Herbalists Reclaim Care Through Ancestral Remedies and Community Networks

Berenice Dimas learned herbal medicine at her mother's elbow, using whatever the household had on hand to treat common ailments. Her story illustrates how contemporary herbalists are reviving ancestor-taught remedies and framing their work as communal care rather than a commodity — even as elements of the practice are absorbed into mainstream markets.

"When we had coughs, she used to grab the oregano from our garden and boil about two tablespoons of it in a pot with half a can of Coke," Dimas said, describing a syrup her family used for respiratory symptoms. The improvised recipe grew out of necessity: "In Mexico, where we’re from, water is more expensive than Coke," her mother explained, forcing families to conserve water for drinking and cooking and to improvise with other liquids for medicinal preparations.

Dimas, a San Diego-based herbalist and former schoolteacher who trained at an ancestral apothecary in the Bay Area, says those lessons emphasize knowledge of plants, land and people over transactional exchanges. She and other practitioners interviewed for this reporting reject framing herbalism as a mere tool or product, arguing instead that its core is relationship: between caregiver and community, between people and place, and across generations.

That positioning stands in contrast to how aspects of herbalism have been repackaged in the United States. Practitioners note that settler culture and commerce have co-opted plant knowledge, turning community-rooted practices into marketable goods and experiences. They describe those dynamics as subtle and insidious, eroding the reciprocal relationships that sustained folk medicine for generations.

Queer organizers and gardeners have become visible actors in those efforts to re-center herbalism as a form of mutual aid. Groupings that blend horticulture, activism and health education — sometimes described in cultural coverage as "gay gardeners" or queer herbal collectives — focus on shared production of medicinal plants, community workshops and distribution of remedies in noncommercial settings. These networks intentionally situate plant knowledge within local histories of migration, austerity and survival.

Dimas’s account links everyday ingenuity to broader structural issues. Her family’s use of soda as a solvent for oregano-derived syrup is a practical response to constrained resources and an illustration of how care practices adapt to material conditions. Such adaptations, practitioners say, are not evidence of inferior techniques but of culturally specific expertise forged under scarcity.

Those who practice and teach herbalism in community contexts place particular emphasis on accessibility and stewardship. Workshops often involve plant walks, identification, and hands-on preparation of remedies, with attention to food sovereignty, land access and intergenerational knowledge transfer. Organizers describe these activities as both health interventions and forms of political education that highlight disparities in water access, health care and economic stability.

At the same time, some herbalists caution against romanticizing the past. They emphasize that ancestral knowledge exists alongside contemporary clinical care and that a responsible approach acknowledges limitations, safety considerations and the need for collaboration with mainstream medical providers when appropriate.

Advocates also raise questions about intellectual property and cultural appropriation. As botanical products gain commercial appeal, they say safeguards are necessary to ensure that the communities that developed and preserved plant knowledge are not erased or exploited. Practitioners press for models that prioritize community benefit, shared stewardship of plant resources and compensation structures that reflect lived expertise rather than extracting value for outside profit.

Dimas and her peers continue their work in community gardens, apothecaries and informal kitchens where remedies are made and distributed. For them, herbalism remains a practice of care grounded in relationships and shaped by the constraints and creativity of everyday life. Their efforts underscore a persistent tension in health: how to preserve communal, culturally rooted care practices while engaging responsibly with wider health systems and commercial pressures.