When Denise Massey鈥檚 daughter was 6 years old, she put the girl, who has Down Syndrome, on a van every morning for speech therapy in El Centro: 100 miles round trip, sometimes braving 120-degree heat, monsoons and severe dust storms known in the desert as haboobs.
Thirteen years later she鈥檚 still making that daily trek, because her Imperial County school district is so small it can鈥檛 offer a full gamut of special education services, and so remote that there鈥檚 nothing closer.
鈥淚t was hard at first. My daughter was really tired, and she鈥檇 act out,鈥� Massey said. 鈥淏ut it鈥檚 been worth it because it鈥檚 so important my daughter gets the services she needs.鈥�
Special education is only one of the challenges in rural districts like San Pasqual Valley Unified, a 591-student district in the southeastern corner of the state where Massey鈥檚 daughter, Annabelle, is enrolled. Transportation, recruiting teachers, finding contractors, tracking mountains of paperwork and complying with state regulations have become so burdensome that superintendents in those districts are begging for relief. Meanwhile, students like Annabelle sometimes miss out on opportunities that their peers in more populated areas take for granted.
鈥淲e have a system that works through an urban and suburban lens, but leaves rural schools behind,鈥� said Rindy DeVoll, executive director of the California Rural Ed Network, which advocates for California鈥檚 hundreds of small, remote schools. 鈥淓veryone in education has challenges, but they are amplified for rural districts.鈥�
Rural vs. urban outcomes
Despite California being the most populous state, 35% of its school districts are considered rural 鈥� which the state defines as having fewer than 600 students and located more than 25 miles from a city. Nearly every county, including some of the most populous, has rural schools, even Los Angeles.
By most measures, rural students lag significantly behind their urban and suburban peers. They鈥檙e well behind the state average in meeting English language arts and math standards, and their graduation rate is 79% 鈥� 12 percentage points lower than the state average, according to a CalMatters analysis of California Education Department data. Only 29% complete the classwork required to attend California鈥檚 public universities, compared to 50% statewide. The college-going rate is nearly 20 percentage points lower than the state average.
Despite the hardships, superintendents said, state political leaders rarely consider the needs of rural districts when crafting policies.
鈥淭here are those who don鈥檛 understand that California extends past Woodland (near Sacramento),鈥� said Jeff Harris, superintendent of the Del Norte Unified School District and chair of a coalition of the state鈥檚 six single-district counties. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a lot of well-intended legislation that gives no thought to the impact on rural areas.鈥�
A place of extremes
San Pasqual Valley Unified is near Winterhaven, adjacent to the Fort Yuma Quechan Indian reservation on the California-Arizona border. The area is a patchwork of tribal and non-tribal lands, arid desert and lush green lettuce fields, opulent casinos and a dilapidated trailer encampment called the Jungle. The Colorado River, lined with reeds and cottonwoods, winds slowly to the east. Atop a hill in the center of town sits a historic Catholic mission, a white stucco reminder of the days when the Spanish and Americans colonized the area.
Like many rural communities, Winterhaven struggles with poverty and drug abuse. The town has four cannabis dispensaries and a strip club, but no grocery store. Yet there are also signs of hope and renewal. Cultural festivals are well attended, a modern health clinic recently opened, and a thriving new cafe serves as a community hub.
San Pasqual Valley Unified is also a center of the community. Generations of families have attended school in its tidy cinder block buildings, where the elementary, middle and high schools share one campus. Native American cultural festivals, San Pasqual Valley High Warriors basketball games and science fairs can draw the whole community, and signs in Spanish, English and Quechan adorn school walls and hallways.
But challenges persist, and state laws can sometimes make things even harder. Last year, for example, California mandated that by 2035. In San Pasqual Valley, which covers 1,800 square miles of sand and scrub in the Sonoran Desert, the two-hour charge on an electric bus barely gets you through the morning route.
