A garden, a dream, and the sun

Carly Borders, director and guide at The Soleil School, joins the Alt Ed Austin conversation with this guest post about her journey as a parent, professional educator, and entrepreneur toward a new model of education called the Whole Learning Framework.

Imagine planting a large and diverse garden. You’ve planted all types of flowers, vegetables, fruits, and herbs—all at the same time. Suppose you cultivated them all in the same way, ignoring each plant’s unique requirements? Every day, you water all of the seeds the same amount. You give them all the same amount of fertilizer. A few of the plants are sprouting and appear to be doing fairly well. But you notice that the rest are weak and brittle, if they’re growing at all. Yet you continue to do things the same way, all the while wondering why all of the plants aren’t thriving.

But what if you had more flexibility? What if you got to know each flower and each peapod more intimately? You’ve taken great care to understand the different plants and the care it takes to bring each one up healthy to flower in its own way. And so you plant them according to their unique needs—at the right times, with the right amount of sunlight and the right kind of food. After a time, they’re all sprouting. They’re being given what they need, because they’re being treated with the respect they need. And look at the colors that begin to emerge! From the pinks of the roses to the yellows of the squash flowers: it’s beautiful. Throughout the seasons you take great care with each flower and each fruit. And the reward is greater than you could have imagined.

I hope you see where I’m going with my little education allegory. As my own child was quickly approaching school age, I knew I had to listen to my instincts. I knew I wanted him to be somewhere he could thrive. We knew the public schools weren’t right for our family. And given my background as an educator, not to mention the way I feel about alternative education, I knew I had something to contribute.

I have been trained in the Montessori method, which is rooted in values like independence, internal motivation, and hands-on experiences. Maybe I could have taken a job at a nice Montessori school. Happily, though, a friend introduced me to Ariel Miller, who had recently started a middle and high school program called Bronze Doors Academy. She met with me and expressed her desire for someone to begin a new program in the same building for younger students. The idea was daunting, but I felt this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. Could I be an educational entrepreneur?

I could easily have said no to this question. I had to ask myself what was holding me back. Was it that I didn’t feel qualified? Or was it simply a fear of failure? I decided to channel what I had learned about other successful people and take a chance. Success doesn’t come to those who are unwilling to take risks. I allowed the idea of the school to germinate in my mind, and I started piecing things together bit by bit. After several weeks, what would become The Soleil School started to take shape.

Now, as we’ve begun our first full school year, I am delighted at what is emerging: Students at The Soleil School are part of a family and school community. They are encouraged first to pursue areas most of interest to them and explore outward from there. So we begin by setting goals. Taking what I learned from my training in the Montessori method, experience in project-based education, and my appreciation for Howard Gardner’s Multiple Intelligences, I have devised a foundational philosophy called the Whole Learning Framework. It is a holistic approach in which students are encouraged to develop through a process of continuous discovery. By allowing them to work toward personal goals—which are set with guidance by both parents and the guide (me)—the students are intrinsically motivated. Contrast this with a quizzes-and-pellets method in which students are rewarded for conformity and regurgitation.

In keeping with the “soleil” (sun, in French) theme, we’ve created ten learning areas in the classroom, which we call “satellites.” These subject areas revolve around the children (not the other way around). The satellites are not exhaustive, but they’re designed to let kids visualize, categorize, and contextualize different paths to learning discovery that are open to them.

We began this year by talking about the idea that the students are on a “quest.” I asked them to think about the question: What is your quest? Our first project was to create a “quest comic.” Each student was to come up with a main character who has strengths and weaknesses. Of course, the main character sets out on some sort of quest, where her strengths are to be employed and weaknesses overcome—all to reach a goal and overcome obstacles along the way. In this way, the students are able to use their creativity to delve deeper into the metaphor of the quest.

This idea will permeate what we do, whether it be academic, social, or spiritual. Ultimately, I believe in what is happening at The Soleil School. This is my quest, after all. We are different from a Montessori classroom in that we embrace technology, imagination, and collaboration. But the inspiration from Maria Montessori is certainly present in the philosophical underpinnings, in that my role is not so much a teacher but a guide. I follow the students, observing and encouraging each. I believe in them and I stress self-reliance even as I guide them. Their goals should be challenging, but realistic. Unlike most traditional forms of education, The Whole Learning Framework provides tools for creating a highly individualized curriculum based on the passions and needs of each child. We are here—and we’ll continue to be here—because we believe every child is unique, beautiful, and ready to thrive.

