Roots and Routes: A Rural Scholar’s Journey Across the Pond

By Jamon H. Flowers

September 8, 2025

Photos courtesy of the author

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“My roots shaped me, my routes carried me, and together they led me to Oxford, proof that rural stories can travel the world.”

-Jamon H. Flowers

Crossing the Pond as a Rural Scholar

I never imagined that my journey as a Black rural-raised male from a small Southern town would one day lead me across the Atlantic to present my research at the University of Oxford. London was an experience I had dreamed of but never anticipated. Oxford was unfathomable. Yet there I was: standing in a room filled with scholars from across the globe, sharing my research about rural educational leadership. A topic many continue to dismiss as unimportant or irrelevant was suddenly a point of interest for people far beyond my community.

Oxford: The Weight of History

Walking through Oxford’s centuries-old halls, I felt the weight of history pressing into the present. The architecture demanded reverence, stone walls that had seen empires rise and fall, lecture rooms that had hosted generations of thinkers. Breathing that air felt like inhaling pure academic rigor, as essential as oxygen itself. And London—it was history come alive. Every street corner whispered stories of resilience and reinvention. I found myself walking through time, yet very much aware that my story, my presence, was adding a new chapter.

Carrying My Elders

Right before I was called to the front to present, my heart was racing. I reminded myself that I was standing in Oxford, about to share my work not only with strangers, scholars from other countries whose perspectives stretched far beyond my own, but also with mentors who had invested in my growth and well-being. Their presence made the moment heavier, but also more sacred.

I carried more than a presentation that day. I carried the ghosts of my elders, family members who endured the weight of lives shaped by scarcity, racism, and systemic exclusion. Some of them had limited access to education, while others were outright denied the opportunity to pursue it because of the color of their skin. Yet their strength, their sacrifices, and their unshakable hope made space for me to be where they could not. When I opened my mouth to speak, I felt them with me.

In that room, I was not just Jamon, the assistant professor from a research-intensive university. I was the descendant of a rural community that taught me resilience. I was the embodiment of my ancestors’ unfulfilled dreams. My scholarship was not just my own, it was a continuation of a legacy, a way of saying to the world: We were here. We still are. And our stories matter.

Oxford’s Calm, London’s Energy

Oxford was quiet, almost hushed in its civility, offering a calmness that felt both foreign and familiar. I noticed familiar restaurants like Kentucky Fried Chicken and Wendy’s tucked into narrow streets, but what intrigued me more were the foods and traditions I had never encountered. High Tea, for example, was not just a meal but an experience—complete with ritual, precision, and a pace that invited reflection. One afternoon, I found myself at a museum just across the road from my hotel, lingering longer than I intended because the space demanded curiosity and wonder.

London, by contrast, pulsed with energy. It offered a mosaic of cultures and ethnicities, some visible in appearance and dress, others revealed only when voices mingled in conversation. People often tell me that such diversity can be found in New York City, and they are right. I have been there. But London carried its own rhythm, a cadence of global belonging that struck me differently.

Food as Metaphor

My “aha” moments were not only cultural but also physical. I paid close attention to the ways food was prepared, and to my surprise, I did not experience the significant gastrointestinal issues that often arise in the United States, excluding my hometown, where meals are still drawn from family gardens and seasoned by tradition. It made me pause to consider how preparation, environment, and place can shape even the most intimate parts of our daily lives. Food became more than nourishment; it became a metaphor for how culture, history, and belonging are served differently in different contexts.

Wrestling With Belonging and Success

Still, the journey was not without its internal wrestling. Belonging is a feeling. Success is how I define it. Have I arrived? I am not sure. I know how others view my success, and according to many, “I’ve made it.” But in quiet moments, I struggle to see myself as a scholar. I often wonder: What am I adding to the world of rural educational leadership? What new light am I casting on the experiences of rural students? Yet there I stood in Oxford, research in hand, realizing that people wanted to hear these stories—stories rooted in communities often overlooked, stories that matter.

Rurality as Identity

My identity as a rural scholar is layered. I am not just another Black man with a Ph.D. from a reputable and revered institution. I am the son of a rural town where success often meant surviving, working hard, and staying rooted in the community. For me, rurality has always been about mentors, too many to name here without fearing I might leave one out, and about the people back home, some cheering visibly, others silently but steadfastly rooting for me. Their voices, their encouragement, traveled with me across the ocean.

Oxford reminded me that rural leadership is not confined to school buildings or boardrooms. It extends to how we carry our stories into spaces that were never designed for us. Rural leaders know that identity is not fixed; it is formed in tension. We balance pride with humility, visibility with invisibility, tradition with transformation. We know that belonging is not always granted, so we must claim it.

A Call to Rural Leaders

As I boarded my flight home, I carried more than souvenirs. I carried a conviction: the world is listening, and rural voices matter. To my fellow rural dwellers and scholars claim your place in every room you enter. Do not wait for permission to belong. Bring your roots with you, let your routes take you further, and trust that your stories are worthy of global stages.

Success is not about arriving at a final destination; it is about defining the journey on your own terms. So, whether your stage is a classroom, a school board meeting, a state conference, or a university hall in Oxford, remember this: our rural stories are not just relevant, they are essential. Step boldly into spaces, even those never designed for us, and make them your own.

Jamon H. Flowers is an Assistant Professor in the Educational Administration and Policy Program at the University of Georgia in the Mary Frances Early College of Education. His journey through the educational landscape has been marked by a breadth of roles, from teacher and instructional coach to assistant principal and principal, across diverse settings—rural, suburban, and urban. His scholarly pursuits delve into the complexities of rural educational administration and leadership, with a keen interest in the collegiate experiences of rural students.