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Inside VA is a program office that looks like it came from the future: The Simulation Learning, Evaluation, Assessment and Research Network (SimLEARN). Its mission is to maximize the quality of care Veterans receive at our medical facilities nationwide.

SimLEARN uses simulation-based learning to increase clinical capabilities and improve patient outcomes across VA.

“It provides a safe learning environment where a clinician has the opportunity to practice, fail and improve without consequences for the patient,” said Edwin Negron-Cortes, education specialist, Caribbean Health Care System.

Negron-Cortes is also the SimLEARN coordinator at the San Juan VA in Puerto Rico. He works with the clinical staff in the SimLAB where they practice critical care skills such as the Trauma Nursing Core Course (TNCC).

Training helped save Veteran’s life

TNCC helps refresh clinical staff on what to do when they have trauma patients. This refresher recently helped save a patient’s life in San Juan. A Veteran who had fallen from a building was rushed into the emergency department. Nurse Yasiry Lozada-Ortega was on duty and had just finished the TNCC. She jumped into action.

“It helped us prepare ourselves and determine what is important,” explained Lozada-Ortega. “The patient was stabilized and safely transferred to a trauma center.”

Almost 3,000 miles away, at the Sturgis VA in South Dakota, another Veteran was saved thanks to SimLEARN’s virtual trainings. This time, it was the Resuscitation Education and Innovation (REdI) training program. REdI’s trainings are conducted on a quarterly basis to ensure clinical staff retain the skills they need to help a patient during a cardiac emergency.

Another life saved in emergency room

Nurse Rob Knight was working in the emergency department when a patient went into cardiac arrest and flatlined. His team reacted in a matter of seconds to the emergency. Knight said the recent refresher training from REdI was key to saving the Veteran’s life.

“We shocked him,” Knight said. “Probably within five seconds his eyes came open and he looked right at us and said, ‘What did you guys just do to me?’ We looked up at the monitor. We had a good rhythm on the monitor, he had a really good pulse and obviously he was awake and talking.”

These are just two examples of the impact SimLEARN has on patient care at VA medical centers. From COVID-19 escape rooms that help clinical staff understand coronavirus safety protocols to 5G capabilities in a state-of-the-art training center, SimLEARN uses innovative technology and thinking to keep our medical staff on their A-game.

“This is a team effort,” said Negron-Cortes. “It’s not just here in the Simulation Lab. It’s also SimLEARN sending us instructors so our team can participate in courses and continue developing the skills they have.”

Visit the SimLEARN website to learn about the other innovative education initiatives we are implementing and how they help improve the care Veterans receive at VA.

Veterans Memorial senior Aidan Guerra felt the Eagles had all the necessary pieces to compete for a district title last season.

Instead, the team struggled at times, and ended up finishing fourth in a competitive District 29-5A.

“We went through a lot last year,” Guerra said. “Our team was close and we had a great bond, but things were tough sometimes.”

Vets won its bi-district game against Laredo Martin, but fell to McAllen Rowe in the area round.

The Eagles began the offseason in need of a spark, and they got one in former coach Billy White Jr. 

White, who coached Veterans Memorial during the 2019-2020 season, was named head again after spending the 2020-2021 school year as the principal of Copperas Cove Junior High.

“I know how special it was when I was here the first time,” White said. “I knew the kids, the environment, the administration and it’s a great place to be.”

White spent more than 15 years at Copperas Cove, but when the opportunity to return to Corpus Christi presented itself, he quickly gained interest. 

White prayed about the decision and after getting the OK from his family, the choice to return to South Texas became simple. 

“It was great there (Copperas Cove), but it’s no where as fun as what I’m doing here at Vets with these kids and these coaches,” White said. “When the opportunity presented itself, I wanted to make sure it was the right thing for not only me, but for my family and these kids.”

Lincoln County Quilters are hanging up their cutting boards and rotary wheels after a dozen years of making patriotic-themed quilts and giving them away to combat veterans. They started their quilting group in 2010 under the Quilts of Valor umbrella, and then switched to Quilts of Gratitude in 2015.

In their 12 years, they made and gave away between 200 and 250 quilts to veterans who saw combat or had boots on the ground in a combat area.

Originally they gave quilts away to just Jefferson veterans, but quickly expanded to all of Lincoln County and beyond.

Founding members of Lincoln County Quilters were Lu Archer, Marge Bailey, Sheila Rancourt, Kathy Alley, Karen Zuchowski, and Sydney Faulkingham.

They held ceremonies for veterans, the first at the Nobleboro Community Center. They quickly outgrew the space and then held ceremonies at the Waldoboro VFW, Wells-Hussey American Legion Post 42 in Damariscotta, and at the Winslow-Holbrook Merrill Post 1 in Rockland.

