I taught at Prairie Grove two years, beginning in 1953.  The first year twenty-one students attended and the next year twenty-four.  They ranged from primary, (kindergarten), through eighth grade.  

     The building was a teacher's delight.  It had running water to a wash basin and drinking fountain, thus eliminating the need for carrying buckets of water.  Like most schools at that time, there was an oil burning stove, only this one was below floor level, thus no obstruction for seeing the front of the room.  

     The parents were very supportive and the students were well behaved. Students liked the policy of utilizing time wisely during study and work times, thus no homework.

     Weather permitting, we ate lunch in the shade of the trees and the teacher supervised games.  Winter time, we did some sled riding, blackboard games, checkers, or free time.  When outside, I alternated between being with upper and lower grades.

     I looked forward to producing and directing the annual school program.  The production consisted of skits, monologues, and singing.  the students learned how to use their talents and how to speak and act on stage.  Prairie Grove students did some outstanding performances.

     The other big event was the last day of school community picnic. Weather permitting, it was held outdoors in the shade of the trees.  Attendance was great.  The food was bountiful and delicious.

Leona Granaman Schmeiser

August 2012 

"This is the Way it Was"

Remember that first morning in September

When you wondered if you could -

When you walked through the dew-wet stubble

Of the freshly-mowed schoolyard

And the black eyed susans and goldenrod nodded at you there in the corner,

And you took a deep breath and you turned the key in that schoolhouse door for the first time.

And you smelled the smell of chalk and blackboards, paper, paste, old books, new books, maps, and sweeping compound, and yes, even mice, and all the little bodies that had been there before -

And you saw the rough worn floor, and the shining windows, the big  round stove, the scarred desks, the globe, and there at the front the TEACHER'S DESK the Bell waiting for YOU 

And you wondered if you could?

     Remember when the kids came in their new overalls and gingham dresses, with their dinner buckets, and you had one too, and their pencil boxes and rough-paper tablets.

With their shy, questioning looks of, "what's the new teacher going to be like?"

You looked at those faces with a prayer that you could do it -

That you could give them something to live by.

     Remember ?

The eighth-grade boy that towered over you, the first-grade girl that cried - or worse, and you looked at him sternly, and you held her on your lap, and you wondered if you should.

     Remember the pump in the yard, and the stone water cooler, the coal buckets, and the outside toilets, and how tired you were at four o'clock.

With the boards to wash and the floors to sweep?

     Remember the cold Monday mornings when the kindling was scarce and the coal was damp,

And the kids came early?

     Remember the baseball games and the snowball fights,

And the wet mittens behind the stove all afternoon,

The noses you wiped and the tears you mended,

The broken thermos bottles, and the overshoes that wouldn't go on?

     Remember the potluck suppers, the dialogues, and the recitations,

The visits of the County Superintendent,

And the last-day-of-school picnic,

The Jack-o-Lanterns, the turkeys, the Christmas trees, and Valentines, The Easter eggs, and the May baskets.

     Remember all the kids, and all the love you gave them

And aren't you glad you could?

Submitted by Erma Dietsch Reynolds

August 2003