Learning To Survive
|Rural schools might get more respect if they were evaluated less on their size and more on their academic performance.|
Jim Mutziger, Howard's school board president and the general manager of the Howard Farmers Cooperative Association, saw revenue for his co-op increase $3.5 million in fiscal 1997 over the previous year.
He says that the co-op deserves credit for marketing itself better. But, he adds, "Raymond Parry told people if they spent just a little more in Howard, South Dakota, it would make a difference. I really think that's had a tremendous impact on what's happened here."
Parry didn't stop there.
After the successful cash-flow project, Howard was awarded a three-year, $75,000 Annenberg implementation grant from South Dakota State's Program for Rural School and Community Renewal, which oversees 18 Rural Challenge projects statewide.
The grant pays half of Parry's teaching salary so that he can run Howard's Rural Challenge program. One of his first tasks was to turn a classroom at Howard High School into a rural resource center for the town.
Maps, county records, and photographs from the local historical society are available at the center for student research. And Howard Mayor Larry Gauger shows up from time to time to explain local zoning laws or agriculture trends to students.
The center has displayed exhibitions on local veterans and the history of Miner County rural schools, which once numbered 73. Now, there are only four schools countywide. Town residents are always welcome during school hours, and town meetings have been held at the center. "This kind of relationship never existed before," Parry says.
Local volunteers have personal reasons for staffing the center. "We're going to lose some more people because families aren't as big as they used to be, and you begin to wonder what's going to happen to us," says LuLu Anderson, a retired former school teacher. "We need to look at the young people to help, and that's one of the reasons we're here."
"People need time to swallow and then digest. You can't just
shove something down people's throats out here."
But not every community takes to the program as smoothly as Howard has.
For nearly five years, concerned residents in the north-central Idaho towns of Elk City and Kooskia, which have 1,200 residents combined, have studied ways to expand local cultural and business opportunities.
"We were just trying to find out how the hell to survive," says Beth Funk, a resident of Kooskia and a former forest ranger. "The logging industry isn't what it was when we moved here."
A scout for the Rural Challenge program last winter contacted Funk and other interested town residents about their work on arts education. To the residents, the Rural Challenge seemed a way to help schools develop an arts-based language arts curriculum and raise money for other projects.
But when the scout came to town in the spring, he received a cool welcome.
Several residents were worried that the Annenberg work was linked to federal school programs and school-based workforce development. That concern was intense, Funk says, because the scout also worked for the Northwest Regional Educational Laboratory, an education research and technical assistance center in Portland, Ore., funded by the U.S. Department of Education. "They were trying to get him to say how the Rural Challenge was connected to the government," Funk recalls.
Some people were also taken aback by the program's central tenet.
"The school has not and never should be the center of the community," says Jamie Edmondson, a member of a group of town residents who organized to oppose participation in the Annenberg program. "There's too much now that takes away from education."
"I've always thought that the school was a building taxpayers
paid for and they should be able to use it."
To Edmondson, the effort reeks of social engineering and is potentially damaging. "There's nothing wrong with saying you have a good community. But if you educate them just about their communities, then you're limiting their horizons."
The Rural Challenge will also try to lobby for the support of elected officials and others who set public policy.
The Rural Challenge has contracted with longtime Nebraska agriculture lobbyist Marty Strange to develop a public-policy agenda for the program. Strange works out of a converted barn in Randolph, Vt. He is focusing on academic standards, equity and finance, facilities and infrastructure, and governance.
Rural educators want rigorous academic standards, he says. But those developed so far don't accurately reflect today's rural America, Strange argues.
"If you read the standards and what you need to do to meet them, you'll learn that rural is yesterday and someplace else," he says. "We don't believe that. Standards need to be rooted in the place the school serves."
School finance and equity issues will likely focus on funding for rural communities that, hamstrung by shrinking tax bases and aging facilities, are often forced to close schools or consolidate with neighbors. In 1940, there were 117,108 school districts nationwide. By 1990, there were 15,367, an 87 percent decrease. Consolidation is not all bad, but it should be a local choice, Strange says.
Rural schools might get more respect if they were evaluated less on their size and more on their academic performance. For example, students in rural schools score higher than their nonrural peers on many national tests. On the 1996 National Assessment of Educational Progress 8th grade math test, students in rural and small towns averaged 276 out of a possible 500 points. Suburban and large-town test-takers averaged 273 points, and central-city students averaged 259. The good showing was also true for poor rural students. The average scores of students from the same groups who qualify for the federal free and reduced-price lunch program were 257, 247, and 244, respectively.
The Rural Challenge's board of directors is expected to vote on the policy agenda Strange is working on by the end of the year. If adopted, local projects will be expected, but not required, to advocate the new priorities.
"They'll get into it as much as they want, but we want grantees to be central to it," Strange says. "We want to see a national rural education network, but it's too soon to say what the focus will be."
"It's their place. They're writing about their home. Nobody has
told them that's important."
Ultimately, the Rural Challenge's strongest hope for the future is in curricula that integrate rural schools and their communities. And if Howard students are any indication, such changes will have an impact.
It's the Thursday of a big football game, but all attention in Howard High's 5th-period English class is on the final projects of a seven-week session based on the novel of Iowa's farm crisis and rural poverty, Broken Heartland, by Osha Gray Davidson. A $1,000 Rural Challenge grant paid for resources for the class, such as the book and videotapes.
The project was an emotional journey for some students, many of whom know all too well about the perils of family farming when it runs into competition with massive corporate operations.
"What are you going to do with your learning? Are you willing to take some risks?" asks their teacher, Mary Stangohr. "Like it or not, the fate of the nation is in your hands. I'd like you to stand up and make sure that nobody makes you a serf on your own land."
Tiffany Feller and Melinda Alfson, juniors at Howard High School who have known each other throughout childhood, are going to document how their lives are intertwined with the agriculture industry.
|Ultimately, the Rural Challenge's strongest hope for the future is in curricula that integrate rural schools and their communities.|
Feller's family farm was hit hard last winter when early freezes damaged crops and caused the deaths of several cattle. Tears well up in her eyes as she recalls tracking two dozen cattle early one winter morning with her father, only to find half of them dead. The cattle discovered some stalks of corn and, driven by hunger, gorged themselves until they died.
"It was really hard to deal with. We decided to sell out," she says. Her family retained some of its acreage, but sold the farmhouse and moved into town this fall. "I don't understand how this happened. The banks and the government didn't do as much as they could have."
Meanwhile, Alfson's grandparents recently sold the family's service station after 40 years, largely because patrons, like the Fellers, couldn't bring them business when the hard times hit.
"People complain that we closed, but you would see them in another town buying gas," Alfson says. "Well, I tell them, 'You can go there now.'"