Seonyo, with 190,000 followers, has brought green and tranquility to the daily lives of many people.
A very private garden story that began on a veranda in a city apartment, a quiet record of those six years.

“Life with a silent life demands more than I thought.
“It gave me back more than that.”

Recommended by Moon Ye-jin, Seong Bo-ram, Oh Song-min, and Lee So-young.

The story of my little garden, a quiet record of six years by ju_seonyo, who has 190,000 followers and has brought greenery and tranquility to the daily lives of countless people.
It took quite a while to call the 10-square-foot space on the apartment balcony a garden.
I started with just a couple of pots and the plants grew little by little as the seasons changed.
At some point, it became a space with a clear name.
This book, "The Story of My Little Garden," is the birth story of a very private garden that began on a veranda in a city apartment, and a small invitation to all those who dream of gardening, showing that a peaceful green experience is possible even without a large yard or perfect plan. It is a book for those who love plants and believe that taking care of their home is connected to taking care of themselves.
We guide you to a quiet beginning to find your own rhythm in your busy daily life.

When recalling a certain time, some people first remember people, some people remember places, and some people remember the smells or lights of that time.
For me, it's plants.
When I think of a certain summer, I think of the refreshing scent of tomato leaves at my fingertips, and when I think of a certain autumn, I think of red-tinted azaleas.
Sensations that remain distinct and indelible.
It comes from the plants and from me looking at the plants.
This book is a record written in accordance with those feelings.
It contains the seasons spent in a small room and a four-pyeong veranda garden, and the time spent looking out at the plants.
Even if you don't know the name of a plant, you can remember the season it bloomed in and the time you spent with it.
If a small green leaf appears in the mind of someone reading this, that is enough.
I hope that green will one day become the beginning of your own garden.
--- From the "Prologue"

Is this spring particularly tricky? Until recently, I was so anxious because the plants that should be waking up with the arrival of spring were so quiet.
From hydrangeas to wisterias, everything remained in the afterglow of winter, and I wondered if something was wrong.
Even as I touched the soil to gauge the moisture and opened my eyes wide to look into the gaps between the branches, a corner of my heart still felt uneasy.
I wondered if I'd missed something. I opened the veranda door, felt the breeze, and checked to see how much sunlight was shining in, but I wasn't sure.
That anxiety eventually led to useless actions.
Even though there was no need to water, I was walking around with a watering can out of habit, and I was just setting up unnecessary supports and then putting them away again.
I felt like my interest and concern for plants were at odds.
As if giving an irrelevant answer without being able to read the other person's mood.
Whether it was something missing or simply the weather, my sense of boundaries seemed to have dulled.
--- From "Unfamiliar Spring"

To leave a record is to carve a small trace into the flow of time.
It's a way of telling yourself that even the smallest of days had something to do with it.
I wasn't trying to find any special meaning from the beginning.
I just didn't want to miss the fleeting moments.
Plants change a little bit every day.
No matter what the circumstances around you are, you move at your own pace.
I probably started keeping records because I was drawn to that kind of speed.
I started to stay in the moment for a while without making hasty judgments or being certain.
Because looking at something, caring for it, and approaching it are things that originally take time.
My time with plants has created a small crack in the way I live.

--- From "Epilogue"