Life Inside: Women in Prison in Vermont

By Mary Elizabeth Fratini

Photos By Mary Elizabeth Fratini

Dana Osmond works for the State of  Vermont in computer graphics, designing  lettering for road and traffic signs. In the past, she has been a nurse’s aide, a college student, and head of her own construction company. Now, she only makes about $1.50 per hour, but she doesn’t worry about rent. Osmond is a convicted felon, serving 13 years to life at the Southeast Correctional Facility in Windsor for second degree murder.

She lives with a roommate in a building with 18 other women; their deck looks out over the valley and nearby farmland. This facility began housing women exclusively in October 2003 after the men were moved to the newly opened prison in Springfield. Before that, a few women were housed in Windsor, but the majority were held at the Dale Correctional Facility in Waterbury, with overflow directed to the Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility — also a men’s prison — in South Burlington.

The Windsor prison is a converted dairy farm and includes two buildings for the Vermont Correctional Industries (VCI), a woodworking shop, and several large gardens where a few rows of asparagus cling to life despite the frost. A group of women worked in the gardens all summer growing 13,000 pounds of vegetables for the prison and sending extra produce out into the community. There is an illusion of freedom because the layout requires the women to move between several buildings on most days. In reality, the inmates are limited to designated paths and restricted schedules, with many areas off-limits.

Windsor has a total of 104 beds. Eight are in a segregation unit for incoming prisoners or those facing disciplinary proceedings; these rooms are stark and gray. But for the most part, the interiors are surprisingly pleasant. There are no sliding doors locking women into barren, barred cells; nor are there uniforms. The women wear street clothes, within a dress code, and are free to decorate their rooms with few restrictions. Almost every bed is covered with a colorful, handmade blanket. “Most of the women here knit,” explains Pepper Tupperman, a caseworker at Windsor. “They made all of those blankets and also painted their rooms when we moved in here last year.” Some of the rooms bore murals, painted by the male inmates, which the women left  for the most part, though some painted their own.

Prisoners are required to be out of their rooms for most of the day, in educational classes, at their jobs, or in the cafeteria. VCI employs about twenty women making road signs and license plates; other positions are available in the kitchen, library, laundry, gardens, or crews that work out in the community. Osmond’s unit, called Echo, is reserved for twenty women from the work crew, who have jobs and earn either a small hourly wage or ‘good time’ off their sentence, depending on the circumstances of their incarceration.

Katrina Race, 21, and Jessie Marshall,  28, are on the work crew but do not live in Echo. They are both at Windsor for parole violations. Race, who was initially convicted for knowing of stolen property without reporting it, was re-imprisoned when she failed to renew her furlough with her parole officer. “I was out for 18 months, had two and a half jobs, and was able to see my son every weekend,” she says. “But I missed one visit and they threw me back in here in April.”

Marshall was charged with an escape violation for returning to her apartment against the instructions of her parole officer. She is currently awaiting sentencing and was offered a deal of 1 to 4 years. “I was a full-time college student and they told me I had to drop all of my classes and get a job or risk violating my parole,” Marshall says. “The requirements make no sense and then they put us back in jail for what ought to only trigger a sanction,” she asserts.

Statistics from the Vermont State Department of Corrections (DOC) support the charges of harsh and inconsistent sentencing for women leveled by Marshall, Race, and other inmates. Although the percentage of total arrests of women only increased 4 percent between 1995 and 2002, their rate of conviction and entry into the correctional system increased 159 percent during the same time. The 145 women currently incarcerated in Vermont comprise only 7 percent of the total number of women in the correctional system, but that represents an increase of 540 percent in the incarceration rate for women in Vermont over the last decade, according to Jill Evans, Director of Correctional Services for Women Offenders at the DOC. “We are within single digits of overcapacity for women every weekend,” she reports. “If that happens, we will have no choice but to send women out of state.”

Evans sees several possible reasons for the increase in female prisoners in Vermont, including substance abuse, the frequency of female defendants opting for plea bargains, and the disparate prosecution of men and women for related crimes, particularly domestic violence. From 1995 to 2002, the number of women arrested for domestic violence doubled. “We think many of these instances may be abused women who are fighting back, although we are not sure,” Evans says.

Another theory involves the use of plea agreements. Women tend to ‘plead out’ faster than men, and therefore receive stiffer sentences than they might if they went to trial. Evans says  this trend is linked to women’s being  socialized to accept guilt and blame, and to avoid adversarial situations. The DOC is currently seeking more funding to further study the situations and experiences of female inmates.

