This tragedy does call into question so many things, that indeed should be questioned:
Why did we grieve the second murder but not the first?
How can we claim to have such a strong community when we kill each other?
What could we have done to make a difference?
What could the Co-op have done?
I felt compelled to write about this tragedy when I discovered that someone I knew had been taken into custody. I continued to write each day after, trying to make sense of how this happened. As the days passed, the comments grew, and it is the readers who grapple with this question; and I watch, ever so slowly, as grace and grief are replaced with blame. It is my teenage son who labels it so.
“Did you ever see the South Park episode when a house is burning down and the community stands around asking what happened?” he said. “The kids tug on the parents, saying–Shouldn’t we help? But the parents answer–No, the important thing is to find out who is to blame.”
I think it’s good to tell each other who we blame, for no other reason than to let it drain from our minds so that we are better prepared to help. But our blame must be conscious in order to be healing, otherwise we will dwell in it at the expense of actually doing something to make things better.
Hindsight makes it easy to blame as is evidenced by the subtext of the readers’ comments I see:
If only Michael Martin had never been hired.
If only Richard Gagnon had been fired a long time ago.
If only the Co-op had done something to mediate sooner.
It is only natural that we want to find someway to escape this pain, and blame is a strong distraction.
Captain Hindsight, South Park
“Captain Hindsight always appears just in time,” my son says, recounting another South Park episode. “He’s the Super Hero who tells people what they did wrong and how they could have avoided it. This makes people feel better even though it doesn’t change anything.”
But the truth is that there is no escaping grief if you intend to heal; and if you don’t, you add more suffering to the world.
After five days, I find myself hating Richard for what he has inflicted upon us. I can’t imagine what the family and friends of Michael Martin feel.
If justice was ours, how might we enact it? I scan my brain, seeking appropriate acts of restitution, but can find none for a life taken.
I think back to a lecture given in Marlboro by the author Kim John Payne. Though the focus was on education, Kim shared a story about the Maori tribe in his native New Zealand, telling us how they creatively responded to crime and punishment.
Rather than lock two young men behind bars for stealing a car, the men had to face the victim of their crime–a single mother, who was unable to get to work or attend school due to the loss. Alternately, the “court” of community members heard the stories of these two young men, how their lives led to the crime, and how it affected them.
Each party–the young men and the single mother–had someone from the community, beside them–not so much to speak, but to support. Others spoke too, on behalf of both, and the “trial” went on for hours as they did.
In the end, the local grocer stood up and offered these two men work so that they could afford to repay the woman for the hours she lost at work and to pay for her transportation to school while her car was being repaired. Additionally, the local mechanic offered his services so that only the parts would be charged.
There were more voices in this story, and I may have mistaken some of the details, but what I remember most was what happened after the “trial.” The men were asked to stand on what might be a town green, and the community members each circled past them offering praise for their restitution. No one spat or cursed or otherwise separated these men from the community in which they belonged.
How would the Maori deal with murder, I wonder? What acts of restitution would arise from the mouths of the community? For surely Richard, despite his abhorrent act, still belongs.
Despite the truth that you have stolen something precious from ALL of us, I grieve for YOU.
Though I have been wronged many times in my life, and never chosen murder, still–I ache for you.
You must have lost your mind and your heart and your soul to proceed the way you did.
No doubt “the issues” that provoked you triggered some unhealed trauma inside of you.
Your vision must have narrowed so tightly around an “enemy” that you did not see Michael’s new wife Jennifer, or the rest of his family, or the rest of his days.
But what about your co-workers? What about Ian who spoke with you just before you entered Michael’s office?
What of Diane who found you out back behind the Co-op after the shooting?
What about all your fellow staff members present that morning?
What about all of us who have ever worked at the Co-op, or shopped there?
Did you want to rob us all as well?
Did you know that your act would be felt as far away as Thailand, and in every co-op around the country?
Did you know that you would steal sleep from strangers, summer vacation days from children,
romantic getaways from couples?
Did you want blood spilled in the place that has fed so many so well?
Because I don’t know Michael, it is you for whom I grieve when I see you in the courtroom, locked in shackles, instead of on the tennis court at South Pond with a racket in your hand.
And what about Meg?
You must have considered your beloved.
Michael Martin lost his life, but you lost… everything.
You have given it up to rage.
You have given up your wife, your community, your sense of who you are and who you can be.
My eleven year old now knows a murderer. He has collected the balls that you have hit into the water where he swims.
Last night as I tucked him into bed, 300 miles away from you, he said,
“Mom, Vermont doesn’t have the death penalty, right?”
