There is something magical about planting a rose bush.  The story of Martha Gonzales and her small rose garden has captured my imagination as any real-world fairytale is sure to do.  I have a feeling that, like all of the precious women I know, Martha Gonzales didn’t realize how special she was.  And when she tucked that scarlet rose cutting in the ground, she could never have imagined it would carry her name far and wide, through future generations.

While walking barefoot over her flat dirt lawn in Navasota, Texas, did Martha allow herself to dream of traveling to lush mountains, or did she focus on the green leaves of her rose and feel content?  Did she lament the peeling siding on her cottage, or did she gaze at the saturated red rose petals and experience satisfaction?

No place is void of beauty if a flower grows there. 

Two rose rustlers spotted that beauty, and Martha graciously responded.  Yes, take a cutting.  ¡Por Supuesto!  Of course, you may propagate it!

‘Martha Gonzales’ rose grown and photographed by my mother-in-law.

To see a picture of the real Martha Gonzales in front of her home, please click here. 

She planted a rose.  She was generous in sharing its splendor.  And though she has been deceased for over thirteen years, though her little garden has withered and died, her name still stands for beauty.

Registered with the American Rose Society, the intrepid ‘Martha Gonzales’ rose has traveled from nurseries to verdant hillsides and big cities, from garden centers to schools and neighborhoods.  A woman in a small Texas town planted a rose and blessed millions.

And for all of us women, who don’t know how special we are, here is a link to a wise, view-changing post by Ann Voskamp.  Martha isn’t the only one who is a radiant bush!  I can’t stop thinking about this: How the Hidden Dangers of Comparison Are Killing Us . . . {and Our Daughters}:  The Measuring Stick Principle