HeyJaredThe Things I Carry
It's hard to live in this world. Let's tell stories and laugh about it. Laughing will make room for grace.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 4
- Latest publication
- Sep 28, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 6, 2026
Latest issues
Who Will Cross with Me to Safety? (opens the original)
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This is the inaugural piece of a Writers in the Round series I’m doing with three other writers here on Substack. Further explanation is at the end of this piece— I can’t wait to introduce you to my friends! *****Every summer, for the past eight years, I have revisited the book Crossing to Safety <a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/crossing-to-safety-wallace-stegner/2be5c343442d7adf?ean=9780375759314&bkshp-astro=
Two Garden Poems (opens the original)
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For Mother’s Day this year, I asked Andrew for a cut-flower garden. I got two of them. When one marries a horticulturist, one expects to have a cut-flower garden from the beginning. But one might forget that a horticulturist still has to work within the limitations of his given sunlight and soil. In May, my horticulturist experimented in the first garden plot with sub-par results. In June, my face pressed against our kitchen’s picture window, I gasped and pointed downwards, “What about there?” I
Coffee Call (opens the original)
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A Foreword of Sorts: I wrote this piece a year ago to take to a writer’s workshop in Colorado. Before I left for the workshop, I printed off four copies of this article and mailed it to my grandfather to distribute to his coffee group, who were my primary audience. Four months later, Bruce, one of the members of Coffee Call passed away. I was so glad he got to read this love letter to their group before he went. I wasn’t sure what to do with this article after that. Really, I thought it already
What's Summer For? (opens the original)
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We were sitting on the porch of my in-laws’ lake house, finishing up our blueberries and cream when it happened. My oldest son, Wilson, his back to the water, stopped mid-bite and looked up. Looked up like someone had called his name. We watched as he shoved himself back from the table and vaulted over the empty seat next to him. We stared as he stumble-ran toward the screen door and saw that he didn’t even reach for the handle, but let the weight of his body push him through. And there he went,
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