In a land where the skies are perpetually cloudy over Green Bay, and the population thrives on cheese curds and the hope of a better future, Wisconsin's education system finds itself at an absurd crossroads. This week, a report entitled “Dream Big! (But Not Too Big)” was released, detailing how the state’s schools are supposed to inspire future generations of students, even while they stare longingly at the empty desks in classrooms that look more akin to abandoned warehouses than places of learning. As the scent of fried cheese wafts through the halls, students are encouraged to pursue their dreams with all the vigor of a dairy cow chasing after a rogue butter stick. However, between the cheerful posters of inspirational figures adorned with faint cheese stains, reality hits them harder than a well-timed snowstorm in January. For the third consecutive year, Wisconsin has seen a decline in school funding, leading to a curdling crisis in classrooms that can barely afford to keep the lights on — let alone stock textbooks published in this century. Teachers, the unsung heroes of the Dairy State, are working double shifts just to afford a cup of coffee that isn’t brewed from cheese. Surrounded by mismatched desks, they juggle lesson plans that include "Advanced Cheese Economy" 101 and "Milking Techniques for the 21st Century." Meanwhile, their requests for basic classroom supplies often go unfulfilled, leading one particularly resourceful art teacher to suggest using cheese curds as a substitute for clay in sculpture classes. “It’s great for creativity! And if you’re hungry, just grab a handful,” she exclaimed while crafting a macaroni portrait of Horace Mann, complete with pepperoni details. Parents, exhausted from working multiple jobs to make ends meet, often confuse PTA meetings with cheese tastings, pouring over various varieties of cheddar while wondering how to keep their kids from falling asleep during standardized tests. One frustrated mother was overheard asking, “Should I really be stressing over my kid’s algebra skills when our dairy industry is on the line?” It’s a sincere question, especially in a state where “higher education” means knowing the difference between gouda and American, and where “advanced placement” refers to the skill of quickly loading cheese onto a pizza. In the heart of Wisconsin’s public schools, the cafeteria has become the unofficial community center. It’s here that student debates rage over which is superior: the beloved cheese curd or that other pilfered snack they dare not utter aloud—pizza rolls. Even as lunch is served, whispers of cutbacks and layoffs spread like a wild rumor in a high school hallway. “Why are we learning about the physics of snowmobiles when I can’t even get basic algebra?” asked one forlorn student, slumped over a plate of lukewarm nachos shaped suspiciously like state borders. As the state’s leadership prioritizes dairy over education, the irony thickens like cream on fresh milk. School administrators are valiantly trying to stay upbeat. Principal Bessie Mallory—who spent her own childhood dreaming of becoming a brain surgeon—now finds herself gifted with a full-time position as cheese curator for school events. “We’re adapting,” she says with a strained smile, her cheesiest pun on the tip of her tongue. “After all, they say cheese makes the world go round…or at least spins around a little more pleasantly.” With dreams of becoming architects, scientists, and perhaps one day, master cheesemongers, students like 10-year-old Kevin Wright lament the unusual opportunities presented by the “great cheese crisis.” “I wanted to be an astronaut, but honestly, with the way things are going, I’ll probably just end up working in the local cheese factory,” he said, visibly downcast as he looked past rows of empty desks, longing for a future that seems perpetually out of reach. While Wisconsin schools continue to encourage their students to reach for the stars, the reality that coats the hallways is far less glamorous. Dreams remain stalled like an old cheese truck stuck in snowy slush, weighed down by the burdens of fading resources and a tiny savings account. Amid the puns and the curds, one cannot help but feel the bittersweet irony: in this great dairy state, students may find themselves handing in dreams while reality serves them cheese curds and empty desks.