I worked as the publisher of a newspaper, but the real thrill wasn't in the balance sheets—I loved writing stories. So, to follow my passion, I often helped the editorial staff find interesting things in town to feature. The regional manager often laughed about this and started calling me “Scoop” because I could find a story in the most unexpected things. The editorial staff, those often cynical souls, looked at my suggestions with wariness. “The coffee group does not sound interesting,” one reporter said.
“But I know there’s a story there. I can feel it.” And sure, I’d been wrong before, but if the newsroom didn't make earnest inquiries into the lives of our readers, they’d solely be covering city council meetings and engagements with the mayor.
This all happened before I got sick with stage-4 cancer, but ironically, those years in journalism taught me something that’s often kept me afloat during this journey. It’s something my grandmother actually swore by when she urged me to follow a cliché and always stop and smell the roses. She was an interesting woman who also swore by ancient cures and old sayings.
I thought about the newspaper again, figuring that a journalist's hardest task is to help others live through what the reporter themselves sees, hears, and experiences. But it’s really important what we choose to amplify. I thought there was too much negativity when I worked for the paper, so I started focusing on human-interest stories.
Oddly enough, while seeking the best in others, I unexpectedly found the best in the world around me. I think the biggest shift came with a story about a rose bush. It was the least sensational story idea I’d ever pitched, narrowly beating out a feature on a swimming pool that got shut down. Yet, it became a front-page sensation.
For months, I’d driven past the same house, where a woman always stood meticulously pruning roses. She had the posture of a retired dancer and the determined focus of a lead violinist. One particular afternoon, driven by an impulse that was 50% curiosity and 50% nosiness, I stopped and introduced myself.
"I always see you taking care of these roses," I said, studying the unusual plant and how each rose boasted a mix of orange, pink, and white petals.
The woman softly explained that her husband had grafted two different rose bushes together shortly before he passed away.
"I take care of it," she whispered, her eyes misty, "because it makes me feel like a part of him is still alive." Years later, she couldn't help but see the irony. “He combined two bushes that became one," she said. "It was just like our marriage." The way she said it, I knew I’d stumbled onto the kind of story that reminds you how breathtakingly beautiful life can be. I wrote everything down and even took a picture of the woman, making sure to capture the magnificent rose bush. After her story published on the front page of the paper, she showed up at the office with a tray of homemade treats for the whole staff. They were the best cookies I’ve ever tasted, and everyone beamed, watching as this once-lonely woman passed out treats and talked about how she’d made dozens of friends in town after the article ran. People stopped her at the grocery store, shared stories from their own gardens, and even asked for her secret gardening techniques.
This interaction made me wonder what inspiring stories are all around us, blooming quietly every single day. My grandma believed that we should take time to smell the roses because you never know what adventure might be waiting. You could meet a new friend, hear an inspiring story, taste the best cookie ever, or all three of the above. And trust me, meeting the Rose woman of Blackfoot was completely worth it. She changed my view forever. She changed my life with a smile and a story about enduring love. She reminded me to always find the good, even in hardship.
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