I have so much admiration for the people of early rural Nebraska who knew the importance of educating young and idealistic teachers who often gave up much to cultivate young minds.
The schoolhouses silhouetted against a sky of season changing colors they probably looked lonely, flanked by swings and a slippery slide, sharing space with an outhouse and nearby the flailing arms of a windmill. The serene scene belied what was going on inside where America’s greatness was being made.
The countryside was for growing things – corn, wheat, cattle. Inside, these little schools another important thing was growing – the thirst for knowledge. The wide-eyed children of kindergarten age came and quickly learned about the big, wide world that was a far cry from the existence they knew. From the flatlands in which they lived, they learned of mountains to conquer, oceans to navigate and big cities with intriguing challenges and endless possibilities.
The Palmer Method became their guide to cursive writing and the printed word became their passport to the world. They learned to add, subtract, multiply and divide. They read of America’s struggle for independence, the healing of its fracture while it was still in its youth and how freedom led curious minds to invention and better lives.
Behind it all at each school was a young teacher, who came filled with the idealism that she could help shape lives for their journey into the future. She probably had no more than a high school education herself, or maybe a year in Normal School. During her first days and weeks, she probably wondered what she had gotten into. First there was the challenge of teaching 5 year olds alongside those many years older, all in one classroom. There was the challenge of daily life . . . making sure in the winter that there was wood for the stove, that the water pump was working, that the children had food, caring for scrapes and bruises from playground play, days when a freak blizzard meant keeping the children overnight. She might have arrived astride a horse or by carriage, coming from the nearest house where she could rent a room, often miles away.
It was all worth it. The children were “her children.” She loved them. She disciplined them. She tempted them with dreams of what they could be. And what they became was smarter tillers of the land, captains of industry, doctors and lawyers, business men and women, soldiers and sailors, caring wives/husbands/parents, all of them eager to take the baton of education passed into their hands and from there to the next generation, and they to the next and . . .that’s why I write of these heroes of education.
The schoolhouses silhouetted against a sky of season changing colors they probably looked lonely, flanked by swings and a slippery slide, sharing space with an outhouse and nearby the flailing arms of a windmill. The serene scene belied what was going on inside where America’s greatness was being made.
The countryside was for growing things – corn, wheat, cattle. Inside, these little schools another important thing was growing – the thirst for knowledge. The wide-eyed children of kindergarten age came and quickly learned about the big, wide world that was a far cry from the existence they knew. From the flatlands in which they lived, they learned of mountains to conquer, oceans to navigate and big cities with intriguing challenges and endless possibilities.
The Palmer Method became their guide to cursive writing and the printed word became their passport to the world. They learned to add, subtract, multiply and divide. They read of America’s struggle for independence, the healing of its fracture while it was still in its youth and how freedom led curious minds to invention and better lives.
Behind it all at each school was a young teacher, who came filled with the idealism that she could help shape lives for their journey into the future. She probably had no more than a high school education herself, or maybe a year in Normal School. During her first days and weeks, she probably wondered what she had gotten into. First there was the challenge of teaching 5 year olds alongside those many years older, all in one classroom. There was the challenge of daily life . . . making sure in the winter that there was wood for the stove, that the water pump was working, that the children had food, caring for scrapes and bruises from playground play, days when a freak blizzard meant keeping the children overnight. She might have arrived astride a horse or by carriage, coming from the nearest house where she could rent a room, often miles away.
It was all worth it. The children were “her children.” She loved them. She disciplined them. She tempted them with dreams of what they could be. And what they became was smarter tillers of the land, captains of industry, doctors and lawyers, business men and women, soldiers and sailors, caring wives/husbands/parents, all of them eager to take the baton of education passed into their hands and from there to the next generation, and they to the next and . . .that’s why I write of these heroes of education.