My first cup of coffee is ready for me on the end table. And my dog is on full alert, eyeing a neighbor who’s checking on the fence with his own dog.
It I look past those two foregrounds to the distant west, I can see the very top of Cloud’s Peak in the Big Horn Mountains. The corner of that triangular parcel of land splits off from the main family ranch by the state highway, railroad tracks and county roads.
A recent Wyoming district court finding that lawmakers haven’t been funding schools adequately, coupled with legislative decisions to cut and rework residential property taxes are perplexing to some and contentious to others.
Unmoved, that little piece of dirt and grass provides context on why our communities and our schools are essential to the state. They’re fundamental to our Wyoming persona.
The one-acre corner was gifted to the school district by my great grandfather in the early 1900s. And the structure that thrived there, Plum Creek School, was the iconic one room schoolhouse. My father, aunt and uncle attended school there with the children of families from out past the community of Wyarno, on Dutch Creek, Ulm and Buffalo Creek.
Families had East European names like Gorzalka, Wantulok, Ligocki, Legerski. The good Catholic families liked to name their daughters Mary, so people called them Mary George, Mary Paul, and Mary John to distinguish.
The little building was a cherished fixture in a rural community that put a premium on education, hard work and being a good neighbor. When the inevitable tragedy or disaster happened, everyone pulled together to help. Fighting range fires, holding a barn-raising, bringing food and quietly standing together in grief for loss of son, mother, grandfather. That connection created a bond and a sense of community that is still reflected in traditional Wyoming values.
It is easy to understand why public education holds a central role in our state constitution. Those pioneers recognized that an investment in children is an investment in the future. The additional work that could be done if the children stayed home in the busy days of Spring was infinitely less important than the long-term benefit to those children and to the community.
When World War II broke out, boys rapidly became young men. They accelerated their high school graduation and left to join the fight. People made sacrifices made to provide them an excellent education, though their lives often ended in very real sacrifices, in China and Europe.
Barnstormers passing through the state generated a fascination with flying in my father and uncle. Both volunteered to be pilots in the war effort.
During those long years, fraught with the uncertainty of their sons serving in the Pacific Theater, my grandmother worked the land alongside Grandad.
Dad expressed a desire to return to farming, but was told in no uncertain terms that the Symonses don’t quit without finishing what they start. He was welcomed home once he had his degree.
As the population grew and more people settled into towns, schools continued to be the neighborhood hub. School carnivals, parent-teacher conferences, inter-school sporting activities, band concerts, school plays, music recitals, and art exhibitions brought generations and neighbors together to celebrate and encourage students. Many of those schools were also the local election polling place. People drew together there in the spirit of those deeply-felt civic duties, too.
Oh, and the teachers. So many of them taught multiple generations of the same families. For close to 20 years, every single child at Linden School kindergarten had their journey through K-12 begin with Mrs. Duncan. I can remember with great fondness, and just a little fear, Mrs Wastoski from third grade. There was Mr. Engelter, Mrs. Gligoria – and my sixth-grade teacher whose name escapes me.
He wrote on my grade card that I talk too much in class. My father scrawled a note on the same report card for me to take back to the teacher: “Gail, like the rest of our children, suffers from diarrhea of the mouth.”
That report card remained in my file for the rest of my Wyoming public-school years.
Thanks, Dad.
Central Junior High and Sheridan High School brought together town neighborhoods and rural communities. Those grade schools may have been scattered around the town and county but it was clear there was a consistent high standard for the quality of teaching and learning. And each school contained a whole new group to get into shenanigans with.
Television and social media have shrunk the world and increased the distance between people. Change comes faster than ever, and relationships require effort to maintain.
Yet, that close tie between strong communities, respect for others, service to a greater good and lifelong learning that the solid foundation of our schools left with us remains the core of our Wyoming values.
This is who we are.
