.

Several were from small towns in the Rio Grande Valley and along the border with Mexico. I learned a lot from them about what life was like there. The Valley is like being in a foreign country and La Frontera, as it is called, was fairly open then.

After a few years I decided to return to graduate school, this time at the University of Texas at San Antonio – a distance of approximately 10 miles from my house. What was I going to study? I chose to follow my first love; which was History. A few months later I also accepted another position as a Library Assistant/Government Documents Specialist at Palo Alto College, a local community college.

The next few years I was working full time and attending Graduate School in the evenings. It wasn’t easy, but I was happy doing it. I enjoyed the intellectual stimulus of both my job and my classes. Finally, I finished the program and received my Masters degree.

Dennis and I had decided some time before to move out West. My family in Texas had all gone and his parents lived in Northern California, but they were getting older and his mother’s health was not good. We chose to move to Oregon because it was close enough to them where we could visit more often. We had visited Oregon on an earlier trip to visit his family and liked the area. We chose this particular area because it reminded us a lot of Germany, a place we had enjoyed very much.

Little did we realize at the time, that this road was definitely going to have a few bumps in it! Just after we moved up here, the bottom fell out of the economy and it was extremely difficult for me to find a job. I decided to volunteer at the Fern Ridge Library because I have always felt at home in libraries and it would probably help when I applied for library positions. Eventually I found a job working with books (of course). I still volunteer at the library, mainly at the Quarterly Book Sale now and more recently as a member of the Library Board.

I also do some writing for Groundwaters and belong to a Writers’ Group called the Misfits and Mavericks Literary Circle. The name of the group is a good description of me. I have always been something of a misfit and most definitely a maverick. After all, there is a prominent family from San Antonio named Maverick, who live up to their name, and while not related by blood, I feel related in spirit.

The journey that I began 35 years ago in a small town in South Texas has taken me down many paths to many places. I have met many different types of people and lived in different parts of our country and the world. There are some common themes in the various roads that I have traveled on my journey. My love of history, travel, and curiosity about other times and places, and my love of reading and writing are just a few. I don’t know where the road I am on now will take me. I guess I’ll find out when I get there. That’s just part of the adventure.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Who are we? … the Groundwaters Staff

Pat Edwards (aka Patricia Ann Edwards)

Pat and Jim Edwards

Who are we?… the people behind Groundwaters? I’m going to begin featuring writings that will tell you a bit about the personas of the volunteers who bring you Groundwaters each quarter. I’ve introduced you to Judy Hays-Eberts already. I guess I should introduce myself this week through the article that I wrote for our “Reflections” issue in January 2008. It will tell you a bit about who I am and what you can expect from me and my writings.

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Reflections
By Pat Edwards

I recently waved as my 65th birthday passed me by. Oh, I am aware of the years that have piled up, one on top of the other, but it is so amazing to realize that their numbers say to the world that I am truly getting old. I don’t feel “old” as I always imagined that “old” would feel. I do feel my body wearing down some. I no longer can pick up those bales of hay out of the field each summer, and the aches and pains remind me that my bones and joints have supported my body for a really long time. Even though I’ve slowed a bit from my youthful vigor, I still feel vital and alive, despite what the accumulation of years tell me. The realization of age, I think, tends to send each of us back into our past, to reflect upon and evaluate our lives – it’s a way of validating our existence. I am no different.

I think back to my childhood. My father was somewhat of a nomad. After living in one place for two years or so, we moved on to another. My brother, sister and I experienced new places and new adventures and lifestyles, but were seldom in one place long enough to cement long-term friendships. I was shy and kept to myself a lot, although I had my share of playmates. My daydreams always seemed to be centered around horses. I loved going to the library and I read every horse story I could find. As a teenager, I loved to write letters to penpals and to the friends I had left behind. Words became fascinating to me and I was told that I wrote well. Like many girls of my era, especially, I tried writing stories but, inevitably, my imagination stalled and I never got very far with them. I’ve always envied the authors who write fiction, but I never could.

I spent my high school years living my dream of having a horse of my own. Several summers of picking strawberries and beans, hoeing weeds in the same crops and row-bossing allowed me to buy Rocket, my best friend and constant companion in those years. My sister, my friends and I spent long weekends and summer days astride our horses, riding bareback, many times running full out along our familiar trails. I have had horses ever since.

During the one wonderful year that I attended Linfield College, following high school graduation, I loved the writing assignments and I discovered a real fondness for my music and art appreciation classes, as well. World history, math and science were my stumbling blocks. But, I made friends who helped me learn to have fun and explore my self-worth. The funds for my college education ran out after that first year, but I have never regretted the experience of attending college even for that short time.

Following college, I worked in a finance office for several years as a secretary. It was a difficult period in my life. My parents were divorcing, and I was trying to make my way through a world of dating with little knowledge of what was expected of me. I was still timid and naive and totally unversed in the realities of what “real life” presented. I had a baby out of wedlock and gave her up for adoption. It was a period in my life that I once tried to forget, but despite its harshness, it too helped forge the person who I eventually became.

As I entered my years as a young wife and mother, there was little time to do much with my love for writing. My husband Jim and I bought our first home on 30 acres between Lorane and Crow, Oregon. It was there that we put down our roots and raised our four children. While the kids were preschoolers, I was too busy changing diapers, nursing runny noses and doing the chores on our small farm to take much notice of what was happening around us. I only made one trip to town per week in those days – to do my grocery shopping and to take the kids to lunch. Once the kids were in school, I began looking around at life in my community. I immediately began involving myself in my childrens’ school and their activities. I look back at that time as if I were a flower bud, slowly opening to the world.

