This week, Grounded Boots Relief founder John S. Badger sat down with three people whose grit, heart, and quiet endurance have become the backbone of post-Hurricane Helene recovery: local contractor Jake Jarvis, his daughter Mya, and Bat Cave Fire Chief Steve Freeman.

Jake Jarvis, of Precision Grading, has been in it from the beginning. While others watched the disaster unfold on the news, Jake and his team were already moving dirt, clearing roads, and unblocking waterways with skid steers, bulldozers, and backhoes. He didn’t show up for headlines. He showed up to work—and he never left. Even now, months later, he’s covering costs out of pocket to keep rebuilding momentum alive.

Chief Steve Freeman recounted moments few would want to remember. During voluntary evacuations, he went door to door urging residents to leave. When some refused, he handed them permanent markers, asking them to write their names and next of kin on their arms—just in case. That wasn’t a hypothetical. During the flooding, his own truck was swept into his kitchen. He’s lived the trauma he’s trying to protect others from. You can see his account in a promotional video by Samaritan’s Purse—but nothing compares to hearing it from the man himself.

And then there’s Mya. In the middle of chaos, while their homes were being demolished, she chose to sit beside those in pain. She didn’t have a title. She didn’t need one. She offered what was needed most: calm, comfort, and presence. She played with kids whose lives had been turned upside down. She stayed when it was easier to leave. Her empathy filled the space between devastation and healing.

Driving down Highway 64 past Edneyville, John was hit by the memory of it all. Washed-out roads. Collapsed homes. Businesses gutted. The road near the Justice Academy—where Grounded Boots Relief set up its first supply hub—is still barely passable. Recovery here isn’t a phase. It’s a long, hard road with no shortcut.

As their conversation came to a close, John asked what they wished more people understood:

John encourages those following along to seek out Jake Jarvis’s daily recaps. He shares what’s happening on the ground. The costs he’s covering out of pocket. The real, raw updates. It’s not for attention. It’s because the work never stopped.

There was one more request from both Freeman and Jarvis: your prayers. Or your good thoughts, or quiet intentions—whatever you can send their way. Because they’ve walked a long, hard road, and the truth is, recovery will take another decade. At least. Thousands of other disasters will make headlines between now and then. But that doesn’t mean this one is over.

Most of us reading this didn’t lose everything on September 27th. Some did. Some lost homes. Some lost family. And because of that reality, Grounded Boots Relief remains on mission—not just to respond, but to stand with those still serving. To bolster their work, to fill in the gaps, and to step in when they need to rest.

Because no one should carry this kind of weight alone.

We’re excited to share some great news: Grounded Boots Relief is now officially recognized as a qualified community service entity. That means whether you’re fulfilling court-mandated hours, completing a school requirement, or simply looking to give back in a meaningful way—we’re a place where your time makes a real impact.

This designation is more than just a checkmark on paperwork. It’s a recognition of the kind of work we do: hands-on, boots-on-the-ground, community-driven relief. Whether it’s clearing debris, sorting donations, supporting logistics, or just showing up with willing hands, we now have the structure in place to help folks serve their hours with purpose.

We’re not about busywork. We’re about real work. And we believe that community service should be both restorative and empowering—for everyone involved.

If you or someone you know needs a place to complete hours, or if you’re an organization looking to partner, visit groundedbootsrelief.org/volunteer or reach out to our team directly. We’d love to put you to work in a way that actually matters.

Help others. Help yourself. Help the mission. Let’s get to it.

Today, June 1, marks the official start of the Atlantic hurricane season—a date we circle in red on the Grounded Boots Relief calendar. For many, it’s just another summer day. For us, it’s the beginning of a months-long watch, preparation, and, if needed, action.

While the Atlantic has yet to stir, the Pacific wasted no time. Tropical Storm Alvin formed last week, earning the first name of the 2025 season. Though Alvin poses no threat to land, its early arrival reminds us that nature doesn’t wait for a schedule to act.

At Grounded Boots Relief, we treat June 1 as more than a date. It’s a signal: check the gear, test the comms, revisit the plans, and most importantly—make sure our neighbors are informed and ready. Whether it’s a storm next week or next month, preparation starts now.

There was a world before Hurricane Helene—and a world after. For many of us, that line is still sharp and clear, and will likely be forever. I believe Grounded Boots Relief is now standing at another pivotal moment: before meeting Jake Jarvis, and after.

Jake’s name kept coming up in conversations—always spoken with respect, sometimes reverence. I kept an eye on his work. A few folks told me to reach out, and I did, though I knew the man was knee-deep in recovery work. He stayed busy, and rightly so. It wasn’t until our board gave me a little push that I reached out again. I’m grateful that they did.

We met at the Bat Cave Fire Department. Jake, his daughter Mya, and Chief Steve Freeman offered a perspective that both grounded and elevated everything we’re doing. You can read more about that encounter in the main article of this issue, but I’ll say this: it changed me. It reaffirmed the depth of need still present in our communities, and the power of aligning with those who’ve been in it from day one.

Driving into Bat Cave shook me. Chimney Rock Road—what’s left of it—is scarred. It’s barely a road now, and it’s closed to the public. Law enforcement is clear: no disaster tourism. Respect the restriction. What I saw wasn’t just damage. It was trauma carved into the land. Twisted metal, shattered homes, and ghost structures. That road, that valley, those families—they’re still recovering.

We are doubling down on our commitment to this community. During the quiet times—these so-called “blue skies”—we’ll be here, clearing debris, restoring what we can, standing by our neighbors. And when the next storm comes, we’ll be more ready than ever. More connected, more equipped, and more determined to show up faster, stay longer, and do more.

John S. Badger