When COVID-19 hit, it took the wind out of the group’s sails. Not being able to have quilting parties, or ceremonies to honor veterans, was hard on the group. Not being able to present their labors of love to veterans in person was the final straw and led to Lincoln County Quilters disbandment.

In 2021, they mailed quilts to veterans, with the exception of a few that were delivered in person. Receiving quilts were Richard Hays of Jefferson, Todd Musial of Jefferson, Charilyn Benner-Campbell of Jefferson, Creig Mills of Jefferson, Joseph Ames of New Jersey (family ties in Jefferson), Raymond “Butch” Joslyn of Whitefield, Richard Cosra of Augusta, and Howard Wiley of Warren.

“Not doing a decent presentation because we were worried about the elderly getting out in the public,” was the number one reason Rancourt, president of the group, said of getting done.

“We are getting older,” Bailey added.

“We have had a lot of support” over the years, Peggy Jones said.

“I will miss it,” Zuchowski said.

“It was time. We are all getting grandbabies and are making quilts for them,” Rancourt added.

Lincoln County Quilters disbanded on Feb. 11. The group made over 200 quilts and presented to combat veterans since 2010. Pictured are club members Marge Bailey, president Sheila Rancourt, Karen Zuchowski (front right), and Peggy Jones. (Paula Roberts photo)

Rancourt said they are grateful to the Jefferson Fire Department who let them meet in their space. “They supported us for years.”

They received support from the Wells-Hussey American Legion, Sons of the American Legion and the Legion Auxiliary, and from the Rockland Post.

In addition, the quilting group received financial support from many individuals, and gifts of fabric, batting and other materials. Longarm quilters donated their time, thread, and batting.

“They were willing to help us no matter what. They even helped bind” the quilts, Rancourt said.

“We are one of few charitable organizations that did not need money,” Rancourt said of donations they have received.

“We are grateful for all the support we received,” Jones said.

During the two years of COVID, the group used up most of their red, white, and blue material. The balance of funds left in their kitty will be given to House in the Woods, a retreat for veterans, located in Lee.

“It is an awesome organization,” Rancourt said.

Bailey said what she will miss the most about Lincoln County Quilters, is not seeing the people anymore.

Rancourt said she will miss getting together, the laughs, and the personal relationships.

Jones said she will miss meeting the veterans.

“These quilts are going to be heirlooms. They will be passed down through the generations,” she said.

Zuchowski said she will miss the quilt presentations to veterans. “Just the families and veterans and their reactions were priceless.”

One veteran who was a Marine that saw heavy fighting in WWII, held Rancourt’s hand through the whole presentation.

“He was scared. Quite a few veterans could not be there in person, because their memories were so traumatized they could not bear to be in public,” Rancourt said.

The organization’s memorabilia will be given to the Jefferson Historical Society, including Union Fair ribbons, newspaper articles, state awards, and the Spirit of America Award they received from Willow Grange.

“Times have changed,” Zuchowski said of COVID, and the closing of many quilting fabric shops.

Matching fabrics online is “hard,” Rancourt added.

“We want to thank everyone who has supported us throughout the years,” she said.

“We are going to miss it. It is time to let younger people take over. I used to be able to sew all afternoon and half the night, but not anymore,” Rancourt said.

There is pain when it comes to riding a motorcycle. On a bike, exposed to the elements, the little things are painful. At 75 miles per hour, raindrops batter exposed skin. A piece of road gravel kicked up by a passing car feels like a pellet fired straight into your nipple. On a motorcycle, the world hurts — sore butt, aching back, fingers cramping from gripping the constantly vibrating clutch and throttle. From frigid conditions to scorching heat to random gusts of wind trying to knock you off of the bike, everything is trying to kill you.

Maybe that’s why riding more than 1,000 miles on a motorcycle is good for the mental health of combat veterans. The possibility of death at any moment was our normal. Insurgent IEDs, mortar and rocket fire, the distinct sound of an AK-47. On a bike it’s the gravel in the next bend of the highway that could make the rear tire slip. It’s the heat of the day. It’s the ice on the road. Isolated within the helmet, listening to the road noise and wind and living in the seconds as they slap your helmet like Texas grasshoppers is a strange catharsis.

That’s motorcycle therapy.

While many American veterans have surely practiced something along the lines of “motorcycle therapy” for decades, taking to the open road with a tribe in search of a better tomorrow is a practice whose treatment potential Army veteran Dave Frey and his wife, Sue, realized in 2014 on the road to South Dakota for the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally, the mecca of biker pilgrimages.

