ORLANDO, Fla. — The name of a panel discussion at the State Policy Network’s 34th annual meeting was designed to get attention. But the most intriguing thing on the slide deck was the asterisk beside the huge letters that promised to reveal “Where the Wild Schools Are.”
“There is an asterisk on ‘schools’ for a reason: Virtually all of the programs you will hear about today are not technically schools,” said William Mattox, senior director of the J. Stanley Marshall Center for Education Freedom at the James Madison Institute in Tallahassee. “That is one reason we believe education choice, not just school choice, is so important. ESAs and other flexible scholarship tools make many of these options possible. Many of these programs simply would not exist without flexible scholarship funding.”
Mattox introduced two providers, one who founded a homeschool hybrid that operates near downtown Tampa, the other for a private school set on a 10-acre farm in Lakeland.
The third panelist, Ron Matus, director of research and special projects at Step Up For Students, also shared stories of programs across the state that he has written about since Florida lawmakers converted all scholarship programs to education savings accounts in 2023. Those include a Panhandle ranch school near the Alabama line, where students dehorn cattle and administer blood tests alongside classes in reading, math, science and social studies, as well as a South Florida couple who teach science with surfing and skateboarding.
“Much of the rest of the country is still trying to understand school choice. In Florida, we are moving from school choice to education choice in a big way,” Matus said.
For example, more than half of Florida students are now in something other than their zoned neighborhood schools. Of those, about 150,000 students are doing “a la carte learning,” receiving state support through scholarships that allow parents to mix and match education options outside of full-time schools, he said.
The point of the discussion was to share the experience of Florida with a national audience of policy researchers to show what is possible when states adopt education choice policies that give families maximum flexibility.
Tiffany Thenor shared her story of how she left her public school teaching job because she wanted the freedom to help students keep their sense of imagination and creativity as they learned core academics. In 2016, she and a friend opened a microschool in Lakeland they named WonderHere.
“The idea is that wonder should not be confined or restricted to the classroom,” said Thenor, whose program won a Yass Prize grant last year. “We created WonderHere as a proof point that we do not have to suffocate joy, wonder, and curiosity out of children in order to get strong academic outcomes.”
The main campus sits on a farm and serves 140 students. Students start the day with chores and gardening, then move into traditional academics taught in a non-traditional format. They spend at least two hours a day outside in nature and play.
Most of the students receive state education choice scholarships, so they complete required testing at the end of the year. WonderHere has been so successful that it has now expanded to locations in other parts of Florida and in South Carolina.
The county school district where the initial campus is located recently started a pilot project to offer the WonderHere model in the same public school where Thenor formerly taught.
Marissa Hess described her homeschool hybrid model, which also emphasizes learning through play. But unlike WonderHere, which is located near a small city, her Urban Cottage Educational Collaborative is only two miles north of bustling downtown Tampa in a federal opportunity zone.
“That might not seem ideal for a traditional outdoor program, but that was exactly the point,” said Hess, who was homeschooled and taught in U.S. public, private and Montessori schools. While living abroad before moving back to Tampa, she observed forest schools in northern Europe.
She said today’s children go to urbanized playgrounds that have rubberized mulch, shallow slides and no teeter-totters, no opportunities for risk, climbing or physical development.
At the same time, she heard many parents talking about their children’s occupational therapy and sensory processing challenges.
She wondered if children had enough opportunities to build core strength, ride bikes, climb, dig, and move their bodies in natural ways.
In 2015, she created Urban Cottage as a part-time program to help meet those needs. The forest playschool program uses a garden on a main thoroughfare. Hess worked with an occupational therapist and a speech pathologist to create a two-year curriculum focused on language, vocabulary, fine and gross motor development, speech and vocabulary.
In the playschool program, children grow food, compost, and learn through nature and play. There is a constant waitlist.
“Millennials are very aware of outdoor education and want it for their children because they remember part of their own childhood being analog. They want to bring back traditional childhood experiences: playing in dirt, digging holes, building strength, and learning how to grow food.”
Urban Cottage also offers instruction in core subjects, after-school tutoring and summer camps. It employs experienced educators and subject-matter experts, including professionals in science, physics, literature, and research. Classes are small and ability-based, with students often working closely with experts in one-on-one or small group settings. She intentionally caps enrollment to preserve nimbleness, allowing the program to adapt quickly to student and family needs. She also described Urban Cottage as a positive environment for teachers, giving educators freedom to teach in meaningful ways.
Hess is now working on partnerships with art studios, therapy services and other a la carte providers located near Urban Cottage to create an eco-system that offers families access to multiple services in one area.
Matus pointed out that private providers aren’t the only ones benefiting from the new era of education freedom. Public schools can participate in the new marketplace rather than stand apart from it. Florida has not mandated that school districts offer a la carte courses, but 55 of 67 districts have signed up to do so with Step Up For Students. Districts can market underused classes, such as advanced courses or specialized labs, to scholarship and homeschool families while generating revenue.
The key takeaways were that education choice is no longer about letting families choose from among existing traditional schools but about making room for new kinds of learning. In Florida, that means programs being built around beaches, barns, gardens, buses, shared public school buildings, and neighborhoods.
For families, the promise is customization. For educators, it is the chance to build around their strengths. For policymakers, it is a reminder that flexible funding and flexible rules can expand supply in ways no single system could plan from the top down.
As Mattox said, Florida’s wildest “schools” may not be schools at all. But they may point to where the future of education choice is headed as other states follow Florida’s lead.