Windsor houses two-thirds of the female inmates in Vermont, and is intended for women who have already been sentenced. The Dale facility is primarily for detention, holding individuals awaiting sentencing or pretrial release, as well as federal detainees, or those in the Community Re-Entry Program. Dale opened in 2000 and consists of four floors in a single building at the state office complex on Main Street. Although there are 50 beds, 18 are reserved for booking, segregation, and mental health cases, leaving only 32 beds for the general population. General beds occupy a single floor and are separated into suites, with most of the rooms housing four women each. There is a small porch wrapped in chain link fencing that women can use until 5 p.m. “They used to have porch privileges until 11 p.m., but we had to restrict use because some were fishing for drugs over the side after dark,” says Michael Bellizzi, Interim Superintendent at Dale.

Substance abuse is a major obstacle for many of these women. “I don’t think people understand how bad drugs are in Vermont,” says Theresa Muller, the Security and Operations Supervisor at Dale. “They don’t see that substance abuse is the underlying cause for many of these women’s actions.” In a 2003 study of 78 female inmates in Vermont, half the women self-reported problems with drugs and/or alcohol. Facility caseworkers, however, report that closer to 95 percent of incarcerated women have substance abuse problems, according to Evans.

For Kauryn Fortin, a federal detainee awaiting pre-trial release for conspiracy to distribute heroin, incarceration does little to address her treatment needs. “I was outside for four months and had been clean for nine, but I had a relapse in here after I lost custody of my kids,” she explains. Fortin is ambivalent about methadone treatment programs, which aren’t available in prison. “They work for some people, but what happens if you are in a program outside and then come back to jail?” she asks.

Evans agrees that the DOC is currently not addressing the issue of substance abuse adequately, although the department has become the largest provider of both substance abuse and mental health treatment in the state. “Prison and corrections have become, by default, the place where people in our society go to receive these treatments because there are few community resources available,” she says. Evans notes that the state Agency of Human Resources is currently reorganizing in order to facilitate cooperation between state departments to prevent offenders from falling through the cracks. “Corrections can work with offenders, determine the risk they pose and minimize it, but other agencies are the experts in providing substance abuse treatment and mental health care,” she states.

The DOC recently started the Tapestry Program, a joint venture with the Brattleboro Retreat that allows prisoners to begin long-term residential substance abuse treatment up to a year before the end of their minimum sentence.  Valley Vista, a new residential treatment facility with 40 beds reserved for women, opened in Bradford last August. The facility was critical for the DOC, according to Evans. “We were just about to reach the point where we couldn’t handle any more women when Valley Vista opened,” she says.

While both male and female inmates suffer from substance abuse problems, women often carry the additional burden of severe trauma histories. In the 2003 study, 88 percent of the women had experienced either physical or sexual abuse as a child and as an adult. “The majority of these women have a significant history of trauma that often leads to mental health issues and then substance abuse as an attempt at self-medication,” Evans reports.

Paula Gaboriault, a resident at Dale awaiting sentencing for charges of threatening behavior while on parole, is a survivor of domestic violence. She is currently being treated for severe post-traumatic stress disorder as well as inactive tuberculosis, which she was exposed to while detained at the Chittenden facility. “There’s got to be something out there that is better than a band-aid,” Gaboriault asserts. “They put the guy in jail and that is supposed to fix everything but it doesn’t. For a while I was moving from house to house every night with my kids because I still didn’t feel safe. Now I am the aggressive one,” she says. Gaboriault has difficulty taking part in many of the programs at Dale because she remains uncomfortable in groups of people. “If someone raises a hand near me, I still flinch; or if a group of people start arguing and raising their voices I have to go into my room and lock the door because I start having flashbacks,” she says.

Tupperman believes that the general public has misconceptions about female prisoners. “They are not hardened criminals,” she explains. “Some of these women are highly educated and were valued members of their community before they made the mistake that landed them here.” Jennifer Sprafke, a caseworker at Dale, agrees that female inmates are stigmatized and thinks that communities  abdicate their role in the rehabilitation process. “DOC doesn’t own these women. They are Vermont citizens,” Sprafke says. “Whether you want them or not, they will be coming back into the communities, and we need to  deal with that more effectively.”

For Catherine Richard, a federal detainee at Dale awaiting pre-trial release for bank robbery, prison has provided an opportunity to reshape her life. “The programs here, if you use all of them, are like a finely woven basket that holds you together,” Richard explains. “I’m actually scared to go home, not because of what people will say, but because of the loss of structure.”

Serving a three to ten year sentence at Windsor for embezzlement, Raylene Meunier also sees a benefit to her time in prison, but wonders about the overall effect and logic in the system. “This was a safety net for me, a place to make the changes I needed to make, but that’s not the case for everybody,” she says. “There should be punishment, but how much is enough?”

As for Dana Osmond, she will most likely serve another three years before being paroled. “I grieve for the time I’ve lost with my kids, but they will be grown ups by the time I get out and won’t need a full-time mother anymore,” she says. When she is finally released, Osmond plans to return to her native Canada since the United States revokes residency privileges for convicted felons. She says, “After 8 years of being in jail, my future will be wide open again.”