After meeting a fellow paratrooper in Wyoming in 2014, Dave learned the man was in need of lodging for the night. Dave called Sue, a logistics maven, who found the vet the last room available in a hotel full of Hells Angels in Cody, Wyoming. Crossing paths with the soldier was the genesis of the Veterans Charity Ride, the Moab, Utah-based nonprofit the Freys run.

Since 2015, the Veterans Charity Ride has provided motorcycle therapy to veterans living with physical and psychological wounds, such as traumatic brain injury, post-traumatic stress, and other combat-related injuries and illnesses. Every summer, Dave and Sue bring a small group of veterans to southern Utah for an all-expenses-paid two-week retreat that culminates with the ride to Sturgis.

I’ve been riding motorcycles since I was 18, and Sturgis had been a dream of mine for years. When a friend connected me to Dave and Sue, I never thought they’d pick me to join the 2021 Veterans Charity Ride.

Over the phone, I shared some details of my combat experience — getting blown up in Ramadi, my time as a Marine interrogator and military intelligence analyst. I talked about drinking too much and some of the nights and days I’ve sat on the couch with a Glock in my mouth.

“We’d like you to come out to Utah,” Dave said after listening intently and asking a few questions. Later, Sue would tell me she and Dave knew almost immediately that I needed motorcycle therapy.

I arrive in Moab July 28. Taking in the landscape, I realize photos and other media do no justice to the breathtaking scale and natural beauty of the surrounding cliffs and red rock formations carved over thousands of years by wind and water. The neatly sliced landscape would make a master chef proud — if God were a chef. Boulders the size of warehouses are casually strewn along the canyons. Some spill into rivers while others teeter on tomorrow’s edge, waiting to be called down into a valley or the mighty Colorado.

About 20 miles northwest of Moab, the Colorado River meanders past the aptly named Red Cliffs Lodge just outside Castle Valley, Utah. At the lodge, I meet Dave and Sue and the seven other veterans they’ve brought out for the 2021 Veterans Charity Ride.

Among the crop of first-time riders forming our proud band of merry misfits is a former Army medic with a penchant for sarcastic jokes and flamboyant flair, an Air Force veteran left paralyzed by what should have been a simple medical treatment, a Navy vet who proudly describes how she often FaceTimes with her cats, and a Marine vet who lost his left arm in a motorcycle wreck and now flaunts his preferred nickname: Lefty.

After some brief introductions and the traditional veteran butt-sniffing routine, a brown-eyed brunette greets me with a warm smile and keys to the bike I’ll be riding. Chief Warrant Officer 3 Katie Harrington made her first ride from Utah to Sturgis with VCR in 2018. One of several VCR alums who return each summer as volunteer mentors for the new class of vets, the nurse and South Dakota National Guard soldier easily infects those around her with her persistent positive energy.

Outside I mount a low-slung, sagebrush green Springfield Dark Horse provided by Indian Motorcycles and wonder what I’ve done to deserve such a beautiful bike. The black-on-green matte finish practically begs for a pinup detail on the tank with the name Dolly or Mary-Sue. It’s a war machine. The only things missing are a machine gun mounted on a swing arm and a shotgun in a leather scabbard.

Indian Motorcycles has sponsored the Veterans Charity Ride since the organization’s first ride in 2015. Sue says Dave earned the nickname “The Tenacious Bastard” around Indian’s corporate offices. No matter how many times Indian initially turned down Dave’s pitch to help him put a bunch of wounded veterans on motorcycles and ride to Sturgis, he kept coming back, unironically begging the question, What could go wrong? 

Turns out, nothing. So now, every summer, Indian enthusiastically provides brand-new loaner bikes for the veterans making the ride to Sturgis with VCR for the first time.

It’s been a few years since I’ve been on two wheels, so I join the other vets for a quick ride to shake off the rust. The Springfield’s weight and riding position are much different from those of the sport bikes I’m used to, but after leaning into a few curves on the open road, I settle into the bike like it’s an old pair of jeans. The Springfield growls and shakes, eating up the asphalt until we roll back into the parking lot at the lodge and drop kickstands. Lightning cracks over the plateaus as a light drizzle falls, kicking up little eruptions of dust from the red dirt all around as the smell of wet sage and cottonwoods fills the air.

On our second night in Moab, we gather for dinner in the ballroom at the lodge and sit at a round dining table. My attention is immediately drawn to the gaudy Hawaiian shirt next to me and all the ways its wearer — a former Army medic named Cameron High — has invited a barrage of ribbing. It’s like blood in the water for those of us programmed to establish dominance quickly in the veteran-humor hierarchy.

“Pretty cool shirt, bro,” I say. “It would be better if it had dicks on it.”

“Actually,” he replies, “that’s a great idea!