Carly Borders

Observation of and with children

Molly Manewal has worked with kids in many diverse settings, most recently in her own small schoolhouse for young children. She is currently beginning a sabbatical during which she’ll be living in Southeast Asia, mostly learning by observing—a not-so-simple act she understands deeply and writes about here.


I am incredibly lucky; I work with preschoolers. I get to sing songs, assist small seamstresses and carpenters, and act as an impartial (usually) intermediary for players in a hostile takeover or lovers’ spat. But, arguably, the best part of my work is simply watching kids. There is very little that goes on with their life at school of which I need to be an active part, so I get to watch them be their beautiful and fascinating selves.

For the most part, they are self-contained learners capable of far more than most people assume. What a joy it is to see a child come up against an obstacle, struggle with it, and emerge victorious. (Please see Kami Wilt's insightful guest post on frustration.) Although I help them in countless ways, nothing I do can give them that sense of accomplishment. I have knowledge and skills they don't yet have, and I can share these with them, but genuine and lasting learning results from their own impulses, their own work. To be truly helpful, I must remain loving and neutral, and observe what is happening with each child.

My training is primarily in the Montessori Method. Early in the twentieth century, Maria Montessori proposed a pedagogical system in which the innate drive toward self-construction was trusted and respected. This led to an indirect teaching style centered on observation. She saw the role of the guide (teacher) as that of witness and facilitator. In order to understand how we can support learners, we must first find out where they are. Observation is the starting point.

There is only one basis for observation: the children must be free to express themselves and thus reveal those needs and attitudes which would otherwise remain hidden or repressed in an environment that did not permit them to act spontaneously.

—Maria Montessori,
Discovery of the Child

I don't just love watching kids; I love watching other things too. I find value in stepping back and simply observing. Not only do I learn a great deal; I also feel grounded in my environment and appreciate my surroundings. I foster this practice in the children I get to interact with by availing them of the tools with which to observe.

We cannot create observers by saying, “observe,” but by giving them the power and the means for this observation, and these means are procured through education of the senses.

—Maria Montessori,
The Montessori Method

One of the most reliable ways to practice ob­ser­va­tion is to spend time in the natural world. I happen to love watching insects and find their lives mys­te­ri­ous and interesting. Most kids do also, so we watch a lot of bugs together. I emphasize just watching to see what the critters are going to do. It builds patience, trains focus, and yields rich rewards, such as discovering where the spider’s web comes from or which plants the swallowtails like the best. (This comes in handy when searching for baby caterpillars.)

When we are observing, we don't have an agenda, and when we don't have an agenda, we are open and receptive to learning. Just watching can help us simply to be with what is going on and truly see it. It also can give us a moment to ask our­selves, “Do I need to involve myself in this? Is this really any of my business?” Observation often keeps us from jumping to conclusions. It not only informs us about our world but also aids us in developing a practice of nonjudgment. We all value the skill of discernment because it helps us to make decisions, but I'm guessing most of us at some point wish we could be less judgmental.

If one of our goals as parents and educators is to foster in­de­pen­dence, we have to refrain from “helping” too much, an impulse that is sometimes difficult, or, for parents, perhaps well-nigh impossible, to control. But when we commit our­selves to observe more, to be still, then children have the chance to grapple with life. This is where true learning happens, through direct experience. So we support the children by show­ing that we honor the un­folding of who they are. We give them an encouraging smile or a sincere “You can do it”—all the while trust­ing that they will gain from their experience and will be okay.

Imagine if we tried to assist a butterfly in emerging from its chrysalis. We know (from squatting down quietly, watching it happen) that it would be a de­structive inter­ference to in­volve our­selves in that delicate yet com­pletely per­fect pro­cess. So, while child­ren need a safe, rich, and sup­port­ive en­vi­ron­ment, their un­fold­ing is something to be­hold, celebrate, and, for the most part, stay out of.

Molly Manewal