The Only One in the Room — and Every Room
A rural superintendent reflects on the irreplaceable value of presence, flexibility, and human connection in small-town education.
The Only One in the Room—and Every Room
What Leading a Small-Town School Without a Net Taught Me About What Matters
It's 7:42 in the morning. Before the first bell rings, an upset parent is already waiting in the office. The phone is ringing—again—and I can hear it from the hallway. Two students have just been called in for tardiness. The cafeteria is humming with the controlled chaos of kids who haven't fully woken up yet, and there's a behavior situation brewing at the corner table that I can see from where I'm standing. My board clerk catches my eye across the office and gives me the look—the one that means, I've got the phones. Go.
So I go.
This is Tuesday. It's also Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.
I am the Superintendent of USD 369 in Burrton, Kansas. I am also the elementary principal, the curriculum director, the person who plans and leads all professional development, the one who calls our service center when we need backup, the first stop when the nurse is unavailable, and, occasionally, the person helping sort out a transportation problem before the buses roll. In a small rural district, you don't get to choose just one hat. You wear all of them—sometimes before your coffee gets cold.
I'll be honest—I wouldn't have it any other way.
When "Wearing Many Hats" Isn't a Metaphor
There's a romanticized version of the small-town school leader: the beloved figure who knows every kid by name, walks the halls with quiet authority, and always has the answers. The reality is messier, more human, and—I'd argue—far more meaningful.
In a small district, there is no layer of bureaucracy between you and the problem. A student in crisis doesn't wait for you to finish a superintendent's meeting. A teacher who needs support doesn't get an appointment two weeks out. You are either present or absent—and presence is the whole job.
I've made a deliberate choice to stay at school most of the time instead of attending regional superintendent gatherings. That might raise some eyebrows in certain circles. But when a student needs me or a teacher needs help, a networking lunch will still be there next month. That student's moment won't be.
Prioritization Is a Myth—Flexibility Is the Skill
People love to ask how I prioritize. The honest answer is that sometimes I make a list, and sometimes a student behavior issue takes up my entire day, making the list irrelevant.
Real leadership in a small school isn't about time-blocking your calendar into pristine 30-minute chunks. It's about being genuinely flexible—with your staff, your expectations for the day, and yourself. A meeting I planned to attend has waited while I sat with a struggling student. A professional development plan I created has been shelved temporarily while I helped a teacher work through something more immediate. That's not disorganization. That's discernment.
We model flexibility for one another here. My staff and I have created a culture where we move as a team, adapt when we need to, and never let anyone face a difficult moment alone. That's not an accident—we've built it intentionally, conversation by conversation, hard day by hard day.
The People Who Make It Possible
I would be doing a profound disservice if I let anyone read this and think I'm doing it alone. I'm not.
The culture we've built at our school is one of the things I'm proudest of, and it belongs to every member of our staff. But there is one person I have to recognize specifically: my board clerk and HR support, who keeps this operation running and consistently has my back in ways that are impossible to fully quantify. When everything is happening at once, she is steady. She is the reason I can walk into that cafeteria instead of being tethered to the phone.
Great leadership isn't about being the person who does everything. It's about building a team where everyone understands the mission, trusts one another, and steps into the gap without being asked. We have that here. I don't take a single day of it for granted.
What I Want Other Women in Leadership to Know
Small doesn't mean less. A small district, a small team, or a small budget—none of that makes your impact small. Some of the most complex, demanding, and deeply human leadership I've ever witnessed happens in places most people drive through without stopping.
If you're the only one in the room—and also every room—that means something. It means you're trusted. It means you're capable. It means you have the opportunity to model something powerful for every student and staff member who watches you figure it out in real time.
You won't always get it right. Some days the parent leaves frustrated, the behavior doesn't improve, and the list you made that morning is still untouched at 4 p.m. But if you showed up, stayed present, and moved through it alongside your people, you did the job.
That's always been enough for me.
Kara Schwindt is the Superintendent of USD 369 in Burrton, Kansas, where she also serves as elementary principal, curriculum director, and—on most mornings—whatever else the day requires.
