Weather Or Not
Hello,
One of the most visible responsibilities of a superintendent is deciding whether to close school because of the weather. It's one of the few decisions about which almost everyone in the community has an opinion. Make the call too early, and people think you overreacted. Wait too long, and they wonder why you didn't close sooner. Before long, you find yourself checking forecasts, watching radar, and second-guessing whether Mother Nature is about to prove you wrong.
The 2025-2026 school year was my first as superintendent in my new district, but it wasn't my first time serving as a superintendent. About a decade ago, I led a charter school where I almost never checked the weather because transportation depended on the local public school district. If they closed, we closed. The decision wasn't mine to make.
This past year was different. For the first time, I was the person responsible for making the call. Every forecast had the potential to become a decision, so I found myself paying closer attention to the weather than I ever had before. I quickly learned that weather forecasting is as much an exercise in probability as it is prediction. Sometimes the forecast changes by the hour. Sometimes it's wrong altogether. Regardless, at some point you gather the best information available, make the decision you believe is right, and accept that you can't control what happens after that.
Even so, I probably looked at the weather forecast more during the last two weeks of June than I had during all of the other months of the school year combined. Obviously, there wasn't a snowflake in sight, so I wasn't worried about opening the buildings. I was worried about graduation.
A Forecast Nine Months in the Making
This past year was exciting for many reasons, not the least of which was that my daughter was also a senior. As soon as I accepted my new position, one question immediately came to mind. When is graduation?
I wasn't wondering about my new district's ceremony. That date had already been established. I was wondering about my daughter's. Her district hadn't yet announced graduation because construction projects, including work on the auditorium, left some uncertainty about the schedule. So I waited.
When the graduation date was finally released, I realized I had both good news and bad news. The good news was that the two graduations weren't scheduled for the same day. The bad news was that my daughter's graduation was held outdoors, and the rain date was the exact same day and time as my district's graduation. From that moment on, I knew exactly what the possible outcomes were. If the weather cooperated, I could celebrate with both graduating classes. If it didn't, there was no way to be in two places at once.
I wasn't willing to hope everything would work out, so I started looking for solutions. I met with our teachers' union president and explained the situation. Half joking and half hopeful, I asked whether there was any possibility of adjusting our graduation date if the need arose. There wasn't.
Graduation was a long-standing tradition, and changing it really wasn't an option. Before our conversation ended, he reminded me that if there were a conflict, no reasonable person would expect me to miss my own daughter's graduation. In fact, he thought people would be far more likely to question me if I attended my district's graduation instead.
His reassurance meant a great deal to me, but it didn't change the reality of the situation. I didn't want people to understand why I was absent. I didn't want to be absent. I wanted to celebrate both graduating classes, and more than anything, I wanted circumstances to cooperate so I would never have to make that choice.
After our conversation, I contacted our Board of Education and explained the situation. I shared the potential conflict, the conversation I had had with our union president, and the contingency plan I hoped we would never need. If my daughter's graduation moved to the rain date, I would record my commencement speech for families and attend my daughter's graduation. Once those conversations were over, there wasn't anything left for me to do.
Except wait.
Waiting for the Forecast
For the next nine months, I knew exactly what the possible outcomes were, but I didn't have control over which one I would get. As May turned into June and graduation drew closer, I opened up every weather forecast I could find.
I checked the forecast first thing in the morning, throughout the day, and again before I went to bed. Every time I opened the app, I hoped the prediction had changed just enough to eliminate the conflict altogether. Of course, anyone who has ever watched a weather forecast two weeks in advance knows that's a recipe for frustration. The forecast changed constantly because that's what forecasts do.
It didn't matter. I kept checking anyway. Four days before graduation, the forecast looked ominous on both the scheduled graduation date and the rain date, so I texted my daughter's superintendent.
"I'm reaching out as a mom. It looks like there's going to be rain on Thursday and Friday. I think I mentioned that my district's graduation is Friday, so that's really why I'm asking. Do you have any idea whether Thursday will still be graduation?"
He called me almost immediately. He explained that they were doing everything possible to keep graduation on its original date. They would even place ponchos under every student's seat so that if the weather brought only rain, rather than lightning, the ceremony could continue. I hung up the phone feeling cautiously optimistic.
Two days later, families received an email saying graduation was still on as scheduled. If it rained, students would wait inside until it passed. Families could wait in their cars if they preferred. The message made it clear that every effort was being made to hold graduation on Thursday.
Later that evening, another update was sent. The forecast had become less favorable, and a final decision would be made by nine o'clock the following morning. I never saw that second email, so I went to bed on the eve of graduation feeling hopeful.
By 7:30 the next morning, the message arrived. Graduation would be moved to Friday. The rain date. The exact day and time of my district's graduation.