I wonder if anyone sells those?”

Several vets immediately whip out their cell phones and consult Google to discover that dick-patterned Hawaiian shirts are in fact readily available online. Cam orders one on the spot, and Ryan Lundbohm, a Marine Corps veteran and photographer, quickly discovers a website that will print hidden dicks on pretty much anything, including a wingsuit.

“Did we just become best friends?” I say, grinning. Because nothing brings vets together quite like dick jokes.

We immediately fall into the familiar pattern of trading playful insults and constantly trying to one-up each other for ever bigger laughs. It’s like being back in the smoke pit, joking and telling stories, delivering sarcastic one-liners. As we earn our badge of honor as “the rowdy table,” it soon becomes obvious that Navy vet Khara Adams has the foulest mouth and the dirtiest jokes of the bunch.

Laughing and happy in a way I haven’t felt in a long time, I’m struck briefly by a thought: This feels like home. This is why we’re here.

The Red Cliffs Lodge remains our base of operations for several days as Dave and Sue provide a world-class retreat. We ride horses on trails that snake around the lodge’s vast property. We spend a day offroading around Hells Gate outside Moab. We swim and lounge endlessly around the pool. And we raft lazily down the Colorado River, spraying water at each other from rifle-sized squirt guns and rediscovering the joy and camaraderie we found in the service.

One morning, Khara, the endearingly foul-mouthed former sailor, climbs into a sidecar attached to Katie Harrington’s baby-blue Indian. VCR sponsor Champion Sidecars provides the means to ride to Sturgis for amputees, paralyzed riders, and veterans who — like Khara — simply don’t have a motorcycle license (not yet, anyway!).

We start our bikes, and the rumbling, torquing machines roar to life. We set out for Canyonlands National Park on Highway 191. As I ride, the brutal desert air and searing sun suck the life out of me. I quickly become heat-sick and nauseated. When riding a bike with skin exposed to the sun, hydration is key. Even the experienced riders from the area, already accustomed to the fiery climate, seem to struggle with the heat. But the vistas are worth it. From Needles Point Overlook, the expanse of the gash carved in the earth by the Colorado River spreads out for hundreds of miles, all visible from the outcropping of red rock.

After taking in the view, we make our way back to the 191 and head south to Newspaper Rock, one of the most famous rock art sites in the western US. Native Americans have been engraving and drawing on the rock for more than 2,000 years.

“Just looks like graffiti,” Cam quips irreverently.

“They’re not even good at it,” I reply, riffing along. “What deer has five legs?”

“That foot has four toes,” Joe adds. “I guess they took Math for Marines.”

We are philistines.

“Well, that’s clearly an alien. Look at the head — and the eyes,” says Ryan.

“How is this not on Ancient Aliens already?” I say.

As Lefty and I walk to a picnic area VCR’s support team has set up for lunch, I learn the 48-year-old Michigander runs his own veterans charity called Ascend Empowerment, can ride a snowmobile one-handed, and is determined to figure out how to do the same on motorcycles.

At the picnic area, VCR volunteers Sharry Billings — a heavily tattooed professional chef — and Annette Dearth have prepared impressive sandwiches for us. Who knew tuna fish could be gourmet? Billings and Dearth are members of the Litas, an all-women motorcycle group.

Lefty and I take our sandwiches and find a table to enjoy our lunch. As she saunters past, Katie flashes one of her brilliant grins and throws up her hand in what looks like a high-five but may be a wave.

“Uh, did you just try to give me a left-handed high-five?” Lefty asks playfully.

I snicker as a half-second look of embarrassment briefly disrupts Katie’s signature smile, which Lefty and I can’t help but reflect.

Back at the lodge, we all gather at the pool for drinks, cannonball competitions, and conversation. I learn that Jared Thomas — our beardy road captain whose cascading locks give him a Jason Momoa look — is a mechanic who’s starting his own shop. Cam does cybersecurity. Ryan (who looks dead sexy in a Stetson and cutoffs) is living the van life and working as a ranch hand in Moab. Chris Wolff, a paraplegic who was told he’d never be able to walk again, moves around in the water and at least pretends he’s walking.

As I sip my drink, surrounded by comrades who have all chewed some of the same sand at one time or another, life feels … normal again. I’m a fish in water, with people who can relate to my experiences — even the stuff I don’t usually share with others. All of us talk openly about things we aren’t usually comfortable saying out loud. This is our safe space, as the kids say these days. It feels good.

