The Power of Metaphors, and How English Gardens Can Inform Models of Schooling and Instruction

In education reform, language matters. The metaphors we use shape how we think, what we prioritize, and the self-imposed limits we create when we imagine change. Often, the language of reform envisions a war: we hear about “battlegrounds” of curriculum, “frontlines” of instruction, “campaigns” for accountability, or “fights” over standards. Teachers are described as competing for resources or defending their territory, and schools are positioned as either winning or losing. While this kind of language may energize, it often narrows the conversation and reinforces a zero-sum mindset.

What if we shifted the metaphor? What if instead of a battlefield, we imagined a garden?

Specifically, let’s consider two styles of English gardens, each offering a different vision of the school and the classroom: the English cottage garden and the English country garden.

The English country garden is structured, with clear sightlines, curated beds, and neat paths. Its beauty is shaped by overt planning and visible order. As a metaphor for instruction, this garden style reflects a classroom where pacing guides and lesson plans ensure uniform progression. Learning objectives are mapped in advance, and classroom management relies on predictability and routine. Assessments are often standardized and aligned to external expectations. The teacher, while still nurturing, takes on a more directive role, ensuring alignment and cohesion across the landscape of learning.

In contract, the English cottage garden is dense, colorful, and abundant. Plants intermingle freely, and there's an intentional informality to the design. This style values layered complexity and encourages natural growth patterns. As a teaching metaphor, the cottage garden represents a classroom that embraces curiosity, student-driven exploration, and responsive instruction. The teacher sets initial conditions, introduces rich materials, and allows learners to move through content with a sense of ownership and discovery. Control and structure exist, but in a more subtle and adaptive format. Assessment might come in the form of performance tasks or portfolios, authentic demonstrations of what each student has learned over time.

Both models have their benefits and serve different purposes. Both require skill, artistry, and care. But the metaphors help us notice what we’re prioritizing. Are we aiming for uniform bloom or individual flourish? Are we trusting in organic growth or engineering our outcomes?

These metaphors also apply to our accountability systems. State frameworks tend to favor the country garden model: measurable, comparable, and neatly trimmed. But this preference can stifle innovation and obscure the deeper work happening in more cottage-style classrooms, where growth is no less real, but is often more challenging to quantify. Recognizing and valuing different pedagogical “gardens” could lead to more nuanced accountability structures, ones that balance structure with responsiveness.

Metaphors aren’t simply illustrative. They’re foundational to how we understand the world, and the metaphors we choose reveal our assumptions and biases. If we want to imagine better schools, we might start by choosing better metaphors.

So here’s to the teachers who tend, who understand, who prepare the soil and trust the process. Here’s to classrooms as gardens.