I had known for months that this was one of the possible outcomes, but reading those words felt very different than imagining them. The decision had been made. Not by me. Not by my district. Not by my daughter's district. In the end, the weather had made the call.
Responding to the Forecast
I wish I could tell you I immediately found peace with the decision. That would be a lie. I felt gut-punched and helpless. Superintendents are supposed to make difficult decisions. People often assume that because you're "in charge," you're the one making the big calls. Instead, I found myself living with a decision I hadn't made and couldn't change, while the imaginary voices of everyone I thought might judge me for not being at my students' graduation thundered in my head.
Though I had known from the beginning that if there was ever a conflict between attending my daughter's graduation and attending my district's, I was going to be with my daughter, that conviction didn't quiet the storm. I worried about the graduates and their families. I worried about letting down our staff and the Board of Education. Most of all, I worried about the stories other people might tell. Would they believe I had chosen to skip graduation? Would they wonder whether my priorities were misplaced? Would they see me as someone who hadn't shown up when it mattered?
Looking back, it's fascinating to me that I spent so much time worrying about a forecast that never appeared on a weather app. It existed entirely in my own imagination. I don't know what anyone was actually thinking because I never asked, but I know what I was thinking, and that was enough to keep the storm alive.
Once I realized I couldn't change the forecast, the only thing left to do was decide how I was going to respond. I contacted our Board of Education. I emailed the staff. I rewrote my graduation speech because the opening no longer reflected reality. I recorded the revised version so families would still hear it during the ceremony. Before leaving for my daughter's graduation the following morning, I delivered those same remarks to our graduates during rehearsal.
None of these things changed what had happened. They changed what happened next.
The Rain and the Sun
On the evening my daughter had originally been scheduled to graduate, I wanted the weather to be biblical. I wanted there to be no doubt that postponing graduation was the only and best option. To my chagrin, there wasn't a cloud in the sky. After spending two weeks refreshing weather apps and watching predictions change by the hour, the forecast that had dictated so many decisions turned out to be wrong, and by then it didn't matter.
As I reflected on everything that had happened, I realized I had been carrying this burden for much longer than those final two weeks. From the moment I learned that the rain date conflicted with my district's graduation, I had quietly hoped everything would work out perfectly. I wanted circumstances to solve the problem for me. More than that, I wanted everything to work out so I would never have to discover what I would do if they didn't.
That was the part I hadn't recognized until much later. I wasn't just hoping for good weather. I was hoping I would never have to find out whether I could handle bad weather.
When the conflict became reality, I did exactly what I had hoped I wouldn't have to do. I communicated openly. I adjusted the plan. I rewrote my speech. I recorded it for families. I spoke to our graduates before leaving for my daughter's ceremony. I showed up where I needed to be, and it turned out I could handle it.
Making My Own Weather
Looking back, I think that's the lesson I've been trying to learn for years. There are countless things I don't control, from the weather to other people's decisions to the stories people tell themselves about me. I don't control whether life unfolds according to my plans. I do, however, have complete control over how I respond when it doesn't.
What surprised me most wasn't that I responded well. It was realizing how much energy I had spent carrying a burden that hadn't yet become reality. I had spent nearly a year hoping the forecast would change so I wouldn't have to face the situation at all. Looking back, I think the better lesson would have been trusting that if the forecast didn't change, I could.
Experience isn't supposed to teach us that difficult things stop happening, or we become better at avoiding them. Experience teaches us that we've lived through enough of challenges to trust ourselves when the next one arrives.
I still check the weather more often than I used to. Occupational hazard, I suppose. Every winter, I'll continue watching forecasts and radar maps because that's part of the job. I'm just hoping that the next time life hands me a forecast I wouldn't have chosen, I'll spend a little less time wishing it away and a little more time trusting the person I've become. I think the truth is that I never really needed the weather to cooperate; I needed to trust that if it didn't, I'd know what to do.
~Heather
P.S. My Catch of the Week this week is families. One of the unexpected gifts of this year's graduation season was the opportunity to record my commencement speech for the Lyndonville Class of 2026. As I prepared it, I realized that although graduation celebrates the graduates, it also celebrates the people who quietly helped make that moment possible.
Parents who rearranged schedules. Grandparents who cheered from the sidelines. Siblings who shared the spotlight. Teachers, coaches, mentors, neighbors, and friends who kept showing up year after year.
Graduation is often remembered as the day a student crossed the stage. What we don't always see are the thousands of moments that made that walk possible. If you have a recent graduate in your life, this speech might resonate with you.
More importantly, I hope you'll take a moment to thank the people who helped write their story. None of us reaches life's milestones alone, and sometimes the greatest accomplishments belong not only to those crossing the stage, but also to those who never stopped believing they would get there.
P.P.S. Please remember to...
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