Blog
Letters From Prison: Hope is a Scarce Commodity
An excerpt of a letter from Rick in February of 2014, when he was still in county jail, and about six months before he was moved to prison. He writes about his idea to start Adopt an Inmate. I feel as though I am the most well-taken-care-of inmate in Del Valle. Having...
🐝 Bee Fest 2026 is coming!
Every summer, we gather a small group of volunteers, board members, supporters, and friends for Bee Fest - our annual Adopt an Inmate volunteer work weekend. This year's Bee Fest will take place August 7–10 in Veneta, Oregon. and is...
A New Chapter: Letters From Prison in the Classroom
After more than a decade of connecting incarcerated individuals with volunteers, Adopt an Inmate is expanding its focus on educational partnerships, mentorship, and community engagement through our growing Letters From Prison: In the Classroom initiative. Learn about the next chapter of our work and how educators, students, and community partners can get involved.
We’re Back (And We’ve Got News)
Sometimes we have to step back from talking about the work in order to do the work. We’re back with updates on a North Carolina field visit, new volunteer opportunities, exciting educational partnerships, the Blueprint app, Bee-Fest, and what’s coming next at Adopt an Inmate.
Inmate Ingenuity: Trash Bag Edition
Trash bags are the Swiss Army knife of prison life. From tablet mounts to laundry lines to makeshift ovens, one sheet of plastic can become almost anything. In this first installment of #InmateIngenuity, Ray Corona shares the everyday creativity that helps people behind bars survive a world built with almost none of the tools the rest of us take for granted.
I Used To Live #Just Like You
Token gestures make us feel righteous, but they don’t hold us accountable to change. What would happen if you reached down to someone in the pit—not as charity, but as a neighbor? You might discover a new and empowered version of yourself.
I Used To Breathe #Just Like You
I used to breathe in life—mountain bike mornings, oil and rubber at the shop, the scents of youth and purpose. Now I breathe as little as possible. Prison air carries chemicals, suffering, and the scent of men waiting to die. Still, I pray for the day breathing feels like living again.
