Greens That Heal.
Asparagus Be Our Medicine, Our Memory, Our Heritage.
Help Me Keep Teachin' One Story at a Time.
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Books to Read after this…
“The Fifth Season” by N.K. Jemisin
The earth itself be breaking, but Black imagination build whole new worlds of survival and power.
“The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven” by Sherman Alexie
Stories from Spokane rez life, mixing humor, pain, and survival in everyday moments.
“The Absolutely True Diary of a Part‑Time Indian” by Sherman Alexie
A Native teen leave the rez school, showing how hard choices can open new roads.
“The Inconvenient Indian” by Thomas King
History told straight, showing how Native people still resist erasure in North America.
“We Survived the Night” by Julian Brave NoiseCat
A young Native voice weave memoir and resistance, telling how community keep shining.
In my dream I grew up in a small Southern town in Louisiana, where every spring we waited on asparagus like it was a gift from the land.
Mama would take us out to the fields, and our hands knew the rhythm of picking them spears—green, tender, full of life.
Asparagus is rich in folate, which helps the body make healthy red blood cells, and vitamin K, which keeps bones strong.
They also note the fiber that helps digestion and the antioxidants that protect against disease.
That’s science, and it’s true.
Food ain’t just nutrients—it’s medicine, spirit, and memory.
When Mama stirred her casserole, she called it a blessing.
Green foods carry healing and road‑opening power, especially when cooked with love and prayer.
They talk about calories and vitamins but not about how Black folks been using food as ritual, protection, and survival since slavery times.
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They don’t write about how asparagus on our table was more than health—it was a spell of gratitude, a way to honor the land and our ancestors who worked it.
I remember Daddy saying, “This the taste of our heritage.”
He was right.
Family food traditions protect children from depression and help with school success.
When we cook together, we bind spirit to spirit, passing down not just skills but power.
That casserole was a ritual of continuity, a way to keep our lineage strong.
Years passed, and we kept that dish alive.
Every time the smell filled the house, it reminded us of Mama’s lessons—gratitude, strength, and love.
They call it “intergenerational transmission of culture.”
They often erase that part, acting like our traditions are just folklore.
But I know better.
Food is archive.
Food is testimony.
Food is spellwork.
So when I sit at the table today, I see more than asparagus.
I see medicine for the body, memory for the soul, and a ritual that keeps my people connected across generations.
What you eat with love becomes protection.
And that’s the truth white papers don’t capture.
