When the grey, rainy days of March start eating away at the snow, and glimpses of brown earth and grass start appearing, my hunger to get outside in the garden becomes overwhelming, and I find myself sometimes raking away at frozen ground with frozen hands, desperately searching for signs of life. Tiny green shoots of ground elder give me a stab of happiness, even though I know that in a few months I will be waging war with these same shoots. Usually, after this first session in the garden, I vow to wait until I can work the soil a bit, until the first tiny leaves are unfolding on the bushes and until the points of various perennials are pushing through, before getting out again.
In the meantime, I dream and plan and try to visualize the next stage of my garden. I order bulbs from Vesey's, visit the seed store to discuss organic fertilizers for the tiny patch of shady lawn and when the rain takes a break, get out with my secaturs and start cutting back on the shrubs that are threatening to take over. It is as I clip away at the unruly growth, allowing the shape of the bush to emerge, that the similarity between my approach to gardening and to educating children suggests itself. I think about what all children (and gardens) need to flourish....lots of love, healthy food and stimulation (sun, water and nutrients) in a safe environment. But they also, like gardens, need gentle guidance to encourage them to discover their own capacities and inner strengths while acknowledging and working on their weaknesses.
As I look back at the development of my teaching philosophy, I think how it parallels the development of this garden that I have been privileged to tend for the past 13 years. As the garden has matured over the years, so have the children that I have been teaching and so has my teaching approach . Each year my garden surprises me with the juxtaposition of colours and shapes, as do my students.
So here's a description of my gardening style:
Although when I moved into my house, I spent a fair amount of time planning the bare bones of the garden (and even engaged a garden designer for a brief time), my approach to planning since then has been characterized by a lot of mooning around in the springtime dreaming, punctuated by numerous visits to nurseries where I often buy things on impulse. Serendipitous finds come from plant exchanges, gifts from friends and sometimes "volunteers" which appear unbidden in the springtime. I make sure that my soil is good, enriched with bone meal, manure and compost, but my one experience with the scientific method (a $4 soil-testing kit) resulted in my not applying lime when I should have, and has not been repeated.
I prune carefully and religiously, but sometimes have to push myself to do the really hard pruning required by roses and other shrubs. When I do, I find myself amply rewarded, so I am getting better at it with time. I weed enthusiastically, but perhaps not regularly enough, and I am always looking for ways to minimize the weeding (mulch, close planting etc). I enjoy exposing sensitive plants to the sun and air, rooting out the creepers and weeds that threaten to choke them.
I love watering the garden in the evenings during a dry spell, and often imagine the plants sucking in the moisture as children soak in knowledge.
Sometimes, plants self-seed, and show up in places they are not supposed to. I have a hard time pulling them up, so my garden may have bachelor's buttons growing in the middle of the patio, or forget-me-nots in the lawn. I don't allow all of them, but generally, I love the random effect. And since I don't always plan every last detail, there are other surprises in the garden that show up as the season goes on - unplanned groupings of colours and shapes that complement each other or a shady nook surrounded by ferns and white hydrangeas that is very inviting on a hot day.
Generally, my garden is a slightly overgrown tumult of colours and greenery, a place where birds, cats and children play together (usually without grief) and where people can socialize on a warm summer evening. It is a source of delight as it grows and fills in. Each plant or bush has its place, and its season to shine, and all are loved in spite of their spikes or thorns. I like to think that my classroom, and indeed HIS, parallels this garden: the underlying planning is there, but it is never so rigid as to disallow the spontaneous happenings and discoveries that create excitement and a love of learning; "sensitive plants" are given extra care, while the "weeds" of distraction or whatever else is choking them are pulled up; there is lots of cross-fertilization of ideas as teachers, parents and children talk to each other. My classroom is a slightly eccentric, but stimulating place, in which children thrive with a combination of enrichment, love and encouragement, with a little bit of judicious pruning thrown in from time to time.
