You don’t have to stretch your imagination far to understand Black herbalism. You’ve likely already lived it. A kitchen with worn counters. A pot that gets used more than anything else in the house. Roots drying on a windowsill. Someone older than you telling you, “Drink this. You’ll be alright.” 

We Never Forgot: A Juneteenth Reflection on Black Herbal Legacy 

For a long time, we were told we were disconnected. 

Disconnected from our language. 
Disconnected from our land. 
Disconnected from our medicine. 

But the truth is, we were never really gone.  

Not fully. 

What was once tea leaves and bark from back home became wild herbs gathered along fence lines and backwoods. What was once a full apothecary became molasses poultices, cast iron tonics, hot toddies and camphor pouches swinging from children’s necks. Our ancestors turned scraps into treasure.  

Maybe it was never just about existing.  

Maybe it was about remembering who we were.