This commentary is by Rep. Leanne Harple, D-Glover, who serves on the House Committee on Education.
The Northeast Kingdom — known to all who live here as the NEK — is where I was born, where I grew up, and where I am now raising my own children on the same dirt road where I grew up.
My love for the NEK runs deep. One of the things I cherish most about this place is that we have always done things a little differently — and often a little better — than the rest of the world expects.
This legislative session is focused on education reform, particularly rural education. I come to this not only as a legislator who serves on the House Committee on Education, but also as a parent sending my children through the same small school system that shaped me, and as a teacher whose entire career has been spent in rural Northeast Kingdom schools.
Before I turn directly to education, I am thinking about something Vermonters understand better than almost anyone else: what it means to be small.
In Vermont, 73% of dairy farms are considered small — meaning they have fewer than 200 cows. Most are family-run, multigenerational operations.
They may not be the biggest, and they may not look the most efficient if you’re only studying a spreadsheet. But I think most Northeast Kingdom residents would agree that they are essential to who we are.
No one in the NEK would seriously suggest that the path to efficiency is to shut them down or force them to consolidate into massive operations three counties away.
Imagine that bill for a moment: If your herd is too small, you’ll need to send your cows somewhere else — but don’t worry, we’ll bus them.
We would laugh that proposal right out of the statehouse — and rightly so.
Of course, schools aren’t farms, and they shouldn’t be treated as such. And while we all know that cows and kids are not the same, the real point is that smallness is a characteristic, not a failure.
Vermonters understand something fundamental: being small is not the same thing as being broken. Just like we would never tell small farms they’ve failed because they don’t look like Iowa, we also know that when it comes to schools, bigger is not always better.
So we need to be asking a better question: What do our small schools actually contribute to our communities — and how can we support them so they can thrive?
We know what our small schools contribute. They anchor communities. They pass down skills, values, and responsibility. They shape the character of the places we love. And yes, sometimes they need support. Sometimes they need to adapt. But we never start from the assumption that smallness itself is the problem.
A small school isn’t a failed school. A rural school isn’t a business mistake. It’s a reflection of who lives there and where they live.
We can’t legislate away geography. We can’t consolidate rural life. And we can’t remap Vermont into being something it’s not.
In the NEK, our schools are smaller because our communities are smaller. That’s not a flaw — it’s a feature of a very special place defined by distance, independence, and strong local ties.
Our schools know their students. They know their families. And they are often the heart of the town.
Strong rural schools are essential to strong rural communities. And if we want the NEK to have a future — if we want families to move in, stay, and put down roots — we must maintain and protect strong schools in those communities.
Like much of Vermont, the Northeast Kingdom’s population is declining. We all know that. Reversing that trend means attracting families who want to work here, raise children here, and become long-term members of our towns.
Families move to places with good schools. Schools aren’t just educational institutions — they are economic infrastructure. They are workforce development. They are community stability.
That’s why equity and local decision-making must go hand in hand. Local voices matter. Communities know their children best. True equity doesn’t mean forcing every school to look the same — it means recognizing that different places require different solutions.
We’re not saying small schools are perfect. We’re not saying change is off the table. We are saying that consolidation should not be the default answer simply because something looks inefficient on paper.
We’re not anti-change — we’re anti-quick-fix.
Whether we’re talking about farms or schools, we are talking about essential community institutions shaped by rural geography. And in both cases, the mistake is assuming that if something doesn’t meet a numerical threshold, the only solution is elimination.
The real question before us isn’t whether small schools should exist. They already do. The question is whether we are willing to support them with the same respect, creativity, and common sense we show our other rural community infrastructure.
The NEK has always punched above its weight — not by getting bigger, but by staying true to our roots, remaining resilient, and taking pride in who we are.
If we continue to honor that, invest wisely, and listen locally, our rural schools won’t just survive. They’ll help lead the way.