On Tuesday, we set out for Sturgis, pulling out of Red Cliffs Lodge in a staggered column. We follow the Colorado River out of Utah, eschewing the interstate and sticking to highways and byways as much as possible as we wind through the seemingly endless desert. On a broken road outside the ghost town of Cisco, a tiny mule deer in the road stares at us as our bikes roar past. We are a column of leather-clad cavalry on iron horses. Our engines sing a guttural harmony as riders change gears and twist throttles.

Group riding requires organization. We’re all in our helmets, focused on the bike and the road — alone, together. Hand and arm signals become instinctive. We watch those ahead of us as they lean into turns or approach a stop — same as we would a point man on a patrol through Ramadi or Sangin. What one person does is relayed and communicated to all.

On the outskirts of Grand Junction, Colorado, a police escort and members of Patriot Guard Riders — the organization that provides funeral support and other services for veterans — join our column as we make our way to the Indian Motorcycles dealer­ship, where the owners and community members treat us like kings and queens for a couple of hours.

From Grand Junction we fight intermittent rain showers on our way to Steamboat Springs, where we bed down for the night at the Rabbit Ears Motel before rolling on the next morning through western Colorado toward the Rocky Mountains.

We take Cameron Pass over the Rockies and down the Eastern Slope, which is still scarred by the recent wildfires, landslides, and flash floods that savaged cabins and bridges on the Poudre River.

As I ride, it occurs to me I’m seeing the American landscape with a fresh perspective. It’s dairy farms and sheep ranches. It’s the sweet smell of wet grass in the morning and the windswept cornfields. It’s the tiny towns and sacred war memorials that tell the story of those who paid the ultimate sacrifice so that others could live in peace.

From Fort Collins, Colorado, through Cheyenne, Wyoming, to La Grange, time doesn’t seem to matter. The road, the miles, and the countryside slip by — tall grass bending away as our herd roars past.

Traversing the Great Plains, I come to understand why the largest of the covered wagons that crossed these lands were called “prairie schooners.” Through eastern Colorado, Wyoming, and Nebraska, and north into South Dakota, the terrain isn’t perfectly flat. It rolls and roils — each long hill a solidified wave of earth and grass. The road ahead rises to a crest, falls into the trough behind, and crawls up the next crescendo only to fall again.

As we sail across the prairie waves, the wind picks up, and thick raindrops fall as we pull into a hotel parking lot in Fort Robinson, the old Army cavalry post where Crazy Horse died.

We’re all a little stiff. Chris Wolff moans from his sidecar as his pilot, Pat, retrieves Chris’ wheelchair from the back of the bike.

“Aarrgh! I can’t feel my legs!” Chris cries sardonically.

We all chuckle as Pat yells playfully, “Shut up, monkey!”

On Aug. 6, we finally arrive in Sturgis, the tiny town at the foot of the Black Hills that’s home to about 6,000 South Dakotans. Over the next week, an estimated 700,000 people and more than 250,000 vehicles will converge on the town for the 81st Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. Most will stay at nearby campgrounds and small towns, such as Deadwood, Lead, and Spearfish.

The rally is a major logistical undertaking. Security is a nightmare, and the city has to pay to bring in extra cops from all over the country. Since the Sturgis Police Department doesn’t have vehicles for the thousands of extra officers, they patrol on foot through the town and surrounding events.

The Hells Angels, Sons of Silence, Gypsy Joker, and other infamous motorcycle clubs are all present at Sturgis. Grandpas sporting club patches on their cuts (the vests club members wear to identify their affiliation) roll in with their grandkids on bikes. The rally is tamer than it was in the wild days of the 1970s and ’80s, but it’s still Sturgis. Violence among rival clubs as they compete for drug pipelines and territory remains an issue. Police will make 112 felony drug arrests before the 2021 rally concludes.

At the Mystic Hills campground about 40 minutes south of Sturgis, we check into the cabins we’ll be staying at. We’re closer to Mount Rushmore than Sturgis, and for good reason. While the journey to the rally is a big component of motorcycle therapy, group bonding is the real medicine. Our cabin retreat among the hills and towering ponderosa pines is the perfect final destination for a bunch of American veterans in search of our Zen. Over the next few days, we ride through the Black Hills and strengthen the new friendships we’ve made.

On Aug. 8, Cam buys a 24-pack of Natural Light Beer, and we make Chris carry it on his lap for the ride to the Sturgis Buffalo Chip campground where Kid Rock is performing live. We tear through some beers and get a nice buzz going before heading inside, where we push Chris in his wheelchair like an unstoppable tank through the crowd as we keep repeating, “Sorry, folks. Fuckin’ lazy-ass veteran coming through.”

After a raucous and unforgettable concert, we head back to our cabins for some late-night poker, drunken zip lining, and general debauchery.