鈥淚t makes no sense,鈥� said Superintendent Katrina Leon. 鈥淚鈥檓 all in favor of clean energy, but there鈥檚 no way we can comply with this. There has to be some flexibility for districts like us.鈥�
Leon applied for a waiver for the electric bus requirement and is hoping the state grants it 鈥� for her students鈥� sake. One of the district鈥檚 bus stops is in a small community called Senator Wash, a remote pumping station on the Colorado River 17 miles away. Leon fears what could happen if an electric bus loses its charge or breaks down, stranding students and the driver in the middle of the desert in extreme heat with no cell service.
鈥淚t鈥檚 a safety issue,鈥� she said. 鈥淲e just can鈥檛 take that chance.鈥�
Other rural districts face the same challenge. In Mono County, Superintendent Stacey Adler worries whether an electric bus could ascend 8,100-foot Conway Summit in a snowstorm, getting children safely to school. In Del Norte, one of the bus routes runs 70 miles round-trip, on a rugged backroad, and it鈥檚 far too risky to send an electric bus loaded with students through the mountains every day, Harris said.
Limited help from government
Small and rural districts can apply for some help through the federal grant programs. They could use the money for salaries, internet broadband, safe drinking water or other expenses. But the money isn鈥檛 much, and not all districts receive funds. In 2022-23, 89 small districts and schools in California shared $5.2 million, with some receiving as little as $6,000. An additional $5 million is available for through a federal grant the state recently won.
The Legislature hasn鈥檛 been much help in recent years. Most rural legislators are Republicans, the minority party in both the state Senate and Assembly, with whom urban Democrats often have little incentive to cooperate, said Assemblyman James Gallagher, a Republican from the Chico area who heads the Assembly Republican Caucus.
鈥淐alifornia policy largely does not take into account the needs of rural areas. It鈥檚 geared toward wealthier, coastal communities. There might be some lip service, but inland, less wealthy areas are stuck with some pretty expensive burdens,鈥� Gallagher said.
DeVoll, of the California Rural Ed Network, said the state can help rural districts by streamlining the bureaucratic paperwork, assisting them in applying for grants and offering more flexibility with regulations.
Harris鈥� single-district counties group, meanwhile, is pushing legislators for state assistance to build affordable housing for school employees, allow reciprocal agreements with neighboring states to hire teachers and relax student-administrator ratios to accommodate schools that might only have a few dozen students.
鈥淚t鈥檚 not a Del Norte County issue. It鈥檚 not even a Northern California issue,鈥� Harris said. 鈥淚t鈥檚 an issue of creating equal opportunities for every child, no matter where they live. In small and rural communities, that isn鈥檛 always the case and it has to change.鈥�
In San Pasqual Valley, special education is particularly vexing because Yuma, Arizona, only a few miles east, has a plethora of special education services. But they鈥檙e off limits to students in San Pasqual Valley because the teachers and therapists are licensed in Arizona, not California, unless the state grants a waiver.
So students like Annabelle, with special needs, either have to rely on virtual services or travel long distances. But in places still more remote than San Pasqual Valley, such as Mono County, even having that choice seems like a luxury.
鈥淲e can鈥檛 even bus a child for special ed services, because there鈥檚 nowhere to bus them to,鈥� Adler said, noting that Reno is three hours away and Bakersfield five, and in winter the roads are often impassable.
鈥極ur teachers can鈥檛 afford to live here鈥�
But for Adler, Mono County鈥檚 school superintendent, the most daunting challenge isn鈥檛 special education, it鈥檚 housing 鈥� or the lack of it. The county is home to Mammoth Mountain, a popular ski resort, and much of the available housing is vacation rentals or second homes.
鈥淥ur teachers can鈥檛 afford to live here. We get fabulous candidates, but they can鈥檛 find a place to live. A lot of them have to turn down the job,鈥� Adler said. 鈥淎nd when you have to hire more specialized positions, it becomes even more challenging.鈥�
Rural schools also find it daunting to hire contractors 鈥� especially in districts that border another state. Under California law, districts must hire contractors licensed in California. So even if a district finds a qualified roofer in the next town, for example, the district can鈥檛 hire them if the next town happens to be in Arizona, Nevada or Oregon. Few contractors are willing to accept a job that might be hours away, which means many jobs are left undone.