If there is any place in Vermont that represents the best qualities of our state – a place where the community comes together to buy local, laugh, make friends and celebrate what we cherish about our lives – it is the Brattleboro Food Co-op. (Vermont Governor Peter Shumlin)
That something like this could happen at our beloved Brattleboro Food Co-op is unfathomable.
That this act was intentional is confounding.
That the murderer was someone who lived and loved among us is heartbreaking.
That a life was stolen is devastating.
I write these words from vacation, 300 miles away from the Green Mountain State, knowing that I will miss tonight’s vigil in Brattleboro. But even this far away, I am blessed by my community’s response to this loss, as echoed by the outpouring of solidarity on the Co-op’s Facebook page:
What a sad day for the coop and all of us in this community. (Ruth Wilmot)
It is 2 AM and I’m staring at this computer, wondering how many other of us Co-op members are sleepless from worry, shock and grief – after this saddening event. (Nancy Burgeson Anderson)
We are all feeling this. It is heartbreaking and horrible. Love to all of you close to the scene. No one is worrying about when the Coop will be open again. We *are* worrying about each of you. (Johnny Lee Lenhart)
You guys are all very dear to us. We are helpless to do anything to make this better, but our thoughts are very much with you, and I hope you will let us know if there is any way we can help. (Ted Lemon)
We are all so stunned by this news. Our thoughts are with you and the families involved as you work through this difficult time. (Gail Graham)
I take heart that what is shared is supportive, and life serving, rather than filled with the rage or malice that takes lives:
This is a time to really appreciate facebook. Reading these comments heals me and hopefully others feel the same. Knowing how people from all over the country are holding our community and especially the staff of BFC in their hearts is so meaningful. (Bari Shamas)
Certainly we are all angry. That which has been stolen, has been stolen from us all–even from the one who took the life (maybe from him most of all); and I cannot begin speak to the grief of those who were intimate with the victim:
My heart aches at the news. Micheal was such a loving guy. He will be missed by many. (Karen Ernest Hatt)
Michael was a friend and will be missed. (Chris Maher)
It is impossible to know the right thing to say. Michael was a good guy and will be missed in the co-op community. (David Lippman)
I’m saddened to admit that I cannot place Michael from memory; but no doubt I will recognize his face–and even his kindness–as we all “know” each other in Brattleboro, especially in the aisles of the Co-op.
Given my lack of intimacy, I question the depth of my grief, until I read how deeply others have been affected by this loss, not just in Brattleboro or Vermont, but all around the country, and even around the world:
Sending much love and healing prayers from Thailand. (Nathan Olmstead)
It’s 3:30 in the morning in Vancouver. Neither Cliff (a former employee) nor I can sleep. We are thinking of all of you in the community and send our love. (Lynn Levine)
My heart is broken today. Please know I am sending you my support from afar. The co-op isn’t just a place where I used to work; it is like a family home to me. (Wendy M. Levy)
It is a little crazy that i feel more connected to a store 200 miles away from my home than i do the stores right down the street- but i feel like i know you guys after 4+ years of stopping in for dinner once a week (sometimes more.) It’s a neighborly, small town family feel, and familiar faces, and that is one of the reasons why i love coming to Brattleboro. (Stephanie Santoro)
In addition to the personal expressions of grief, there are the “collective”–messages from co-ops in Belfast, Maine; in Oregon, in Texas, in California, in New Orleans.
As I read through this flood of personal and collective grief, I get a renewed sense of what a Co-op is; how it touches lives; how it connects them:
My heart is aching for the individuals and the collective… ever faithful that you all will make your way through this in a manner that has me falling in love with my co-op all over again. tender blessings… ♥ (Kim Weeter)
When you reopen again, you will feel a tidal wave of love, all of you who work there, who make our days just that much richer. It will be a hard day, but the town will speak to your hearts, and you will remember why you are here. (Jack MacKay)
In addition to messages from individuals and other co-ops, there is now a growing response from companies who sell their products to these stores:
All of us at Baudelaire Soaps offer our deepest sympathies and condolences.
There is something oddly moving by sentiment expressed by soap. It somehow speaks to what is also precious at the Co-op: the heart and passion of the people behind each product.
It’s hard to fathom the breadth of this single act, taken by Richard Gagnon, our wine manager, who traveled the world with his beloved wife Meg, to bring us the sweetness of the vine.
Today, even the potatoes are sad:
Your friends at Small Potatoes offer our deepest sympathies and condolences.
