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Only an occasional one-room rural school remains in use today. At the beginning of the
twentieth century, about the time when I was born, more than a thousand provided educational opportunities in the
nation’s rural areas.
A parade of mental pictures bring into sharp focus my formative years when life, at one time, centered around a
rural school and our family farm.
Fondly I recall the many times a clanging school bell called pupils to classes. I can still hear the bell sound
begin with a hesitant ding dong, rising in crescendo to send a vital message across fertile farm lands. After
additional bell rope tugs, the action slowed, then ceased, and the bell sound retreated into silence.
Each day, with school in session, I joined other pupils, clutching a lunch pail and assorted books. Together we
trudged along a dirt or snow-covered road to a common destination. On the way, we learned to know each other better
and how to get along together. No busses, automobiles, or fond parents driving a horse-drawn vehicle transported
us to school. We walked, benefited by exercise.
Rural school teachers, with minimal training, imparted knowledge with love and understanding. We may have learned
by attrition and repetition, as someone may suggest; but a number of my classmates graduated from the local high
school, sometimes with honors, and attended college or a university. Some graduates became leaders in their chosen
field.
Anyone who might be expecting a classroom pin-dropping atmosphere would have considered our activity pandemonium.
Someone, or so it seemed, was in motion at all times. Yet we learned concentration, a valuable ability to use
during later years.
In a schoolhouse with more than forty pupils, ranging in grades from one through eight, as well as kindergarten,
prompted us to pay little attention to schoolroom activity. Classes passing at frequent intervals, and monitors
tending to their respective duties, added little to the disruptive atmosphere. Despite ensuing activity, our work
studies proceeded in an orderly fashion. While listening surreptitiously to class recitation, we reviewed each
grade, year after year.
The school building, where at one time I attended classes, still remains at the present time. While visiting there
recently, I learned the building has been remodeled for a township meeting hall. A dusty, country road, running
past the one-time school building and playgrounds, has been replaced by a two-lane paved highway, alive with trucks
and automobiles. Horse-drawn vehicles, common during my formative years, are no longer seen today. Vanished years,
spent within the aged, sturdy structure, brought back poignant memories.
If you have questions or comments about this Web page or site, e-mail: mary@vanmeer.com
© 2002 Leo VanMeer
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