When our oldest daughter was old enough, I volunteered to establish a 4-H livestock club in Lorane that she could participate in. A neighbor/rancher was willing to lead the club if I was willing to organize it. I loved doing it so much that I soon volunteered to be the Lorane 4-H coordinator, setting up all types of new clubs for the Lorane area youth. I soon realized that I needed a way to get the word out about what the established clubs were doing and which ones were being formed. I began my first local newsletter called Pat’s People which I manually typed and mimeographed on the school’s old purple-ink machine. I distributed them at the local stores. I was soon shooting off letters to the editor about local issues that concerned me, as well. Once again, I was using my writing skills for not only others, but for myself, as well.

When our oldest offspring were entering high school, the Mitchell family decided to sell their store in Lorane. Jim had managed Mayfair Markets in the area for years and had always wanted his own business; but, the little Mitchell Store was not making enough to sustain a family of six. So, after we purchased it in December 1977, it became my new job. I loved working within its crowded dusty confines with the creaky wooden floor that slanted ever so slightly towards the back where the timbers were beginning to sag. I loved greeting the people who came in to buy a bottle of pop and a candy bar and to stand and chat about their lives. The loggers with their cork boots were confident that I would not scold them for walking on my very un-pristine floors, leaving bits of mud and dirt in their tracks. Every time I swept, the dust would always settle back on the merchandise even though we oiled the floors several times a year.

Two friends, Nancy O’Hearn and Marna Hing, helped me run the store during those eight years when it was in my charge. Like so many others, we all became interested in our own family histories when the television series “Roots” awakened the world to genealogy. We began extensive research into our own families and from that work our interest in our community’s history evolved. We knew, from Nancy’s own family history, that Lorane would be celebrating its 100th birthday within a few years. They asked me if I would be willing to write a book on its history – if they would help me research it. It seemed the right time and the right thing to do, and we pursued our goal for over three years. I bought my first computer and taught myself how to use it so that I could record all of our research in an organized manner. We finally published Sawdust and Cider; A History of Lorane, Oregon and the Siuslaw Valley in 1987 in conjunction with the Lorane Centennial Celebration.

When Jim took over the running and modernizing of the store full time, I searched for a full time job in town despite the fact that I had not worked at a regular office job for over 20 years. I took my computer experience to a temp agency which immediately put me to work. I was soon offered a permanent position at the Institute of Neuroscience at the University of Oregon where I used my computer skills extensively for 15 years. I gained respect and knowledge in my position there and retired with a confidence that my skills would allow me to succeed wherever life took me.

While working at the University, I began publishing another newsletter called the Lorane Historian. It profiled local people and businesses and I wrote about Lorane history that had come to light since 1987. The Historian was alive and well for three years until my lack of time and energy brought it to a halt. Since my retirement, I spent a year completely updating and revising Sawdust and Cider, incorporating some of the history from the newsletter and profiling the current businesses and people in Lorane. I published the new and much larger edition called From Sawdust and Cider to Wine in September 2006.

I’m now becoming more and more involved in the publication of Groundwaters, thanks to the confidence that Judy, Sonny, Jen and Pat have shown in me. They have welcomed me to their literary family and I am learning so much from them. I’ve discovered that no matter how much we learn and how long we have lived our lives, there is always room for more experiences and adventures. I have also learned that every experience, good or bad, in our past goes towards shaping the person we eventually become. Each of us leaves behind our own legacy. I am comfortable with the legacy that I will leave behind for my children, descendants and community because it is a part of who I have become through all of my own experiences.

So, despite the years that say we are old, as long as we have an interest in life and an eagerness to learn, how can any of us truly become “old” in anything but years?

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I am now the Managing Editor of Groundwaters. Judy has handed over the reins to me. I only hope that I can do justice to the confidence that she has placed in me.

Here are my writing credentials:

Publications of Patricia Ann Edwards

Edwards, P., (1974-1977) Pat’s People, 4-H Community Newsletter.

Edwards, P., (1986) BooBoo and Keno, A Children’s Book, 34 pgs.

Edwards, P.A.., N.S. O’Hearn, and M.L. Hing (1987) Sawdust & Cider; A History of Lorane, Oregon and the Siuslaw Valley, Bend, Oregon: Maverick Publications, 165 pgs.

Edwards, P. (1993-1997) The Lorane Historian, Community newsletter profiling local residents, businesses, and history of Lorane, Oregon.

Edwards, P.A. (1994) “Searching for Community Roots: A Novice’s Approach to Writing an Area History,” Everton’s Genealogical Helper, May/June 1994 issue, p. 12-13.

Edwards, P.A. (1995) “Searching for Community Roots: A Novice’s Approach to Writing an Area History,” Housewife-Writer’s Forum, Jan/Feb 1995 issue, 8(1):7-9.

Edwards, P.A. (1995) The Life of Ruth Kinsman, A book of memories published in honor of her mother’s 80th birthday, September 28, 1995, 179 pgs.

Edwards, P. (1999) Zebrafish Web Site Listings. Meth. Cell Biol. 60:373-385.

Edwards, P.A. (2006) From Sawdust and Cider to Wine; A History of Lorane, Oregon and the Siuslaw Valley, Bend, Oregon; Maverick Publications, 256 pgs.

Edwards, P. (2007) Writings and Poems of Elizabeth Tyler Brown (a compilation for the Brown family), self-published, 100 pgs.

Edwards, P. (2007) A Christmas Letter Diary, A compilation of 22 years of Christmas letters and pictures from those years; self-published, 159 pgs.