What is one practice you’re cultivating that’s connected to the Black food sovereignty and liberation movement?

I know it might sound cliché, but “each one, teach one” has always lived in the back of my mind. Over the years, I’ve found myself showing folks how to use plant medicine, grow their own food, and remember the intimate relationship we have with the earth and with each other. This isn’t just about wellness. It’s about remembrance.

Both of my grandparents were farmers. So were their parents. But by the time my parents came around, the relationship to land had shifted. That disconnection, that longing, is part of what pushed me to create Modern Herbal Apothecary. Sure, I wanted to make remedies and share herbs. But more than that, I wanted to help bring people back to the land. Back to themselves. Back to a knowing that runs deep in our bones.

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Did someone teach you this practice, or did you cultivate it on your own?

My parents and grandparents taught me. Even though my parents weren’t farmers, they passed down the importance of growing. We moved often—military life—but no matter where we landed, there was always something sprouting. Cucumbers vining in a garden, tomatoes climbing up a makeshift trellis, a little patch of green claiming space wherever we were.

When I visited my grandmother in North Carolina or my abuela in Puerto Rico, I’d find myself in their gardens, hands in the soil, listening more than speaking. Those gardens became classrooms, sanctuaries, places of deep remembering. I’ve had dirt under my fingernails for as long as I can remember. Because of them, I always will.

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Are there any ancestors or elders whose wisdom you draw from in your practice?

I’ve been deeply blessed to learn from incredible teachers along the way. My parents were the first. And as I stepped onto my herbal path, I was guided by mentors who didn’t just teach me how to use plants, they showed me how to grow them, identify them, and be in true relationship with them.

Wherever I lived, I was planting something. If I had even two feet by two feet of soil, I was growing. When I lived in Brooklyn, there was an empty lot beside my apartment that slowly transformed into a community garden. That little plot became sacred ground, proof that even in the middle of a city, roots will always find a way.

Brooklyn was the first place where my education stretched beyond bloodlines. I learned from neighbors, elders, and fellow growers as we came together—planting, tending, and reclaiming space.

I gathered so much during that season. Wisdom that still lives in my basket. Like how corn silk can support the kidneys. Or how to listen when a plant is trying to speak. That basket is always with me, filled with the teachings of every place I’ve ever called home.

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Lyanis’s Steps for Cultivating a Basket Full of Herbal Wisdom

• Choose one plant that sparks your curiosity. Focus on getting to know it deeply, like its properties, personality, and purpose.
• Dedicate a notebook to your herbal journey. For each herb, record its name, healing uses, taste, energetic qualities, and where it traditionally grows or comes from.
• Seek out the wisdom of elders in your community. Many are ready to share stories and knowledge passed down through generations. Visit nursing homes, join community gardens, or simply strike up a conversation. You’ll be surprised what treasures you find.