Because garden makes us happy
The most beautiful of holiday destinations – your own garden. For all those who choose to spend their holidays at home, a somewhat different book about gardening that will get you in the mood for a vacation in your very own paradise. In this remarkable guidebook, Daniela Cortolezis transports her readers on a voyage of discovery through their own garden. But spending your holidays at home, just to keep doing whatever you normally do? There is another way! Page by page, this book shows you how much fun it can be to spend the summer at home while getting the utmost enjoyment from your garden. No exhausting air travel, no fear of flying, no suitcases to pack, no abandoned garden. No waiting around, no queueing, no rowdy strangers the other side of flimsy walls. Holidaying in your green oasis is simply exquisite: you can unwind, laze away the hours, hug a tree, amble barefoot across the dewy grass, recharge your batteries, become one with nature and explore the world of your own green abode like a globetrotter. The first ever guidebook for holidays in your own garden takes you directly to what may be the most beautiful holiday destination in the world and awakens an enthusiasm for the delights to be discovered amongst the deckchairs and secateurs. Discover an entire world within your own patch of green and enjoy this extraordinary travel guide!
“I wish I had …
I wish I was…
I wish I could…”
Holiday-time is the best of all times, unless you’ve caught the gardening bug. Then you’ll be all too aware of the annual dilemma. It’s the same drama every year:
Holidays at last. The family is all excited. Chaos descends days before departure. Who is taking what, where and how, and when to leave to ensure the greatest possible holiday experience. On the day, the car is crammed full of suitcases, holdalls, carrier bags. By the time the food for the journey is stowed away, cleaning wipes are within easy reach, bicycles are in their respective slots on the roof rack and cuddly toys and plastic animals are jammed into all available spaces, you know there’s no chance of leg movement until the first stop at a motorway service station. The children are strapped in and settle into their habitual whining. The driver programs the satnav, tears his hair out, supervises the loading of his vehicle, starts to throw fits and casts severe doubt upon the mental state of his loved ones who appear to be unable to conceive of a holiday without this veritable flood of stuff. All are getting into their customary best-time-of-the-year mood.
All, except for one: the lady gardener, the mother, the tormented one. She stands by the gate, aghast, turns to look at her garden one last time and surreptitiously wipes a salty tear from her cheek. Finally going on holiday, finally setting off, that’s great. Wonderful, in fact. But who will look after the garden?
And she begins to dream.
Of an alternative kind of holiday, at home, in her own garden. How amazing it would be to be able to revel in nothing but garden time,
concerned with nothing but gardening matters. And herself. Taking time out from everyday stress in her green oasis, leisurely reading all those new novels and maybe even doing something creative again. Wouldn’t it be lovely to walk out every morning across the dewy meadow, barefoot, still in a nightgown, holding a deliciously aromatic cup of coffee, to check on the roses. To fish the newspaper out of the letterbox and read it in comfort beneath the apple tree, lingering over the news, and then to take your first stroll around the garden to water the plants. To roll out your yoga mat in the shade and salute the sun surrounded by all this nature.
That would be amazing!