The trend in education in North America in recent years, lead by a drive to standardize and make schools more "accountable" has resulted in more testing which in turn creates an atmosphere in which the "right" answer is paramount. An environment where students and teachers alike are under pressure to perform to a set standard, and where there are real, life altering consequences for failure, is not conducive to experimentation, spontanaiety or creativity...indeed the type of garden it would create would be
In the meantime, I dream and plan and try to visualize the next stage of my garden. I order bulbs from Vesey's, visit the seed store to discuss organic fertilizers for the tiny patch of shady lawn and when the rain takes a break, get out with my secaturs and start cutting back on the shrubs that are threatening to take over. It is as I clip away at the unruly growth, allowing the shape of the bush to emerge, that the similarity between my approach to gardening and to educating children suggests itself. I think about what all children (and gardens) need to flourish....lots of love, healthy food and stimulation (sun, water and nutrients) in a safe environment. But they also, like gardens, need gentle guidance to encourage them to discover their own capacities and inner strengths while acknowledging and working on their weaknesses.
As I look back at the development of my teaching philosophy, I think how it parallels the development of this garden that I have been privileged to tend for the past 13 years. As the garden has matured over the years, so have the children that I have been teaching and so has my teaching approach . Each year my garden surprises me with the juxtaposition of colours and shapes, as do my students.
So here's a description of my gardening style:
Although when I moved into my house, I spent a fair amount of time planning the bare bones of the garden (and even engaged a garden designer for a brief time), my approach to planning since then has been characterized by a lot of mooning around in the springtime dreaming, punctuated by numerous visits to nurseries where I often buy things on impulse. Serendipitous finds come from plant exchanges, gifts from friends and sometimes "volunteers" which appear unbidden in the springtime. I make sure that my soil is good, enriched with bone meal, manure and compost, but my one experience with the scientific method (a $4 soil-testing kit) resulted in my not applying lime when I should have, and has not been repeated.
I prune carefully and religiously, but sometimes have to push myself to do the really hard pruning required by roses and other shrubs. When I do, I find myself amply rewarded, so I am getting better at it with time. I weed enthusiastically, but perhaps not regularly enough, and I am always looking for ways to minimize the weeding (mulch, close planting etc). I enjoy exposing sensitive plants to the sun and air, rooting out the creepers and weeds that threaten to choke them.
I love watering the garden in the evenings during a dry spell, and often imagine the plants sucking in the moisture as children soak in knowledge.
Sometimes, plants self-seed, and show up in places they are not supposed to. I have a hard time pulling them up, so my garden may have bachelor's buttons growing in the middle of the patio, or forget-me-nots in the lawn. I don't allow all of them, but generally, I love the random effect. And since I don't always plan every last detail, there are other surprises in the garden that show up as the season goes on - unplanned groupings of colours and shapes that complement each other or a shady nook surrounded by ferns and white hydrangeas that is very inviting on a hot day.
Generally, my garden is a slightly overgrown tumult of colours and greenery, a place where birds, cats and children play together (usually without grief) and where people can socialize on a warm summer evening. It is a source of delight as it grows and fills in. Each plant or bush has its place, and its season to shine, and all are loved in spite of their spikes or thorns. I like to think that my classroom, and indeed HIS, parallels this garden: the underlying planning is there, but it is never so rigid as to disallow the spontaneous happenings and discoveries that create excitement and a love of learning; "sensitive plants" are given extra care, while the "weeds" of distraction or whatever else is choking them are pulled up; there is lots of cross-fertilization of ideas as teachers, parents and children talk to each other. My classroom is a slightly eccentric, but stimulating place, in which children thrive with a combination of enrichment, love and encouragement, with a little bit of judicious pruning thrown in from time to time.
The trend in education in North America in recent years, lead by a drive to standardize and make schools more "accountable" has resulted in more testing which in turn creates an atmosphere in which the "right" answer is paramount. An environment where students and teachers alike are under pressure to perform to a set standard, and where there are real, life altering consequences for failure, is not conducive to experimentation, spontanaiety or creativity...indeed the type of garden it would create would be
No comments:
Post a Comment