With a focus on trauma recovery and improved health, a new farm model connects neighbors to ancestral practices.

With a focus on trauma recovery and improved health, a new farm model connects neighbors to ancestral practices.
September 3, 2025

Hector Lopez and Phoebe Gooding at the center of their 1.3-acre urban permaculture farm, Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens, in Durham, North Caroina. (Photo credit: Nicole J. Caruth)
On a drizzly spring morning in North Carolina, the land at Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens is alive with activity. Bees hum inside wooden hives while chickens forage, exposing the rich black soil. Vegetables and herbs fill the air with the aromas of mint and rosemary.
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At the center of it all are farmers Hector Lopez and Phoebe Gooding, who say growing food is but one part of their mission on this urban permaculture farm. “We’re here to heal our bodies, the land, and our communities,” Lopez said, gently chewing a mint leaf he had just picked.
Set on 1.3 acres outside the couple’s split-level brick home in Durham, Hawk’s Nest welcomes community members for regular events rooted in spirituality. At the back of their property, between a towering teepee and piles of compost, is a dome-like structure made from bent branches. Here the couple regularly offer a temazcal, an ancient sweat lodge ceremony for physical and spiritual purification that Lopez has facilitated for decades.
“We’re producing this food for healing our bodies, but it’s not just that,” Gooding said. “This is about a whole ecosystem of healing.”

Rosemary, mint, and other herbs flourish in garden beds near a mobile chicken coop at Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens. (Photo credit: Nicole J. Caruth)
Across the country, farmers of color like Lopez and Gooding are using their farms as centers for community wellness and collective healing. Through workshops, retreats, and immersive experiences, they’re making space for their neighbors and broader community to address everything from racial trauma to burnout to traumatic brain injuries.
In communities of color, where generations of environmental racism and inadequate resources have led to issues like high food insecurity and chronic illnesses, healing-centered farms are more than just nice to have—they’re deeply needed.
“We’re producing food for healing our bodies, but it’s not just that. This is about a whole ecosystem of healing.”
A number of authors have written about land-based healing recently, with notable titles from botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer, herbalist Michele E. Lee, and farmer Leah Penniman. What they all point out is that land has been more than just a resource across cultures and time; it’s also been a healing force for bodies, minds, and spirits. But as colonization and urban industrialization disconnect people from the land, they’re also distanced from their ancestral traditions.
Now, farmers and land stewards of color are reclaiming Indigenous knowledge, taking control over their health through holistic remedies, and building spaces for rest and creative expression. By helping others heal, these farmers say they’re also healing themselves.
Many such farms trace their beginning back to the COVID-19 pandemic. Witnessing widespread suffering and the higher death toll among people of color was a catalyst for action, as social systems failed to provide the care and resources communities needed.
“So much was lost,” said Robyn Magalit Rodriguez, a Filipina American farmer, activist, and former Asian American studies professor at the University of California, Davis. “All of our people were dying as a consequence of the pandemic, but [also] all the failures of the system.”
For Rodriguez, the pandemic hit particularly hard. Two months after the police murder of George Floyd, amid global protests and a rising death toll, Rodriguez experienced a personal tragedy: her 22-year-old son, Amado Khaya, died from septic shock that may have been exacerbated by COVID-19.
She took up farming to process her grief and honor her son—an activist who was living and working alongside Indigenous land defenders and farmers in the Philippines. “I needed to touch life,” Rodriguez said. “I needed to be in a space where I could see life proliferate despite it all.”
Rodriguez eventually left her full-time job at the university and, along with her husband, Joshua Vang, a second-generation Hmong refugee and naturalist, founded Remagination Farm in Northern California. On the 8.5 acres they now steward, they raise goats and cultivate crops using regenerative practices.
“It’s not just a farm where you go to learn about planting seeds,” said Stephanie Garma Balon, a Filipina American arts therapist, just days after participating in a weekend retreat for mothers at Remagination Farm. “Being there is a return to self, to ancestors, and right relationship to the land.”
The retreat was organized by Raising Ancestors, a group of parents, caregivers, and activists dedicated to breaking cycles of oppression, Balon said.
Remagination Farm’s website describes it as not only a farm but also “a learning center, healing and arts space” aimed at reconnecting people of color with the land. Educational workshops offer lessons on, among other things, the principles of healing justice. Harvest festivals, film screenings, and fishing lessons invite people to visit for a few hours.
Those looking for a longer stay can book the Amado Khaya Healing House, a two-story home near the farm that was established for activists and organizers to rest and rejuvenate.
“I feel so empowered by being in this space,” said Balon, who is the founder of Kapwa Kultural Center, a mental health and wellness space for Filipino youth in Daly City. “The pandemic taught me that we can reclaim the way that our ancestors lived—and we’re able to embody that at Remagination Farm.”
Rodriguez has found the pace of farming healing, too. “There is really something to be said about being present with the life cycle as a farmer that can be deeply healing,” she said. “Planting and harvesting and starting again really gets you to a different place.”
Indigenous peoples around the world have coexisted with nature for millennia, seeing their care for the land as central to their well-being. But according to Lopez of Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens, initiatives like the Green Revolution—a mid-20th-century movement that promoted chemical-intensive agriculture, beginning in Mexico—contributed to generations of disconnection from these ways of living and knowing.
Born in Mexico City, Lopez grew up unaware of his Indigenous heritage. “When they moved into the city, they abandoned their communities, their languages, and their traditions,” Lopez said, referring in part to his family, some of whom had farmed in mountainous regions.
Now, more than two decades later, he walks the damp earth at Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens in knee-high rubber boots, explaining how Indigenous agroecology—or what’s widely known as regenerative farming—influences every aspect of his and Gooding’s urban farm.
“We are taking back all this knowledge,” Lopez says. “All these things that we always did.”

At Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens, chickens live in a mobile coop that the farmers rotate across the property, enhancing soil health. (Photo credit: Nicole J. Caruth)
On the western side of their farm, medicinal herbs grow alongside blueberries and beehives. On the other side, leafy greens, corn, cucumbers, hibiscus, and loofah grow in a high tunnel alongside a bounty of herbs, including arnica, basil, lemongrass, and lemon balm. An outdoor compost toilet and a rainwater catchment system work together to cycle nutrients back into the earth.
Just as important to this system are the community events that bring neighbors onto the land.
Recently, Lopez and Gooding have offered seed blessing ceremonies and Día de los Muertos altar workshops. This year, Lopez is hosting a new healing series specifically for men, pairing talking circles with sweat lodge ceremonies over five months. According to the website, this is meant to help men unburden themselves of a toxic masculinity that “distances them from their full humanity” and allows them to shift from “conquerors” to “caretakers.”
Gooding said their sweat lodges tend to attract those already on a healing journey—people who tell her, “I needed this,” or “I’ve been wanting something like this.”

The dome at Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens, constructed from bent branches, will be covered with cloth for sweat lodge ceremonies. (Photo credit: Nicole J. Caruth)
Ina Maka, a third-generation farmer and wellness practitioner with African American, Choctaw, and Caribbean ancestry, participates in sweat lodge ceremonies at Hawk’s Nest almost monthly and recognizes a difference in herself since starting the practice.
“The sweat lodge allows me to release things at a quicker rate,” she said, naming anxiousness, overwhelm, and generational pain and trauma among the burdens that come up during the ceremonies. “I’ve seen a lot of change in my life.”
Maka drives 1.5 hours to get to Hawk’s Nest from her home in Tarborough, North Carolina, and despite the distance, has built a “sisterhood” with women she’s met there “because they’ve been vulnerable with each other,” she said. “Sitting in a circle with other people and not being afraid to sweat or cry or scream has been healing.”
Americans are increasingly seeking alternatives to modern medicine for physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. According to a 2022 survey by the National Institutes of Health, traditional healing methods, including yoga, acupuncture, and naturopathy, are gaining popularity, especially among people in search of pain relief. In the last 20 years, the number of people using complementary health approaches for pain grew by about 7 percent, the study stated.
In the San Francisco Bay Area, Bernadette Lim, a trained physician, has observed this trend firsthand. “People don’t want to constantly be dependent on another person to save their health,” she said. “People want to learn how to become their own healers.”
“People don’t want to constantly be dependent on another person to save their health. People want to learn how to become their own healers.”
Amid growing interest in holistic healing methods, there’s been a renewed focus on herbalism, with many seeking care that reflects their cultural roots and ancestral wisdom. Ostensibly, it’s also easier access. Herbal medicine is typically more affordable than pharmaceuticals and doesn’t require health insurance, both of which can be major barriers for people of color.
Lim is the founder of Freedom Community Clinic (FCC), a nonprofit that bridges ancestral practices with modern approaches to health, particularly for Black, Brown, Native, and immigrant communities. Last January, FCC announced the opening of Ancestral Healing Farm Sanctuary, an acre of land in Orinda, about ten minutes outside Oakland, where they cultivate ancestral medicinal plants from around the world, such as those used for traditional Chinese and Ayurvedic medicines.
The farm isn’t designed for distribution, but rather as a holistic wellness space for experiencing land-based practices rooted in various healing traditions. June featured a workshop on vinegar extractions for healthy plants and soil.
A month before that, FCC invited its followers to gather for a workshop on bee stewardship. Plants harvested at the farm supply the organization’s apothecary in Oakland, where people can access herbs—and the expertise of local herbalists—at no charge.
FCC’s efforts appear to be having a positive impact. Lim says demand for their services has consistently exceeded their capacity. Meanwhile, Marakee Tilahun, FCC’s director of land and community stewardship, said many express to her that the farm has given them a place to feel balanced and more at ease.
“A lot of people who come to me feel so joyous for the opportunity to be on the land and for free,” Tilahun said. “They don’t need to buy anything to be here; they can just exist.”

Women making medicine bags filled with herbs and stones on Native Women’s Wellness Day at Remagination Farm, June 2025. (Photo courtesy of Remagination Farm)
Back at Hawk’s Nest Healing Gardens, Lopez and Gooding reflected on a central paradox for farmers who care for others: They both need care themselves.
On the one hand, farming and making space for others to experience land-based healing is a therapeutic experience. “We heal ourselves by helping others,” Lopez said. On the other hand, the labor of growing and selling food, stewarding land, fundraising to sustain it, and holding emotional space for others can be exhausting.
To support their efforts, the couple relies on the community they’ve cultivated to pour into them as they have poured into their community.
For Gooding, this reciprocity is embodied in their sweat lodge, built with the help of friends. Its heavy stones and bent-branch structure represent both the labor of creating a sacred space and the collective energy it takes to heal.
Surrounded by rows of vegetables and fresh herbs, the couple expressed gratitude for community and reverence for Mother Earth, especially during this time of environmental and political upheaval.
“She’s the boss here,” Lopez said, gesturing to the ground and the sky. Gooding nodded in agreement, adding, “And I think she’s telling us we have a lot of healing to do.”
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