A Transylvanian Village Secret that is Now Brought to Your Living Room

I was raised in a small Transylvanian village, where the seasons still set the pace; because of that, I learned early to pay attention to nature’s timing.

When my parents left for market with the harvest, my mother pressed a watering can into my hands and said, “Keep everything alive.” From then on, I looked after the geraniums on the sill, the ferns in the cool hallway, and, outside, the tomatoes and roses.

Those plants taught me patience, attention, and the quiet joy of seeing life respond to care.

I learned the quiet grammar of plants by watching. Morning light and leaf color; warm water for tender roots; terracotta for breathability; the rhythm of soak and dry for resilience.

My parents passed down time‑tested tricks; I kept experimenting, rotating pots with the calendar, using a wooden skewer as a moisture gauge, flushing soil to clear salts, and rescuing “lost causes” with brighter light and better airflow.

What began as a chore became a practice of care and a lifelong curiosity.

I’m forty now, and, over time, my home has become a small jungle of bloom and leaf: vining pothos over bookcases, old-world pelargoniums, glossy philodendrons, and winter orchids that still surprise me.

I write the way I garden: kitchen-table wisdom braided with gentle science, so you feel guided rather than lectured, and, in turn, you notice what your plants are already trying to tell you.

I believe every thriving plant starts with two gifts: attention and the courage to try again.

When I’m not pruning or repotting, you’ll find me swapping cuttings with neighbors and sketching room-light maps. Then, I test small ideas that make big differences, like bright-indirect corner hacks or stress-free watering routines.

This book is my living notebook. I hope it helps your home flourish, too.