Every year, Juneteenth offers us an opportunity to pause—not only to remember a pivotal moment in American history, but also to reflect on the stories, traditions, and resilience that continue to shape our lives today.

For me, Juneteenth is about more than looking back. It is about honoring the past while intentionally building a legacy for the future.

As someone who has spent the last few years learning more about my family’s Sierra Leonean heritage, I have come to appreciate just how precious our stories are. Some histories have been carefully preserved through generations. Others were interrupted by migration, time, or the devastating realities of slavery. Whether our ancestors remained on the African continent or were forced across the Atlantic, every family’s story deserves to be remembered.

This year, my family celebrated Juneteenth in one of my favorite ways—around the dinner table.

Rather than trying to recreate the past, we chose to honor it while creating new traditions of our own. We prepared a meal inspired by Southern Black traditions and the African diaspora: fresh callaloo, creamy macaroni and cheese, homemade watermelon lemonade, and a rich chocolate cake topped with fresh strawberries.

Every dish carried its own story.

The callaloo held special meaning for me. Although collard greens are often associated with Juneteenth celebrations and Southern Black cooking, I already had fresh callaloo on hand. Across the African diaspora, leafy greens have nourished families for generations, connecting people through shared histories while reflecting the unique ingredients and traditions of each culture. Serving callaloo felt both practical and deeply personal—a reminder that traditions continue to grow and adapt while still honoring where we’ve come from.

The macaroni and cheese reminded me that recipes are often more than instructions. They are memories shared around family tables, expressions of love, and traditions passed from one generation to the next.

Our watermelon lemonade added a vibrant splash of red to the table. Red foods and drinks have become an important part of many Juneteenth celebrations, symbolizing resilience, sacrifice, joy, and the enduring strength of those who came before us.

We ended our meal with chocolate cake topped with fresh strawberries—a simple reminder that celebrations are not only about remembering hardship but also about embracing the sweetness of freedom, family, hope, and the opportunity to create joyful memories together.

As we shared our meal, I found myself thinking about legacy.

Many of us inherit more than recipes. We inherit stories, values, traditions, faith, strength, and sometimes unanswered questions. Some names have been lost to history. Some stories were never written down. Others were intentionally erased.

That reality has deeply influenced my writing.

When I wrote Dark, Still Rising, I wasn’t simply writing about suffering. I was exploring endurance, identity, healing, and the quiet strength that is passed from one generation to the next. Poetry became one way for me to honor both the ancestors whose names I know and those whose names may never be known.

The more I write, the more I realize that preserving our stories is one of the greatest gifts we can leave behind.

Perhaps that’s why I find so much joy in gardening, cooking, and writing. At first glance they may seem unrelated, but each one is an act of cultivation.

In the garden, I plant seeds that will one day nourish my family.

In the kitchen, I prepare recipes that connect us to culture and tradition.

Through writing, I preserve stories and reflections that I hope my children—and perhaps one day my grandchildren—will return to long after I’m gone.

Each is its own way of saying, This is who we were. This is what we valued. This is how we loved.

Juneteenth reminds me that remembrance is an act of love.

It encourages us to ask our elders questions while we still can. To preserve family recipes. To write down our stories. To speak our ancestors’ names. To celebrate not only survival, but also the freedom to dream, create, and build something better for the generations that follow.

Whether that legacy is found in a handwritten recipe, a family photograph, a poem, a flourishing garden, or simply gathering around the dinner table, every story we preserve becomes a gift to those who come after us.

This Juneteenth, our family celebrated with food, laughter, gratitude, and reflection.

As I watched my children enjoying the meal we prepared together, I realized that legacy isn’t only about what we inherit.

It’s also about what we choose to leave behind.

May we leave behind stories worth telling, traditions worth continuing, and hope that grows stronger with every generation.