The Vermont Writers’ Prize is a collaboration between Green Mountain Power 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.
VT WRITERS’ PRIZE
SPONSORED BY GREEN MOUNTAIN POWER
2025
WINNERS
Finding Mr. Harringtonby Sarah
Amatruto( Prose Winner)
When my boyfriend announced that he wanted to visit his great-grandfather’ s grave, I had a good idea of what the day would look like: we’ d stop and visit, then get coffee and a muffin. The chilly September morning started the way I had in mind. We pulled into the Shaftsbury Cemetery in our“ best cooler weather clothes:” gloves and the type of jackets you’ d wear to church, but not to stack wood. Henry carried an autumnal bouquet we’ d purchased from a farm stand the day before in his left hand. I walked on his right and asked if he knew where we should start.
“ No, not at all,” he replied, and we started walking. Forty-five minutes later, we’ d gone through the entire cemetery together, and other than a section of Harringtons he claimed“ weren’ t related to him,” we’ d found nothing. So, we split up and looked separately, unsuccessfully.
Later, I wrapped my fingers around a warm mug in the window seat of a cafe in Bennington while Henry texted. He looked up, bewildered.
“ My mom doesn’ t know where he’ s buried either!” he exclaimed.“ She said her parents would know, of course, but since they both passed …” he shook his head.“ I know there’ s at least one box of papers
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and photos we haven’ t gone through yet.”
“ Do you know if they’ re in this county?” I asked“ Or if he would be buried in a Military Cemetery? I know there’ s that one up in Randolph, or maybe he ended up in Saratoga.”
Henry looked at me over his muffin.“ It would take a lot more than death to get my woodchuck family to leave Vermont, Ellie.”
Being a“ flatlander transplant” myself, I’ d never quite understood why someone would be so attached to one space. Then again, my family had come through Ellis Island three generations ago and each generation had moved around the country since. Perhaps we just had location commitment issues, or maybe we just hadn’ t found“ home” yet. I certainly doubted I’ d still be in Vermont if I hadn’ t fallen for a boy in tenth grade math ten years ago.
I focused back on the topic at hand as Henry mused,“ How many cemeteries could there be in this county anyway?”
It turns out, there were many, and so began a week of research. After work we’ d tear apart his mother’ s closet, looking for clues amongst her parents’ things. We went to the library for help, and received the phone number for“ Jeffrey from the Historical Society.” Jeffrey was utterly delighted by our dilemma; it seemed like he’ d been waiting his whole life for a young couple to misplace a great-grandfather. We learned a lot: The term“ graveyard” is exclusive to plots adjacent to churches – literally“ a yard of graves.”(“ Though, if you’ re asking me, a big part of why people prefer the word cemetery is because they don’ t like the word‘ graves.’” Jeffrey said). We discovered that Private Cemeteries are privately owned, but if a single“ non family member” got buried there the cemetery would be considered Public; the status being determined by inhabitants rather than funding. We’ d realized death had“ trends”: the types of markers and what happened to bodies( cremation versus burial) went in and out of style. All of it was interesting, but research alone wasn’ t going to find Mr. Harrington.“ I think there’ s only one thing left to do,” I said to Henry as we poured over maps.“ Where do you want to start?”
The following day we embarked on a onemile hike uphill, across a river, and off trail to a dilapidated gate. We had to brush aside leaves to read the markers, which were fortunately legible. This resting place was home to two dogs and about fifty people. It didn’ t take long to gather that Mr. Harrington wasn’ t there, but before we