The Enduring Impact of Rural Education
Written by Jeff Drake, Superintendent Fergus Falls Public Schools, MREA Board President
For me, the summer months are a time for reflection. I am filled with gratitude for the dedication of my colleagues over the past school year and with pride as I watch another group of talented seniors cross the stage at graduation. In these moments, I am often reminded of an educator who profoundly shaped my life—a teacher in a small rural district whose influence continues to guide my work nearly fifty years later.
In 1977, my family moved from Michigan’s lower peninsula to Deer River, Minnesota, about fifteen miles west of Grand Rapids. I entered the fourth grade that year. What was planned as a two-year stay turned into fifty—my dad still lives in my childhood home. My parents were working-class people; my mom was an elementary paraprofessional, and my dad worked on a natural gas pipeline. They instilled in me a strong work ethic and a deep respect for education.
Deer River is a town of fewer than 1,000 people, yet the school district serves a vast area stretching from Marcell to Cass Lake, Cohasset, and Remer. Anchored by logging and tourism, it is a hardworking, common-sense community that invested deeply in its children. That commitment was evident in its innovative programming and the brand-new high school that opened during my middle school years.
The new school welcomed us just as I entered seventh grade. Students from King Elementary joined those from the “North School” near Talmoon as we transitioned into the facility. Because construction wasn’t fully complete, my seventh-grade social studies and math classes met in the bus garage. During the cold Minnesota winter, walking to those garage bays was always a refreshing start to the hour.
Despite those temporary classrooms, I received an extraordinary education. But fifth grade stands out for two distinct reasons: first, my introduction to the tedious exercise of sentence diagramming (which, against all odds, failed to quell my developing love of writing); and second, my selection for a gifted and talented program where I met Deanna “Dee” Steele.
Mrs. Steele taught our small group in fifth and sixth grade before moving to the high school with us in seventh. In a truly unique eight-year journey, she remained one of my core teachers through graduation. Her classroom was a refuge where you could be yourself without apology. She taught us how to think—not what to think.
Even when my views differed from hers, she treated my ideas with genuine respect and gave me the freedom to explore who I was and develop my own beliefs. That kind of trust from an adult outside my family was a remarkable gift.
Her dedication extended far beyond the school day. She believed students from a small rural community deserved opportunities to experience the wider world, so she made sure we did. She loaded us into vehicles for trips to the Twin Cities: visiting the Science Museum’s Omnitheater to see Genesis and marvel at the T. rex, attending A Christmas Carol at the Guthrie Theater, exploring art museums, and—even though we kept it quiet in the high school hallways—seeing The Nutcracker ballet.
Mrs. Steele also challenged us academically. She coached our math competition teams and guided us as we qualified for the state Future Problem Solving competition. Other experiences broadened my perspective as well, including my junior-year Close Up trip to Washington, D.C., where our guide reminded us at Arlington National Cemetery of the quiet reverence owed to those who served.
Our final journey with Mrs. Steele remains one of my most vivid high school memories: competing at the Odyssey of the Mind World Finals in Flagstaff, Arizona, during our senior year.
We flew home on the day of graduation, and flight delays left us with almost no margin for error. Because our valedictorian and salutatorian were commencement speakers, Mrs. Steele decided to drive them separately from the Twin Cities, confident she could make better time. Unfortunately, when she reached her car, the battery was dead.
By the time we arrived at school, a packed gymnasium full of hot, impatient parents had already been waiting for well over an hour. There was no time to change. We pulled our gowns over our travel clothes, lined up for the processional, and I crossed the stage wearing a wrinkled polo shirt, faded Levi’s, and a pair of Nike Bruins.
After the ceremony, we gathered in Mrs. Steele’s classroom one last time. She presented each of us with a Merriam-Webster dictionary. Inside the front cover, she had handwritten a personal note to each of us. Mine was only a few sentences, but it remains one of the greatest gifts a teacher has ever given me—I can still recite the inscription by heart.
That dictionary has traveled with me to every school where I’ve worked. It still sits in my office today, reminding me that the greatest legacy of a school isn’t its buildings or programs. It’s the teachers who quietly change lives.
Aside from my parents and my wife, Amy, no one has had a more profound influence on the person I have become than Mrs. Steele. Decades later, I still keep in touch, though not as often as I should. She will celebrate her 88th birthday this November. I still treasure every opportunity we have to catch up.
Every child deserves a teacher like Mrs. Steele. Nearly fifty years later, one truth remains unchanged: personal relationships are the foundation of learning and growth. The transformative power of rural education is just as vibrant today as it was when I crossed that graduation stage in my sneakers.
Each spring, as another class of graduates begins its next chapter, I find myself thinking about a teacher whose influence never ended with graduation. That dictionary serves as a daily reminder of the teachers who selflessly invest in young lives. Rural schools continue to shape remarkable young people because of remarkable educators. It is a privilege to serve MREA in support of Minnesota’s rural schools and alongside the teachers whose quiet influence will be felt for generations.