When Schools Close, Communities Fracture: Reclaiming Voice in Natrona County’s Education Story
By Coebie Taylor-Logan, Retired Principal & Educator: 31 Years of Service, Natrona County School District #1
The Heart of a Community Beats Through Its School
For more than three decades, I’ve watched Natrona schools evolve some grow, some close but every single change has left ripples in the lives of children, families, and neighborhoods.
I’ve spent most of my 31 years serving Title I and at-risk populations in small schools like Mills, Bar Nunn, Evansville, and most recently, Journey Elementary. Those schools taught me what I first learned growing up in Ten Sleep, Wyoming that a school really is the heartbeat of a community.
I went to a small K–12 school there. My graduating class had just 18 students, and the entire school kindergarten through twelfth grade had 189 kids total. In a town that small, everyone showed up. The community came together for basketball games, concerts, open house nights anything that brought us under the same roof.
The teachers knew us not just our names, but our families, our stories, our strengths and weaknesses. There was a shared understanding about how we treated one another, how we spoke, and what it meant to show up ready to learn. That understanding was grounded in community values what Wyoming later recognized and officially adopted in 2010 as the Code of the West:
Integrity and Courage: Live each day with courage. Do what has to be done. Be tough but fair.
Hard Work and Responsibility: Take pride in your work, finish what you start, and be accountable for your actions.
Promises and Loyalty: When you make a promise, keep it. Be loyal to your friends, your “brand,” and those you ride with.
Respect: Practice tolerance and understanding of others. Respect the land and its creatures.
Action and Words: Talk less and say more. Be a person of action, not empty talk.
Fairness: Give others a fighting chance and be hospitable to strangers.
Honesty: A handshake is more binding than a contract.
Those were more than words they were a way of life, shaping classrooms, communities, and expectations. I often wonder what happened to those principles in our education system today.
When I moved to Natrona County in 1994, I saw that same sense of connection alive and well. There were small neighborhood schools tucked into every corner of Casper small enough to know every family, big enough to hold a community together. Most kids attended their neighborhood schools, while others took part in the School of Choice model that once gave parents the power to choose what was best for their child.
We’ve Been Here Before
Fast forward to today, and I’m watching history repeat itself. Another wave of school closures is happening and with it, a familiar pattern from school leadership.
The process looks and feels the same as it did years ago: fast timelines, limited opportunities for public input, and carefully controlled messaging that gives the illusion of transparency but leaves little room for real collaboration. Communities aren’t being invited to troubleshoot or brainstorm solutions; they’re being told what’s going to happen.
Once again, leadership seems to be operating under the belief that they know best for the students, families, and neighborhoods they serve. The district uses what they call an Advisory Committee but does the community even know who serves on that committee? Does it include members from the schools being recommended for closure, or is it just an internal group? Why is there never an open call for committee seats, inviting true representation and public trust?
It makes one wonder does the Natrona community truly believe that bigger is better, or are we ready to return to smaller schools that center students, nurture creativity, build problem solvers, and strengthen the bond between school and family?
Meetings are quick, decisions feel pre-determined, and voices from the community are muted under the weight of “district process.” It’s hard not to feel like those in charge are playing god with the futures of our children and communities deciding what’s best without listening to those who actually live, work, and grow in these schools every day.
We’ve walked this road before, and it didn’t serve us then. If we don’t stop and really look at how we’re doing this the pace, the process, and the lack of partnership we’ll find ourselves here again, only with more broken trust and fewer community schools left standing.
A Look Back: The School of Choice Era
Back in 1991, Natrona County adopted what was then a bold idea: the School of Choice. It recognized that not every child learns the same way and that families deserved options. That vision led to schools like Fort Caspar Academy, Woods Learning Center, and later Star Lane Center, founded by George Vlastos to encourage hands-on, problem-based learning.
It was a time of innovation and excitement, a time when Casper was leading the way in designing schools that reflected family and community needs. But as the years went on, the focus shifted. Budgets tightened, enrollments changed, and economic pressures mounted. The very system that once celebrated choice began closing the schools that best represented it. Now Natrona schools are looking the same with very slight cultural nuances. Is this truly embracing the school of choice or is this now just a better way to operate "a corporation"?
2016–2018: The Closures Begin
During the economic downturn, I was serving as principal at Mills Elementary a small but mighty school that had stood for generations. Mills has always been looked at because of its “small footprint.” At one time, there was talk of Mills and Mountain View merging into a new school, but that plan quietly disappeared. A few years later, a new building appeared across the river in Casper the Capacity School. I suppose that was to prepare for enrollment shifts, but for our community, it felt like a warning sign.
When I first heard the whispers of closures, I went to district leadership and said, “If you’re building a new school across the river, then let’s bring Mills with us rather than dismantle it. Let’s move the heart, not erase it.”
To their credit, that idea took hold, and we did move Mills. But behind the scenes, other closures were already in motion. Grant Elementary closed, and I was asked to merge two very different school communities two histories, two cultures under one roof. Shortly after, Mountain View Elementary was gone too. Within a short time, the heart of the Mills community its schools was gone.
