“All of the opposition that opposed me has no comparison to the opportunity that upholds me.” From that declaration, Mama Tree—Latrina Conaway of Treetop Grows Farm—takes us on a Detroit journey that’s as raw as it is restorative. Mama Tree frames her half-acre East Davison sanctuary as “a space of reconciliation.” The land, she says, “taught me that I am a creator,” pulling her out of a “neo-colonized mindset” into an Indigenous-and-African-centered practice of food sovereignty: a 2,156-sq-ft hoop house, cherries, peaches, apples, and the sweetest collards at Detroit is Different’s Collard Green Cookoff (yes, “60 pounds of collard greens” moved with love). As a wife and “mom of seven,” she’s building policy-minded youth and cross-block coalitions from E. Davison to Hamtramck, because “we are in 48212… in a space of critical climate change,” and legacy means leaving soil, skills, and standards, not just stories. This episode is Detroit past-present-future in one voice: Black Bottom roots, 1990s survival, and today’s climate-just, organic farming that heals body, spirit, and block. Tap in to hear how Mama Tree braids memory with movement so Legacy Black Detroit keeps growing—on our terms, in our voice, for our next generations.

“Serving your soul one plate at a time,” Ms. Kisha declares—and from there her story cooks: taught collards by “my grandma, my mom,” rooted in Tuscaloosa-to-Detroit migration “for the motor industry,” raised on the East Side and Kettering ’95, where a senior-year leap into swimming turned into being “seventh in the state,” all because of “somebody just believing in my ability when I didn’t even see it.” That belief now seasons her kitchen—family-run with “kitchen kin folk,” a husband she calls the engine of the business, and a commitment to community-first numbers: “I’m not going to take you down half the size and still charge you $2 more.” She breaks down sourcing like a Detroiter who knows the land and the people—Eastern Market relationships and an instant bond with Mama Tree (“we went directly to the farm”) to marry agriculture and culinary at the Collard Green Cookoff, where 60 pounds of greens won her the championship (“I cook them 10 pounds at a time… my hands are still hurting”). Khary and Ms. Kisha connect it all to Legacy Black Detroit—the grandma’s party store on Helen & Lambert she’d rename “Verna May Harris Boulevard,” the porch-to-pop-up continuum, the Big Three jobs and backyard grills—showing how our past nourishes our future, one plate, one farm partner, one family recipe at a time.

“Leaders have to be a little delusional and have a lot of audacity.” From the first minutes, Jerjuan Howard plants that flag and then shows the receipts—why “youth development, community development must go hand in hand,” how a Gen Z squad of 30-and-under staff is running a league of 300 students across 20+ schools, and why “Detroiters…have everything that we need already—it’s just about coming together to make it happen.” In this Detroit is Different conversation, Jerjuan and Khary trace a straight line from porch talk to policy: debates on whether to demolish the RenCen, backyard chickens and food grading ordinances, and the big one—“African cultural sovereignty… vs. political representation.” Jerjuan calls himself a middleman between elders and the youth—“my grandma used to say, ‘eat the meat and throw away the bones’”—so Umoja turns what kids already love (“kids already like to argue”) into a vehicle for critical thinking, city pride, and leadership. We dig into the audacity behind taking Detroit kids to Africa, the team-captain model that makes students league ambassadors, and why “indirect action is… just as responsible” as bad policy when communities are ignored. He lays out the build on Puritan: the open-air Umoja Village, a once–25-year-vacant building becoming a Black-authored bookstore and third space one block away (“for us and by us”), and a community-driven health clinic on deck—proof that Legacy Black Detroit isn’t nostalgia, it’s blueprint.

“To whom much is given, much is required,” Renata Miller shares her love of Detroit from four generations of Detroit love and responsibility. Miller roots her run for City Council District 5 in a lived archive of Legacy Black Detroit: East side summers “by the river,” Conant Gardens pride where her grandfather “laid bricks you can still read in Hamtramck,” and Black Eden pilgrimages to Idlewild. She honors a Mother who’s “still a nurse at church at 76” and a Father, a Navy veteran and Detroit Fire captain, who raised her on union halls, service calls, and straight-arrow integrity. Miller is adamant that development must mean jobs and single-family dwellings for kids to have homes with a backyard. It’s a conversation that braids Coleman Young era fights to Erma Henderson, JoAnn Watson, and Barbara-Rose lineage, then points forward: block clubs, church basements, and porch-to-porch organizing—“I’m a grassroots advocate; I’ll be on the streets.”