Krista Stevens

Longreads

Revolutions

By: Krista Stevens

Joël Kyaviro is a professional cyclist from the Democratic Republic of the Congo who has risen above government instability, war, violence, poverty, and

Longreads

Hurricane Helene Washed His Wife Away From Their Mobile Home. Now New Residents Live on the Same Land.

By: Krista Stevens

Dave Masters watched as his father's house careened into a telephone pole and split in two, after Hurricane Frances lifted it from its foundation in 2004.

Longreads

Why Is Everyone In Tech So Sad?

By: Krista Stevens

If you spend your day in front of a computer, you may ask yourself, at times, why you do it. What's it all for? Who benefits?

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There's No Place Like Group Chats

By: Krista Stevens

For The New Yorker , Hanif Abdurraqib looks at group chats and the place they hold in our lives as cherished spaces to connect over memes, share photos, and process difficult times.

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Tomato Cure

By: Krista Stevens

For Orion Magazine , Seth Kaplan writes of turning to his tomato plants as a way to decompress after a long day at work.

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Oh, How Lucky We Are

By: Krista Stevens

Beryl Gilothwest's grandmother, Sandy “Moose” West, passed away at age 108 in 2021. For The Bitter Southerner , Gilothwest profiles a diminutive

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A Record of Breath

By: Krista Stevens

If you were to look at your belongings, which might you choose to represent you after your death? What's worth passing down to the next generation?

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He Went Out on an Epic Wilderness Adventure. Only His Dogs Came Back.

By: Krista Stevens

For The New York Times Magazine , Blair Braverman tells the story of Steffen Skjottelvik, a 29-year-old Norwegian man who attempted a multi-year trek across the wilderness of Canada.

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He Was a Suspect in the Yogurt Shop Murders for Thirty Years. He Can't Forget.

By: Krista Stevens

Forrest Welborn had nothing to do with the Yogurt Shop Murders, the grisly killing of four young women in Austin, Texas, in 1991.

Longreads

Ghosts of the Grove

By: Krista Stevens

Palmeros harvest medjool dates by hand by leaping into the crown of a tree “full of thorns sharp enough to puncture a tire—or, say, a human limb.” For