Dipping his hand into a bowl of Sharry Billings’ homemade whipped cream, Lefty calls out to get Cam’s attention, and when the Army vet turns, the Marine smothers a handful of whip cream in Cam’s face as the rest of us let out a collective “Oooooooh!” With cream dripping down his face, Cam casually takes another sip of his beer and shrugs.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.

The next day, we leave the cabin for our last group ride. We set out for Mount Rushmore early enough to have the road mostly to ourselves. We ride through the hills to Needles Highway and on to Iron Mountain Road and finally to that colossal mountain sculpture.

Taking in the marvel of American achievement is bittersweet. Our time together is almost over. After the ride back to the cabins, we’ll part ways.

Back at our bikes, kickstands go up, and we take to the road — alone, together, for one last ride. The familiar smell of pine trees mixes with motorcycle exhaust as we wring the sweetness out of every sweeping curve, hugging the turns like children clinging to our favorite toys and the hope that the comfort they bring will never leave us. Wild bison graze in grassy meadows, and gray granite boulders complement the vibrant, dancing leaves of elm, spruce, and birch trees. Time slows as the cool Black Hills air washes over us — flowing together on a river of asphalt.

Turning in my Dark Horse hurts. After almost 1,500 miles, I feel like the bike is part of me. As I hand the keys to the Indian rep,

I struggle to suppress the tears forming in my eyes. Walking away, I try and fail to not look back at the bike. And from the matte-green metal of the machine, my mind wanders further back, to the sandbox and beyond — to the times and places when camaraderie and brotherhood were all around. Getting that feeling back is a gift I will cherish for all of my days.

Dave and Sue Frey’s motorcycle therapy did more for my mental health in two weeks than any clinical treatment or pharmaceuticals ever could. It provided the opportunity to break out of old, self-destructive patterns and build healthy relationships with others who don’t need an explanation for the whys and hows of a particular vet’s history. Where before I only saw darkness, the road ahead looks bright and open now. Next year, I hope to return and pay forward what’s been given and to bathe again in the brotherhood and brilliance of the Veterans Charity Ride.

This article first appeared in the Winter 2022 edition of Coffee or Die’s print magazine as “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Therapy: Finding Family on the Road to Sturgis With the Veterans Charity Ride.”

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By Clare Foran and Ali Zaslav, CNN

The Senate took a significant step in recent days to help former military service members suffering from toxic burn pit exposure by passing a bill to expand access to health care for post-9/11 combat veterans.

It’s not yet clear though when burn pit legislation might get to the President’s desk to be signed into law, and advocates say more still needs to be done for veterans to address the issue of toxic exposure.

Burn pits were used to incinerate and burn waste, hazardous material, and chemical compounds at military sites throughout Iraq and Afghanistan. A 2020 member survey by the advocacy organization Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America found that 86 percent of respondents were exposed to burn pits or other toxins.

The bill passed by the Senate on Wednesday would expand the window of eligibility for health care for post-9/11 combat veterans from five to 10 years after discharge from military service, and provide a one-year open enrollment period for any post-9/11 combat veterans who are outside that ten-year window.

Among other provisions, the bill would also require the Department of Veterans Affairs to implement clinical screenings for veterans to look for potential exposure to toxic substances and symptoms commonly associated with exposure.

The Senate bill had bipartisan backing and was introduced by Senate Veterans’ Affairs Committee Chairman Jon Tester, a Montana Democrat, and the top Republican on the panel, Jerry Moran of Kansas.

The bill is the first part of a three-step, bipartisan approach the Senate Veterans’ Affairs Committee is undertaking in an effort to address the issue of toxic exposure for veterans. The committee is currently working on the second phase of the effort with a goal of having it ready for Senate floor action in the coming months.

On the other side of the Capitol, Rep. Mark Takano, a California Democrat who chairs the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee, has introduced a bill with bipartisan support called the Honoring our PACT Act that aims to improve health care and benefits for veterans exposed to toxic substances.

Among a range of provisions, the House bill would put in place “a presumption of service connection for 23 respiratory illnesses and cancers related to burn pits and airborne hazards exposure,” according to a fact sheet from the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee.

Since the House bill is not identical to the legislation passed by Senate, it is not yet clear what lawmakers will do to get a measure to the President’s desk and the bills may need to be reconciled at some point in the future.

House Speaker Nancy Pelosi highlighted the House bill as an “important initiative” in a letter to House Democrats in January detailing the upcoming legislative agenda for the chamber.

After the Senate passed its bill this week, some advocates were quick to say more needs to be done.

Jeremy Butler, CEO of the group Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America, told CNN’s Brianna Keilar this week, “The bill that just passed through the Senate basically does about a third of what we were asking for and unfortunately, that’s because health care is expensive, benefits are expensive. But when you are sick and dying from rare cancers, that’s what you need.”