Families were displaced. Neighborhoods lost their anchors. And as leaders, we were told to “inform our communities,” but not to fight for them. It was hard to stand by and watch decisions being made without the people most affected being part of the conversation.
The Ripple Effect of a Closure
When a school closes, it’s not just a logistical shuffle it’s personal.
Children lose their sense of belonging.
Parents lose a place to gather, to volunteer, to connect.
Communities lose their heartbeat.
But the effects go even deeper than that. The neighborhood grows quiet. The playground grass grows tall weeds reaching as high as a fifth grader. The laughter that once poured through those doors becomes an echo. Empty windows look out over streets that used to hum with the energy of kids walking to school. It’s a silence that seeps in the kind that takes years to shake loose.
Those empty spaces don’t just represent loss they represent the absence of identity. Schools like Mills and Mountain View held memories of Christmas concerts, science fairs, and first-day jitters. They held the pride of a working-class community that believed in showing up for its kids. When those buildings closed, it wasn’t just education that left it was connection, history, and the shared values that once held people together.
Muted Voices and a Growing Disconnect
Now, as we revisit closures again in Natrona County, the fracture feels even deeper. Parents and educators are given short windows to speak, but real dialogue the kind that builds understanding and solutions rarely happens.
It makes me wonder where our Cowboy Values have gone. Where is the honesty and courage to face hard truths? Where is the fairness that gives everyone a fighting chance to be heard? Where is the respect for the voices of those who live in these communities every day?
Meanwhile, more families are turning to homeschooling. Not because they’ve given up on education but because they no longer feel heard by the system. When leadership stops listening, people find other ways to use their voice.
What If We Tried Something Different?
What if we didn’t see closures as the end, but as a chance to reimagine?
What if district leadership, families, and staff sat at the same table and asked:
Could this school become a community hub instead of closing?
Could we partner with local nonprofits, small businesses, or healthcare providers to share space and serve families in new ways?
Could we transform these schools into magnet or choice programs that bring families back rather than push them away?
Small schools have always been the testing grounds for creativity. They could easily become innovation zones offering early childhood programs, family resource centers, and mental health or wellness services under one roof. Instead of shutting doors, we could open them wider.
Reclaiming Our Voice
The stories of Mills, Grant, and Mountain View aren’t just memories. They’re reminders of what happens when decisions are made for communities, not with them.
It’s time to reclaim our voice together.
Leaders need to share data honestly and sit in the discomfort of asking why parents are no longer enrolling in Natrona schools. What are families looking for? I’d guess it’s what most of us value family, creativity, real-world knowledge, collaboration, and problem-solving. Maybe it’s time to revisit the Cowboy Values again integrity, courage, respect, fairness, honesty — and build our schools around them.
And most importantly, we need to listen to the voices of our children. Because these closures mostly impact elementary schools and too often, the smallest voices in the room are treated as if they don’t matter. But they do. They always have.
The Heart Still Beats
I’ve lived through closures. I’ve stood in those quiet hallways when the lights went out for the last time. And even after all that, I still believe in the power of small schools because they represent more than just education. They represent belonging, hope, and the heartbeat of a town.
That heartbeat can return. It starts with voice. It grows through vision. And it endures through unity.
So, here’s the question I keep coming back to:
What if our communities reclaimed their seat at the table alongside parents, educators, and innovators to design an education system that actually fits the world we live in today?
One that values creativity, collaboration, and problem-solving over test scores and convenience.
Because the heart of education doesn’t live in the district office.
It beats in every hallway, every classroom, and every community that refuses to give up on its school.
A Reflection: Hope Still Lives Here
This vision isn’t impossible in fact, it’s already happening in parts of Wyoming. Through our work on the Unmuted podcast, we recently spoke with Superintendent Shane Ogden in Park County, who is leading with creativity, problem-solving, and collaboration. In Meeteetse, students, community board members, business owners, educators, and families come together to design what’s best for their town.
Hearing their story reminded me that it can be done and that the Cowboy Values still live on when leadership is grounded in community. Districts like Meeteetse are embracing growth- and competency-based learning rather than standardized testing as the measure of success.
I’ll be honest: for a time, I had lost faith in the system. I stepped away from education because, as an administrator, I no longer felt heard. I had spent years implementing problem-based learning and empowering teachers and students to think critically and creatively. But in the final stretch of my career, I was told those things no longer defined leadership that test scores did.
Yet, stories like Shane’s reignite my belief that we can return to what matters most: teaching children to grow, to create, to collaborate, and to contribute.
If we can do it in Meeteetse, we can do it anywhere in Wyoming and perhaps that’s where our hope begins again.
A Final Note of Respect
While I’ve shared the stories of a few schools Mills, Grant, and Mountain View I know there are many others across Natrona County whose closures have also left lasting marks on their neighborhoods and families. My intention in writing this isn’t to overlook or minimize their experiences, but to honor all communities that have felt the heartbreak of losing their neighborhood schools. Every school, no matter its size or zip code, carried its own heartbeat and every community that’s endured a closure deserves to be remembered and respected.