Mary Fratini is a freelance writer and photographer living in Montpelier. She would like to thank the staff and residents at Windsor and Waterbury for their assistance with this article — it would not have been possible without their willingness to discuss their situations so openly.

“Our Healing Gardens”

by Raylene Meunier

One morning when I was feeling really down, there was a knock at my door. A kind woman with a soft voice invited me to participate in a project, “a garden project,” she said. The gardens here at the correctional facility would not only provide food for us, but to others as well. I promptly agreed. The project would get me outside and I would have the opportunity to learn. I could give something of myself to others.

It seems to most people that gardens are a food source only. That’s what I thought until now. But miles from home and family, with a broken heart, the gardens became a place to soul search. For many, including myself, they became a rehab, a safe place to exist without judgment.

Our gardens are a part of the landscape at the correctional facility. It is in the gardens that we grow food to eat and share. It is in the gardens we set some new roots and grow ourselves. A healthy garden, just like life, needs a plan, a goal.

Our plan here has been trying at times. The weather wasn’t always cooperative and because some people come and go quickly, there have been constant changes to the team, bringing new people to teach and learn from. But thanks to Mother Nature, we stayed on task. A bright soft woman with the ability to bring light to the darkest of situations, with her warm heart and kindness, brought us all together…

…So it began. A group of three women began the growing process here in our own greenhouse. The building had dirt floors and felt stale and empty. But it was a fresh start, a clean slate and it was here that the gardens started to take shape.

First we made a plan and map of the gardens; then chose planting times and started seeds. By late winter and early spring, the greenhouse came to life — and the healing slowly began. I remember one woman in particular, the greenhouse became her house. She was there from early morning until night. It was there she worked, preparing our seeds. It was there I heard her once say she found herself again. Without realizing it, she began to firmly plant her feet on the ground.

The daily maintenance and routine brought a sense of peace, an end to

the chaos from just weeks before. As the weeks passed, little sprouts appeared. What was once an empty, lifeless space was now full of green. A fresh scent of plants and water now filled the air. Outside, new life was brought to the gardens, as well. The soil was turned over, the manure was added, and a team was forming. Soon, there would not only be food growing in the gardens, but women as well. The plants would bear fruit and we would bear pride.

The outdoor planting finally began. There was some griping about the labor. It was becoming clear how much work this was going to be. “We’ll never get all of this planted.” “It’s too hot.”

There was a time an end could not be seen. Then, almost all at once, voices stopped. Only the sounds of shovels breaking dirt, rocks colliding, and birds chirping could be heard. I would like to think that with each seed planted, a little past was buried as well. A fresh start as soon as it was covered.

It wasn’t long before sprouts began to show everywhere, as well as smiles on the faces of many. Accomplishments could be seen and felt by all — a new journey in every row. “We’ve done it!” I heard someone say. “There’s lots more to be done,” said another.

The tomatoes needed a little help to stand, a little support to get through the early stages. The tomatoes would get their support from wooden stakes. We’d get ours from each other. We all have strength we can share. …

…But the beans, they grew nice and tall, providing a secluded passage for us to roam. Walking back to my dorm one day, I heard a faint whimper. It was coming from this passage. It was there I found a friend crying. She sat hidden from the facility and all who are here. Her arms were wrapped around her legs real tight. Her face was smudged with dirt and wet with tears.

I asked, “Why are you crying?” “Because I can,” she said. At last, we had a place to be alone. A place to hear and sort our thoughts.

Did you know you can tell a bean plant anything and it will listen without judgment? I bet if you were to listen really close, you may even get a reply. With the rustle of each leaf, a sound can be heard. A comforting sound. It’s almost like a whisper you would hear from your mom when she kissed your forehead goodnight.

When the weeds started to take over, we were beginning to feel a little overwhelmed, a little discouraged. But one morning, help came; not help any of us expected. There, working beside us, were many staff members. In jeans and work boots, the assistant superintendent and business manager worked with us, digging and pulling in the hot summer sun. They brought us new inspiration. We weren’t just inmates here. We were coworkers. And they were part of our team.

I love to be in the gardens when it’s raining. I love the sound of the raindrops when they hit different leaves and plants. Sometimes it sounds fierce and makes you want to run. Other times the soft pitter-patter makes you want to close your eyes and feel each drop. Sometimes the cold chill it brings is so relieving. It can almost wash your pains away, no matter how deep, or so it seems. Each drop can drown a hurt and bring new beginning to us and the plants it feeds.

A lot has grown here in our gardens. More than many of us thought possible. More than many know.

Raylene Meunier is from Barre and works weekly with Vermont writer Johanna Knowles in Windsor.