On Sunday, we saw the writing on the wall. Tropical Depression Chantal was bringing trouble to the Piedmont region of North Carolina, and we made the call to head east and see for ourselves. By Monday, we were on the ground, checking in with emergency management and fire stations across the area—Mebane and its neighbors included. At the time, search and rescue efforts were still ongoing, though officials noted the damage was mostly structural. By Tuesday, I returned home, unsure if we’d be needed further.

That changed quickly.

Tuesday evening, emergency management reached back out and asked us to return. By Wednesday, our truck was loaded, and we rolled back into Saxapahaw. What we found was a town already rolling up its sleeves. Locals were mucking out businesses, supporting each other, and showing a kind of calm resilience that left me genuinely floored. In the wake of serious devastation, they were meeting, organizing, and moving—together.

We were given addresses and sent to scout damage firsthand, reporting our findings directly to the county. The floodwaters had swallowed the lower end of Saxapahaw, submerging entire buildings. Once the water receded, it was easy to see the damage—everything below the high water line was gutted. We assisted with muck-outs where we could, lightening the load and giving folks a few moments to breathe.

Every deployment teaches us something new. We’re still small. Still new. But that has made us nimble. Adaptable. Willing to take on the role that no one else is quite set up for. And while this response reinforced what we can do, it also revealed some of the blind spots in the broader disaster landscape—gaps we hope to address, with your help, in the days ahead.

This past week brought a lot into focus for me.

I’ve never claimed to have it all figured out, and I’m usually the first to call out my own shortcomings before anyone else can. That said, every deployment teaches me something. Every conversation, every misstep, every unexpected twist in the field fills in another gap. The learning curve is steep, but I’m climbing it.

I’ve found myself at tables I never expected to be invited to—tables where strategy, policy, and relief logistics are being shaped. I’ve felt underqualified in some of those rooms, but never useless. What I lack in polish, I make up for in presence and persistence. And in showing up consistently, I’ve gained something else: mentors. People willing to say, “Here’s where you can be of best use.” People willing to help me grow so that this organization can grow too.

I’ve started to see more clearly where Grounded Boots Relief fits—where the big players leave blind spots, and where our boots can meet the ground in ways others can’t. That’s what we’re leaning into. Not being everything to everyone, but being exactly what’s needed—right where it counts.

John S. Badger