Seasons and Systems Change
As I write this post, I'm sitting in my garden watching the last vestiges of spring transition into early summer. The peonies have already had their moment—that glorious, brief explosion of beauty that comes and goes faster than we'd like. Now it's the steady growth phase: the summer squash poking out of the dirt, the bright yellow blossoms announcing their arrival; the snap peas crawling up the homemade trellis; the tomato plants reaching toward the sun. And, as always, the quiet work of roots deepening beneath the soil.
There's something about this time of year that makes me think about the ecosystems we tend—both in our gardens and in our schools.
The Wisdom of Slow Growth
Recently, I had the privilege of speaking with school leaders about supporting educators using (what my colleague Elizabeth Denevi and I call) an "ecosystem approach." As I shared that day, we believe that schools are complex ecosystems that require intentional tending across multiple interconnected layers. I shared that in our new book, Integrating Educator Well-Being, Growth, and Evaluation: Four Foundations for Leaders, we explore how schools can move beyond the scattered, reactive approaches to professional growth and evaluation that leave educators feeling burned out and cynical. We imagine what becomes possible when we tend to four foundational layers:
Equity as the foundation (strong and sturdy, like the rocks and drainage in a terrarium)
Well-being as the soil (the nutrient-rich base of community care, from which everything grows)
Growth as cultivation (the continuous learning that keeps communities flourishing)
Evaluation as ecosystem tending (the careful attention that keeps everything in balance)
In this talk, I asked educators to imagine their schools a year from now—with adults thriving, students flourishing, and systems working in harmony rather than in competition with each other.
Here's what Elizabeth and I have observed after decades in schools: we pour tremendous energy into separate initiatives—wellness programs here, professional development there, evaluation systems over in that corner, equity as an add-on (and quickly eradicated when under threat). Each competes for time and attention, leaving everyone feeling like they're spinning wheels rather than making real progress.
But what if we approached educator support the way a gardener tends their plot? With attention devoted to how each element affects the others? With patience for the slow work of root development? With trust in the process of growth, even when we can't see immediate results?
We advocate that schools move from transactional (surface) to transformative (holistic) types of change. Instead of applying quick fixes to immediate problems, we're asking: How do we design for what we want to see rather than what we're defending against? How do we create the conditions for educators to flourish in more imaginative ways?
Small Actions Impact Large Systems
Rather than massive overhauls to reimagine the educator ecosystem, we advocate for transformation through small-scale efforts—what adrienne maree brown calls "fractal" change: the idea that small, intentional actions create larger systemic transformation.
I saw this recently when a leader I work with started a ritual called "Five Appreciation Fridays"—taking just ten minutes each week to send specific, personalized acknowledgments to five staff members. It was a tiny practice, but it began to shift how she viewed her colleagues and what she paid attention to. Soon, other leaders were adopting similar practices. Staff members started paying attention to the work of their colleagues, and they began to appreciate each other more visibly. What began as one person's attempt to leave the building less grumpy on Fridays became a school-wide culture of recognition.
That's the power of fractal change: small patterns that ripple outward, creating the conditions for transformation.
But not every effort shows immediate results. Not every seed germinates on our timeline. Sometimes, the work of tending in small ways—the consistent attention to equity, well-being, growth, and thoughtful evaluation—creates the conditions for future flourishing.
Future Plantings
Some of you are heading into the change of seasons with grand plans for rest and renewal. Others are already deep in planning for next year's challenges and opportunities. Whatever this season holds, I invite you to consider: What small, intentional action could you take to strengthen your school's ecosystem?
Perhaps it's:
Having a conversation about what values guide your community
Creating space for colleagues to share what they need to thrive
Establishing a simple practice for peer learning and support
Reimagining how you gather feedback and tend to growth
As you transition into whatever comes next this season—summer projects, family time, continued learning, well-deserved rest, or binge-watching the latest TV show—may you trust the slow work of ecosystem building. May you give yourself permission to bloom and let go in your own season, knowing that what you've planted this year will find its way to new growth.
Finally, may you remember that transformation doesn't require perfection, just the willingness to tend to what matters most. Here's to imagining what's possible when we tend to the whole ecosystem, one small, intentional action at a time.
P.S. If you're interested in exploring ecosystem approach to educator support, Elizabeth and I would love for you to check out our new book. And stay tuned for how you can take part in our upcoming book study. In this book, we've included an abundance of practical tools, including a landscape assessment to help you understand where your community currently thrives and where it might need more attention. You can find more information here.