“This is a small first step,” he said. “It moves the ball legislatively down the line, but it doesn’t get to where we need as veteran’s groups.”

Tester and Moran celebrated the Senate bill’s passage this week as one step closer to ensuring veterans get the benefits they need and deserve.

“This is a big bill, an important bill and it does right by our veterans in this country,” said Tester ahead of the bill’s passage on the Senate floor.

Moran added that he’s heard from numerous veterans in his state and across the country who are sick or dying from the effects of toxic exposure caused by burn pits.

“Addressing the needs of veterans exposed to burn pits cannot wait. This legislation can be life-saving for those exposed or suffering,” he said in a speech on the Senate floor.

“When our men and women in uniform go into harm’s way on our behalf, we owe it to them to take care of them when they come home for whatever injuries are incurred during their service,” he said.

Comedian and political commentator Jon Stewart, who has been a longtime advocate for 9/11 first responders and victims, has been a high-profile figure in the effort to get help for veterans who have been exposed to burn pits.

“The bottom line is our country exposed our own veterans to poison for years, and we knew about it, and we did not act with urgency and appropriateness,” said Stewart last month at a virtual roundtable with the House Veterans’ Affairs Committee. “And therefore, we’ve lost men and women who served this country. They’ve died out of our inaction.”

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CNN’s Paul LeBlanc and Allen Kim contributed to this report.

For the five years since its inception, Glen Lakes Veterans and Friends (GLVF) has donated more than $250,000 to American Legions, Veterans of Foreign Wars Posts, Disabled American Veterans (DAV) and other organizations in Hernando and Citrus counties that serve the needs of service personnel. Each year, after their annual golf outing, they hold a reception at Glen Lakes Country Club to recognize businesses and individuals who have made the event a success. They also present checks to the beneficiaries of that year’s fundraiser.

Among the individuals that GLVH recognized at the 2021 reception in December was State Representative Blaise Ingoglia who donated $2,500. The following made contributions of $1,000 or more so far this year: the Dufrane family, the Ford family, the Taylor family, and the Yooper family.

This year Glen Lakes Veterans and Friends awarded five grants. In order to be considered for a grant, the organization must submit a grant application and be vetted by the GLVF Board of Directors.
VFW Post 10209 received a grant for $7,000. This will go toward Honor Guard expenses, 100 chairs for their meeting hall, a computer, and renovations to their memorial area.

American Legion Post 186 was awarded a $7,000 grant. These funds will be used for new Honor Guard uniforms and weapons, as well as a laptop, and printer for their veterans service officer.
The Polish American Legion Post 196 received $4,000. This money will be used to upgrade their Honor Guard uniforms.

The DAV was awarded $6,000 for utilities, air conditioning maintenance and two service officer computers. Baldomero Lopez State Veterans Nursing Home in Land o’ Lakes received a grant of $4,400 for tables and chairs. This 120-bed facility provides skilled nursing care for sixty residents and can even accommodate patients with dementia or Alzheimer’s.

It’s not widely-known that the VFW, American Legion and other veterans’ organizations do not receive any federal funds. They rely solely on dues from their members to keep their posts running. With membership in some of these dwindling and funds drying up, they would not be able to keep their doors open without contributions from non-profit organizations Like Glen Lakes Veterans and Friends.

Besides their annual golf tournament, GLVF is having a raffle at Glory Days Restaurant for a new YETI cooler donated by the Lowman Law Firm. The cooler is filled with more than $1500 worth of goodies, including a four-person pass to play golf at Glen Lakes Country Club, scratch-off lottery tickets, Weeki Wachee Car Wash gift certificates, and a “humongous assortment of booze.” Tickets for the drawing, which will take place on March 20th can be purchased from any GLVF member or in the lobby of Glory Days.

GLVF is also promoting Operation $100. This is a fund-raising drive to encourage businesses and individuals to donate a minimum of $100. Those who do so will have their names posted on the GLVF website.

Glen Lakes Veterans and Friends believes in giving back to those who give. Any business that contributes a substantial amount of money will get their name and company logo on their website. They will also receive a sticker to put in their store or office window stating that they are a “veteran-friendly” business. GLVF urges all their members and donors to support these businesses.

As Ron Ford, treasurer of GLVF, states, “It is an honor to give back to the fraternity called U.S. Veterans. The need is so great, but helping even one veteran is better than standing on the side lines and doing nothing.”

For more information on Glen Lakes Veterans and Friends and to contribute go to www.glenlakesvets.org. You can also find out more by contacting Ron Ford at 906-291-0587 or any of the other board members listed on their website.

