Friday, October 13th, 2023—Today I was on the other side of the news. Today, after twenty-some years of working for NOLS, I engaged very differently in a process that had…
Category: The Inner Workings
Short, potentially scary, insights as to what goes on in my brain.
Editor’s note: I haven’t done a lot of recreational writing as of late. This past winter most of my writing has been technical, professional, writing. In the process a co-creator…
iFrames are not supported on this page. Explore the map above or click here to go to the ArcGIS Online hosted version. In December of 2010, I launched jaredspaulding.com. Memories…
[Editor’s Note: Again, I have reached back into my archives to dust off an old piece of writing, this one from April of 2017. A lot has changed in my…
My neighbors got a “new” truck last summer. The white, extended cab, Ram 2500 with an eight foot bed sits and idles its diesel engine on the street; there is…
Years of outdoor education have helped build a habit of referencing things by cardinal directions and their ordinal “in-betweens”. “Use the entrance on the south door” I might say to…
Editor’s Note: This piece evolved from some prompts I had in a writing class I took two years ago from author Katherine Standefer. Pieces of the current news coverage have…
Devil’s Slide rises almost 800 feet above my boyhood hamlet of Stark. As a child the deciduous forest that stretched northward across the railroad tracks from our house felt immense.…
Author’s Note: The November 7th of 2021 marks the 25th anniversary of my father’s unexpected passing. He was 46. In the 23rd year after his death I actively engaged with…
My tears take the long way to the pillow. They trace a line over my cheek bone and down to my chin, being slowed by week-old stubble, before depositing themselves…
The pandemic reinforced my love of tea and tacos. Here is the beginning and the end to 2021’s daily grind: ~ the pot: with Andy home it is a two…
I lost Luke twice. He was my first love. I remember the tears rolling down my cheek as I wrapped my arms around him. I buried my face into his…
I have no tattoos. That story is one of lazy summer days, friendship, and happenstance. But it is not for here. Here is where I tell you what tattoos the…
Editor’s Note: The author lives and writes from the current and ancestral lands of the Eastern Shoshone, Northern Arapaho, Apsaalooké, and Cheyenne. His direct ancestors landed at Plymouth Rock in…