HeyJaredPaulla Rich Estes
Truth teller, encourager, listener. Memoir writer. Certified book coach in Memoir and Fiction. EX-Evangelical Christian. Former crisis pregnancy center worker. Championing other truth tellers with heartfelt empathy.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 6
- Latest publication
- Aug 27, 2026
- Audience
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 8, 2026
Latest issues
When I Heard about Dolly (opens the original)
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I grew up with an English Setter named Andy who was mostly white, with two black floppy ears, and small black specks along his back and legs and thick waving tail. Andy lived behind a chain-link fenced section of our Colorado back yard. He had a green and white pressed-wood dog house he could curl up in, but there was only a hole for a door, and neither the walls, roof, nor floor was insulated.My parents had grown up with dogs in Texas where the dogs had lived outside, like goats and horses and
Everybody’s High (opens the original)
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<img alt="" class="sizing-normal" height="1092" src="https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!n3nf!,w_1456,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2F6b0600a2-592a-4ac9-896a-533420050d8d_4032x3024.
IT'S A DRY HEAT (opens the original)
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Yesterday in the dry South Dakota sunshine, I wondered if I have a medical condition that makes me miserable in hot and humid climates. I remember as a little girl flying to my Nana’s house in Houston where the air felt heavy, and water collected on my skin.My doctor back in Maine would probably laugh and say that no one really loves summer heat and humidity. But that’s not true. I’ve met people who love it and they are psychopaths (sorry, Helen).<a class="image-link image2 is-viewable-img" href
On Place (opens the original)
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Last weekend while we were visiting my niece Anna in Illinois, her husband Brad drove us to his parents’ farm in Minooka. So far, the Midwest had been very hot. In the car on the way to the farm, I mentally prepared my body to wade through suffocating cornfields and hot, dusty barns. <s
I'm Still Thinking about The Ladder (opens the original)
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Two weeks ago on moving day, I had to abruptly give away several items that wouldn’t fit in our POD. One was the six-foot metal ladder that had hung on our garage wall literally, for decades. For me, the ladder was background scenery I rarely noticed. Then A few years ago, when we decided to sell the dark grey cape with the white shutters and red front door that my kids grew up in, I hoisted the ladder off its garage hooks.For months I sat on its top rung and scraped our dusty, cobwebby popcorn
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