COUNTRY SCHOOL
It all happened in School District # 62, Spruce Grove, Menahga, Minnesota – many years ago.
Two miles must be an exaggeration, I thought to myself, as my Finnish husband began to recount his first grade experience in a real, bona fide country school, reminiscent of “Little House on the Prairie” tales. It can’t possibly have been a two mile walk from their northern Minnesota farm to this obscure little school in the middle of nowhere. But odometers don’t lie. It proved to be true, as I learned when he drove me out in the country to retrace his walking route to school.
We set the odometer at the lane that turns into the farmyard. The spot was unmistakable, although the old white farmhouse had long ago been replaced by a more modern home. All the outbuildings, including sauna, barn and outhouse, were gone. Still, the contours of the land and the tall pines in the yard were familiar to him. That old mysterious pull of “Home”. The little Kettle River still meandered across the meadow at the bottom of the hill, not much more than a trickle.
Turning down Road 110 that runs past the farm, we followed it down the hill past the swamp. Then we gradually climbed up the road along the edge of the neighbor’s farm to the right. There was the spot where his oldest sister tried to stem her younger sister’s tears over being sent to school, that strange new fearful world. Big sister thought that by climbing up on a haystack and jumping onto hay bales that were still on the hay rack, she could get her little sister to laugh. That didn’t end well, for big sister landed on the hay rack and broke her arm. I doubt that much learning took place that day.
We continued up to Hillview Tar Road and took a right at the corner. The old building was just another half mile down the road. This was the one room schoolhouse that he remembered. This is where it all happened, all those memories of a wonderfully gifted teacher, Arlene Antilla, who herded that gaggle of some 30 kids together into a world of learning. Here is where this little group of children from surrounding farms, ranging from grades 1 to 8, spent their days getting ready for the outside world. Arlene knew how to take charge, quietly and gently. Monthly chores were doled out at a class meeting – carrying water from the outdoor pump, cleaning chalkboards and erasers, shoveling snow. Everyone took a turn with chores. Everyone learned how to be responsible, how to be part of the team. Arlene made sure of it.
Now you might wonder how one small woman could make it all work. I wish you could have met her, as I did. Her calm demeanor must have concealed a will of iron. Well into her 90’s, her eyes sparkled as she sat down to visit with us and began to recall those memories. Yes, she lit the cast iron cook stove on her own, early in the morning, to warm the little building before the children arrived, their lunch pails in hand. Yes, she often cleared the path to the door after a fresh snowfall the night before. Yes, she prepared lesson plans for all of those age levels, graded their assignments, wrote up tests for their latest challenges. She romped the fields and woods with the whole crew, teaching them the flora and fauna of northern Minnesota. And she somehow maintained her equilibrium, firmly in charge but sunny and cheerful. When the bigger boys got cheeky, she had a way of bringing them up to the front of the room for a little chat at her desk. It worked. ?
My husband often talks about how she tailor made school for him. He was ahead of the game, having been taught to read in both Finn and English before he was sent to school. Arlene just moved him around to his ability level to keep him challenged. “Fourth grade readers…and Ernie” etc. She still remembered his 5 year old rendition of “Silent Night” in the Christmas program. after all these years.
Talk about your unsung hero. Anyone got a pair of angel wings?