2022 Vermont Writer ’ s Prize
did indeed ‘ snick us out ,’ and by then it was just dry and sunny enough that we stayed on top of the road .
After we got settled and took the U-Haul back , we built raised bed gardens from scrap lumber we found on the property , and it was my pleasure to work in the garden each morning . One day a fellow in a noisy , beater Ford LTD stopped by the garden ’ s edge . He was sporting a three-day stubble and was in a scruffy , elbows-out lumberjack shirt . I gave a little wave , ( as I ’ ve learned everyone does to everyone in Vermont ) but he didn ’ t move on . I went a bit closer to his car .
“ I understand you have a little girl , first or second grade ,” he said .
Now , that opening line just didn ’ t set well with me . Had he been watching our home ? All the alarm bells a mom can have went off simultaneously .
“ How would you know and why would you care , IF I did ?” I challenged .
“ Well , I live a couple miles away . I have a little girl just starting first grade . Not too many children on this road , and I hope they could be friends , so I thought I ’ d say hello .” I shut off the alarm bells , and introduced myself . We chatted for a minute and he left .
“ Nice garden ,” he said as he pulled away . A week later he dropped off a stack of two-by-tens he ’ d pulled off an old trailer so we could finish our raised beds .
Our daughters did become friends . I have photos of them washing doll clothes in an old white enamel pan in front of our home .
Speaking of gardens , mine was my pride and joy . I followed all the advice for double digging , turning and sieving the soil . I added mature manure – gifted by a farmer in Sutton . By midsummer , the garden was so vibrant and so full that people driving down our road would slow down to look at it .
One morning , I woke very early and decided I ’ d try to sneak out before the black flies were up and get in a little work before breakfast . Of all the days I didn ’ t bring a camera , there was a young moose sleeping in my raised bed “ cornfield .” Six rows by twelve feet . He managed to crush all but about fifteen stalks of corn . At first I thought it was a young horse and nearly went to where it lay , but then I saw small horns on its head .
I stood by my garden shed door and made enough noise to waken him . He rose , stretched languidly , and set off down the road at a leisurely pace . It was my first moose sighting . I still thrill at the sight of one , young or old .
That first winter of 1993 was a heavy snow season . Our house was in a kind of mini-valley and the wind drifted the snow against it higher than our window frames . We woke to a bright day , but a dark living room and kitchen . Hubby had to dig out the windows to let the light in . That day we saw a fox walk across the snowdrift in front of the living room window . I thought
GAIL ELIZABETH WIND it was cute . Hubby loaded his gun . I was appalled .
“ No self-respecting fox would come that close to a house full of noise and activity unless it was sick ,” he explained . “ He might have rabies . Keep the dogs inside .” Later that afternoon , our dogs began barking like mad . They rushed out into our small closed porch when I opened the kitchen door . I thought we had company .
The fox was trying to burrow through the sill crack under the porch door and our dogs were trying to get at it from inside . I had to take them and the kids to the far end of the house . Hubby slid the barrel of his gun under the porch door and shot the fox . Fish and Game confirmed the little guy had rabies . Despite knowing the facts , I cried . It was my first sighting of a Vermont Fox .
I admit I thrill fairly easily when it comes to the animal kingdom . From my car , I have followed and photographed flocks of turkeys , pairs of geese , a Momma bear with cub and many , many deer . But nothing beats the people of this state .
Mid Covid , I was about eight miles from home and two miles from a gas station when I ran out of gas . I called my son , who by now is a grown man , and he promised swift rescue . In the brief time I sat in my car , eleven Vermonters , young and old , guys and gals stopped to make sure I was okay , warm enough , not injured , and had a phone and help coming . That ’ s why Vermont will always be my home .
I ’ m seventy-one years old . I am the second of seven children , mother of four , step-mother to five and Gramma-Gail to nine . My mother preserved the newspaper article that had my first by-line , written when I was sixteen ! Her faith in me is what built my faith in myself . I ’ ve self-published the first in a series of Girl Scout mysteries , and I am still confident that my novel , The Missing Mile will get traditionally published .
I ’ ve lived in many places in this country , and was not totally sold on the idea of moving with two small children to Vermont in 1993 , far from my family in the Midwest . But we thrived in Vermont , my children loved their schools and school friends and we ’ re here “ as long as the Good Lord sees fit to let us ”
I collect too much stuff , garden with a vengeance , and will attend any social event in Vermont that is “ cheap or free ,” from reggae music at the Highland Art Center to a Native American Exhibit at the St . Johnsbury Museum . I can truly say I ’ ve never been bored .
The Vermont Writers ’ Prize is a collaboration between GMP and Vermont Magazine . It was created in 1989 as a way to celebrate Vermont , writing , and to honor Ralph Nading Hill , Jr ., a Vermont historian , author , and long-time GMP Board member . The contest is open to all Vermont residents , including seasonal and college students , and you can be a professional or amateur writer .