_______
Kelly Salasin, August 10, 2011, Brattleboro Food Co-op Shopper/Member since ’94, past staffer
“All that summer Miss Rumphius, her pockets full of seeds, wandered over fields and headlands, sowing lupine seeds. She scattered seeds along the highways and down the country lanes. She flung handfuls of them around the schoolhouse and the back of the church. She tossed them into hollows and along stone walls…” (an excerpt from Miss Rumphius by Barbara Cooney)
~
If you are familiar with the story of Miss Rumphius, you might suspect that such a person lives among us in the Deerfield Valley. For a special someone must be tending to all the beautiful flowers about our town–the whites and pinks and purples that trail over the bridge and pour out of window boxes along Main Street, the lush geraniums and petunias bursting out of barrels in front of restaurants and shops.
Downtown Wilmington
Perhaps you’ve caught her, as I have, in the act of watering or planting or clipping. Maybe you’ve spotted her digging in the dirt at the cemetery on Stowe Hill at the end of the day. Or perhaps you’ve passed her, arms full of buckets and gardening tools, in front of Memorial Hall just as you were getting your first cup of coffee. Some days she seems to be everywhere… the Kreemee, Grand Union, the tennis courts and all along Route 100. Other days she can’t be found.
But she is there, somewhere, at work in her gardens. For she is The Flower Lady, and each one of those barrels and boxes and pots you see is a tiny garden that she has created.
Gardens, scholars say, are the first sign of commitment to a community. When people plant… they are saying, let’s stay here. And by their connection to the land, they are connected to one another. – Anne Raver
Mary Pike-Sprenger (aka. The FLower Lady) grew up on Shafter Street back in the days when Wilmington was a very popular summer resort:
“There was a whole different air to the town then. Visitors would come up from the city or Connecticut and stay for months. It was mostly older people, and they would sit and rock in these beautiful rocking chairs on the porch at Crafts Inn. In the evenings, they’d stroll around town and they’d always come down our street which wasn’t so commercial then.”
Mary’s grandmother, Meda Crafts, lived with Mary’s family, and she would start their garden every spring. Mrs. Crafts was friendly with the summer visitors who’d stop to admire her work.
“It was a wonderful garden,” recalls Mary fondly, “with these beautiful, vibrant blue delphiniums, orange oriental poppies, pink lupines… and a meticulously maintained white picket fence.”
Mary’s father, Gordon Pike, was a carpenter, and he built that fence himself. “It was handmade, piece by piece, gate by gate,” boasts Mary.
“We had a beautiful arbor with climbing roses over the top, and bird baths, and beds of daffodils… and I remember lots of wild yellow roses, and a lilly bed! My mother and grandmother did most of the planting and maintaining, but my brothers and my sister and I were expected to help out. (Have you ever dug up an iris bed?!) We did do a lot of complaining about the chores, but the garden was a real labor of love by all of us.”
The love of gardening is a seed that once sown never dies. – Gertrude Jekyll
“‘You must do something to make the world more beautiful,” said her grand father. ‘All right,’ said Alice. But she did not know what that could be.” (an excerpt from Miss Rumphius.)
~
It’s no surprise that the Pike children grew up to love gardening. Both Mary and her sister Melanie Boyd made it a large part of their lives as did their mother and grandmother before them. Melanie was the first to be hired by the town to plant and maintain flowers, while Mary began doing gardening work for the Red Mill where she works as a waitress. (Both sisters also work full-time as teachers.)
Later Melanie’s interests took a different turn and she began to focus mainly on private accounts, including gardening with Tasha Tudor. It was at that time that Mary took over the town job.
“My girls Tyne and Brie were very young and this type of work made it possible for me to be a mom, to be home a lot, or bring them along to help. We all love being outdoors too,“ says Mary.
“My days were shorter then, but things grew over the years. It was a phone call here, a phone call there or people would just see me working and ask if I could come take a look at their flowers. No matter how busy I was, I always seemed to say ’Yes’, but now I do have to think more about it because the job’s grown so much.”
As the Garden grows, so does the Gardener.
Hyre, detail (visipix.com)
She started a little garden among the rocks that surrounded her house, and she planted a few flower seeds in the stony ground. Miss Rumphius was ‘almost’ perfectly happy. “But there is still one more thing I have to do,” she said. “I have to make the world more beautiful. (an excerpt from Miss Rumphius)
~
What was once a flexible part-time job has in twelve seasons blossomed into a very demanding full-time job for Mary, especially during the late spring and early fall when she is still teaching.
Mary starts her work each year in March and usually wraps things up Columbus Day weekend. In early spring, she begins her rounds at each of the planting sites, checking on the condition of the soil and the planters and determining what needs replacement.