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Marine Corps veteran Sebastien Lajeunesse found peace and a purpose getting his hands dirty, tilling the ground and seeing plants grow as a result of his hard work. After being diagnosed with PTSD, this was just the escape he was looking for and dreamed of one day begin able to help other veterans do the same.

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“Sometimes when I’m planting, I look down at my hands,” Lajeunesse said. “These hands once carried an M16 and was trained to destroy and kill. Now they are creating life. I can watch the flowers and plants pop up and all the work helps you move on. This is my purpose now.” 

Lajeunesse began his own hops farm, St. John’s Hops in Umatilla, and started the Warriors to Farmers non-profit to give other veteran with PTSD a chance to experience the same healing. 

The program offers veterans a paid position on the hops farm, a peaceful and therapeutic environment, with access to counseling to help acclimate them back into society. 

“We’ve had one veteran graduate the program and go on to open his own landscaping company,” Lajeunesse said. “Our goal is to help them get back on their feet and teach them a trade at the same time.” 

The non-profit is in the process of getting their license to become a vocational rehab center which will allow veterans to use their GI Bill to study one of three trades — agriculture, mechanics and brewmaster training.

Lajeunesse will teach agriculture in partnership with a friend of his that specializes in the science of horticulture, Cobb Tractor will train the veterans with their mechanics and Wops Hops Brewery in Sanford will train them in brew-mastery. 

“This will take us to a whole new level,” Lajeunesse said. “We are hoping this will allow us to hire more veterans.” 

Recently, Lajeunesse was able to bring on Rowan Sockol, a Marine Corps veteran that was having a hard time returning to the daily grind. 

“It’s been good for me,” Sockol said. “It feels like I’m accomplishing something and being a part of something flexible that lets me get my life together is what I needed.” 

Former Epcot bakery production manager Cindy Hunt is also coming on board to run farm production. Her family has a long history of farming and her father and his six brothers were veterans, along with her wife, so the cause is close to her heart.

WASHINGTON (AP) — The last of thousands of Afghan refugees who awaited resettlement at eight U.S. military installations departed Saturday from a base in New Jersey, completing a journey that started with the chaotic evacuation from Kabul in August.

With assistance from refugee resettlement organizations, Afghans evacuated after their country fell to the Taliban have been gradually leaving the military bases in recent months and starting new lives in communities throughout the United States.

The U.S. admitted 76,000 Afghans as part of Operation Allies Welcome, the largest resettlement of refugees in the country in decades.

“It’s a really important milestone in Operation Allies Welcome but I want to stress that this mission isn’t over,” said Krish O’Mara Vignarajah, president and CEO of Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service, one of nine national resettlement organizations that were part of the effort.

Afghans still in their country but facing danger under Taliban rule as well as those who have made it to the United States will still need assistance, Vignarajah said.

“Successful resettlement and integration won’t happen in just a matter of days or weeks,” she said. “Our new Afghan neighbors are going to need our support and friendship for months and years to come because the challenges they face won’t disappear overnight.”

The U.S. plans to admit thousands of Afghan refugees over the next year but they will arrive in smaller groups and will be housed in a facility at a location yet to be determined, the Department of Homeland Security said.

Housing facilities for refugees at Joint Base McGuire-Dix-Lakehurst in central New Jersey will remain open in the interim, the agency said. The base held the largest number of Afghans, reaching a peak of 14,500. The next largest was at Fort McCoy in Wisconsin, where the last group departed this past week.

Afghans underwent immigration processing and health screening while they waited at the bases, often for months, until the strained refugee organizations could place them in communities. The government set up schools for the children who made up about 40 percent of the refugees at the New Jersey base.

Resettlement organizations and Homeland Security, the lead federal agency in the effort, had set a goal of having everyone off the bases by Feb. 15. It was a challenge because of the scarcity of affordable housing, cutbacks to refugee programs under President Donald Trump and the sheer number of refugees.

Most of the refugees have settled in established Afghan communities in northern Virginia and the surrounding Washington area, as well as Northern California and Texas.

States where between 1,000 and 3,000 have settled include Arizona, New York, Florida, Georgia, Colorado, Nebraska and Pennsylvania, according to State Department data obtained by The Associated Press.

DHS has previously said about 40 percent of the Afghans will qualify for the special immigrant visa for people who worked as military interpreters or for the U.S. government in some other capacity during America’s longest war.

Most of the rest, however, do not yet have permanent legal residency in the U.S. because they did not come under a refugee program but were admitted under a type of emergency federal authorization known as humanitarian parole.

Advocates for the refugees, including a number of prominent veterans groups, are pressing Congress to provide permanent residency with an “Afghan adjustment act,” similar to what has been done in the past for Cubans and Iraqis.

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