For example, last year the state made two moves to help schools combat extreme heat 鈥� a significant issue in San Pasqual Valley, where temperatures can hover in the 100s for weeks on end. In July, Gov. Gavin Newsom announced with trees and plants, and in October, he signed easier for schools to build shade structures.
Although both initiatives would provide welcome relief for San Pasqual Valley, Leon said it was almost impossible to find California-based contractors to do the work.
鈥淲e all go into Yuma every single day. It is not a big deal,鈥� Leon said. 鈥淵uma is our community. It makes no sense that we can鈥檛 hire there.鈥�
Harris has the same problem in Del Norte, which is close to Brookings, Oregon, but off-limits for hiring without applying for waivers, which is time-consuming, complicated and sometimes unsuccessful.
Borders and barriers
San Pasqual Valley faces another border challenge, as well: Mexico. A wall traverses the district鈥檚 southern boundary, with the Andrade border crossing just a few miles from the campus. Several dozen students commute through the crossing from Los Algodones, Mexico to attend school. Many are U.S. citizens who live part-time with family in Mexico, and some are children of Mexican farmworkers who travel across the border to toil in Imperial County鈥檚 lettuce fields.
The district鈥檚 school buses don鈥檛 cross the border, so students rely on rides from their parents. Waits at the border can be long and unpredictable, which means students might have to leave home at 5 a.m. to make it to school by 8 a.m. In addition, the border closes at 10 p.m., which restricts students鈥� ability to play sports, perform in school plays or hang out with friends on weekends.
Borders can seem like arbitrary lines dividing communities, creating barriers in many aspects of daily life, Leon said.
鈥淏orders are not a thing here. Most of our families have some connection to Mexico,鈥� she said, noting that some employees rely on Mexican health insurance. 鈥淲hen we drive across a border, nothing happens. Flashing lights don鈥檛 go off. It鈥檚 just part of life here.鈥�
A sacrifice, but 鈥榳orth it鈥�
Despite the challenges, rural schools can offer benefits that are almost unheard of in urban and suburban schools: tight-knit communities where everyone鈥檚 rooting for you.
Micah Ericson, a senior at Mono County鈥檚 Mammoth High School, said he appreciates the camaraderie he鈥檚 experienced at his 350-student school. He plays football, basketball and baseball, and takes online college classes through Cerro Coso College in Kern County. His previous high school in Los Angeles County had 4,000 students 鈥� about a third of the population of Mono County 鈥� and sports were far too competitive for Ericson to join anything but the wrestling team.
鈥淚t鈥檚 just more relaxed here, and it feels like there鈥檚 more opportunities,鈥� Ericson said. 鈥淚 really like the social aspect. You walk around town, and you know a little bit about everybody.鈥�
Ericson plans to move away to attend college next year, and feels he鈥檚 well prepared academically as well as socially.
For Denise Massey, Annabelle鈥檚 mother, moving away is unthinkable. Her family is there, and as a member of the Quechan tribe, she feels a deep connection to the area. So even when Annabelle needed speech therapy, Massey felt it was better to put her on a van every day to El Centro than move.
That decision was exhausting for the entire family, including Massey鈥檚 two older children. Massey switched to the graveyard shift at a local hospital so she could drive Annabelle, when necessary. And Annabelle, stressed from the long commute and being away from home so long, sometimes had meltdowns.
Now 18, she鈥檚 adjusted and has benefited greatly from the special attention she receives in El Centro, Massey said. Outgoing and confident, Annabelle has a slew of friends and is always giving someone a hug or a high five.
鈥淪he鈥檚 our little superstar,鈥� Massey said. 鈥淪o it鈥檚 been worth it, but we did have to build our whole lives around it. 鈥� I wish we had services closer. I think kids in rural areas deserve the same education that other kids get.鈥�
Data reporter Erica Yee contributed to this reporting.
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