Mary also takes a trip to her wholesalers in New Hampshire, Massachusetts and Vermont to check on quantities and make sure “the colors” are just right (she has some horror stories to tell!)
By Memorial Day or the first week of June (depending on frost predictions and the eagerness of her clients,) Mary is in a planting frenzy, having to put in well over 2,000 plants at fifteen different sites in the period of one week.
After that, she can take a deep exhale, until the end of the month, when she begins to worry that her flowers aren’t growing fast enough. By July though, things are lush and beautiful, and she focuses on watering, watering, watering (and feeding… she feeds her plants every time she waters!)
During the summer months, Mary is up at dawn, making sure she gets to each of her sites by the end of the day, doing half the accounts one day, and the remaining accounts the next.
Before the end of the summer, she’ll talk with each of her customers to see what, if any, changes need to be made for the following season. And in the fall, she’ll be back in the dirt, digging up plants, and getting ready for winter.
Van Gogh/detail (visipix.com)
The most noteworthy thing about gardeners is that they are always optimistic, always enterprising, and never satisfied. They always look forward to doing something better than they have ever done before. – Vita Sackville-West
“It’s very important to me that the flowers look nice for the community, and I take it very personally if they don’t,” says Mary about her choice of flowers for the town.
“I need something that people are going to be able to see when they’re driving through town at forty-miles an hour. My idea is that less variety of color has more impact. I use the huge geraniums and Grandiflora petunias. While a smaller, perhaps more interesting plant, would be nice, you’re not going to see it unless you’re walking up to it. Driving by, it would just look like a bunch of green. I also need to make sure I use a plant that is hardy and weather resistant, and that can take the dust from the road, from all the cars and tractor trailers. Delicate plants very often aren’t able to survive, they’re choked.”
Something else that Mary had to learn through a lot of trial and error was to cut back the plants. “Sometimes, people will come up to me with a look of horror in their eyes when they see me ripping and tearing out huge arms of petunias,” she recalls.
“I used to think that as long as I had a lot of flowering plants in my barrels at the right time, it was wonderful. And then one day I drove by the Kreemee and saw a whole lot of white and not much red… the petunias had taken over! German ivy will do that too. Now all my plants get haircuts.”
The best fertilizer is the gardener’s shadow.
It’s no doubt that the attention Mary gives to the flowers in town accounts for much of their beauty, and many take notice. “When people think of Wilmington in the summer, they think of the flowers, and I guess I’m a little surprised at how important it is to them,” she shares. “People will often come up to me and say,
‘Are you the Flower Lady?’
‘Are you the one that keeps all these flowers looking so beautiful?’
‘Do you just do this for fun?’
I think they must have this image of me, like I’m Miss Rumphius or something, going around taking care of all the flowers with nothing else to do. I kind of feel bad telling them that I get paid to do this, that it’s a job.”
Mary says that it would be nice to be as carefree as Miss Rumphius. “But the reality is that I have kids to get through ski academies and ready for college.
“I see myself continuing with the job though. I feel like I’m carrying on a tradition, especially now that the girls are helping me a bit. When they were six and seven, it was, ‘Oh, Mom, do we have to?’; now that they’re older it’s different. Each of the girls has their own garden at home, and they love flowers.
On birthdays and holidays we give bouquets, and gifts of flowers and bulbs. The love of gardening has come a full cycle it seems… first my grandmother, and my mother, then my sister and me, and now my kids. Now, I look at this work I do as something to pass on… as a another way of living on.”
The next spring there were lupines everywhere. Fields and hillsides were covered with blue and purple and rose-colored flowers. They bloomed along the highways and down the lanes. Bright patches lay around the schoolhouse and back of the church. Down in the hollows and along the stone walls grew beautiful flowers. Miss Rumphius had done the third most difficult thing of all![She had made the world the world more beautiful.] Miss Rumphius, Barbara Cooney, 1982
All gardens are a form of autobiography. – Robert Dash
“Wilmington has changed so much from when I was a little girl, and often times I’ve thought, ‘Why am I still here? But it’s been a great place for my children to grow up, a safe place,” relates Mary.
“I don’t think Wilmington can ever be seen in their eyes as it was in mine when I was young. But I think this flower thing can carry on. A certain piece of my childhood can be passed onto them… the importance of beauty, and how flowers beautify things.”
When something as terrible as a murder occurs in a place that we least expect it, it’s no wonder that fear and vulnerability and anguish lead us to blame.
This Vermont Life 