Garden of Eve

I remember telling my therapist that I was going to start growing and selling weed on my own, and I needed her assistance in making sure I wasn’t  too  crazy. I was burnt out on corporate life, the kids had grown up and moved out, and I desperately needed to make some major life changes. She was a best therapist I ever had. I obtained my medical card and started  growing cannabis  for myself, dispensaries, friends and family. I don’t make a lot of money, about a third of my venture capitalist days, but I  love it. Growing weed is like having a baby — you want to nurture, but not smother; encourage, but don’t stress. The result –  beautiful blossoms  for everyone to enjoy. This garden basement used to store kid toys and house family fun time. There’s a grape juice stain under the thick layer of visqueen covering the old carpeted floor. Heavy duty light rails replace the hook that held kids’ piñatas at birthday parties. Styrofoam and more visqueen cover the basement windows, keepi

Today’s the day Washington State  takes applications  for legalized, for profit, marijuana businesses. It seems like only yesterday I was closing the blinds, hiding my pot smoking-turned-growing bud business. We didn’t even dare mention the word Pot in any cell phone conversation. “Can I get some ‘salad’?’” my friends would ask.  Now its “I want an ounce of that deep purple sticky-icky.” Some of Seattle’s Leading MJ Brand – including Cannabis Basics, Sativa Valley, Wicked Wicks, Ettalew’s, Kush Creams, Evergreen Herbal, Vita Verde, Have a Heart, Fweedom, Dope Magazine, Patient2Patient and Hempfest Central. Now I tell any barista that asks that I’m headed to a meeting of potreprenuers. I’ve updated my social and professional networks to include my work in the  world of weed . I was shocked when I asked a friend to join me in this endeavor, he said he couldn’t tell his parents, or his kids, what he’d be doing. “You gotta come out of the pot closet,” I said, “otherwise get out of

A sunbeam burst through a huge orange leaf  And kissed me on the lips I closed my eyes and opened my mouth Sucking in the autumn sun Reminding me that I am of this Earth I am ALIVE

We met at the Baltic Room in 2009. Jack is an average-looking white dude, bald and shorter than me, but there was instant and overpowering chemistry. I would never have guessed that he had a basement full of weed. I rented out my house and moved in with him three months later. It was love at first site – for both him and the grow room. When I lost my job, I figured I could be a stay-at-home girlfriend, collect rent money, and take care of the ladies in his basement. He asked me to call dispensaries and make ‘donations’ which soon became my part-time job – working Rainier Ave and frequenting West Seattle, making connections with several dispensaries.  In 2010, the going rate was $2,800 per pound, on consignment, and usually paid in full within three weeks. I started getting the brush off from one dispensary, with a balance owing of $1,400 after 30 days. Jack doesn’t like people messing with his money, and decided to take matter into his own hands. We showed up and waited in t

There is an ugly side to the Seattle cannabis movement. There are lawsuits and name calling, and narking and threats. People from other states probably think we lavish each other congratulatory back slaps with the passage of I-502. (That, in addition to smoking the very best weed in the entire universe, of course.) But no. There are egos, agendas, paranoia and bottom lines. A few individuals are hacking their way through the movement, creating discourse and distraction. It’s shocking how ugly this side of a revolution can be. To affect change, you gotta bang on some cages and throw poop at people, I suppose. But is it really necessary? I don’t know – not my monkeys, not my circus. Maybe it’s because they’re all men! Oops, that’s supposed to be a question mark. Sorry. Well, at least I don’t  know  of any  women in the movement  calling each other dirty, pilfering cunts. I could challenge Cat Jeter to a hair pulling contest. Would that help the movement? I don’t see 

My friend of ten years died today. He had liver cancer, was 52 years old, and survived by a confused wife, five kids, and one grandchild. Cannabis did not save his life, because he wouldn’t try it. When he told me last year that he had liver cancer, I immediately told him about Rick Simpson Oil. I begged him … please … I don’t want to lose you.  I have access to highly-potent, tumor-killing medicine from the best medicine growers in Washington. Look at the studies! Let me show you the research! It’s here, it’s affordable, and it’s available right NOW! What have we got to lose?!? “Well, my doctors want me to follow their strict dietary guidelines, and of course chemo and radiation. Just bring me some medicated cookies and we won’t tell anyone.” So that’s what I did for nine months… I watched my dear friend wither away while sneaking him brownies and baked goods, which didn’t seem to be working. Ugh… the frustration and heartache is unbearable. Three weeks ago he asked me

It’s criminal that not everybody can take a stroll through a Cannabis Farmers Markets. Growers and processors display their goods, doling out free samples at every table. Walking through the MMJ Universe greenhouse this morning was like walking through heaven… billowy clouds of pot smoke fill the air.  Growers and processors display their goods, doling out free samples at every table: smiling people offering me marijuana on the right, and then on the left … “smoke this”… “dab this”… “taste this.” Heaven comes early for those can’t wait for true legalization. At the farmer’s market that I go to they have live musicians, raffles for free sample products, and when you get “hungry,” there’s a BBQ guy offering burgers and hotdogs. Local produce farmers offer traditional greens, fresh veggies and eggs. For me, it’s a one-stop-shop for the entire week! Word to the wise  -- be sure to do your shopping before you Dab. Otherwise you might overdo it a bit. To be safe, I usually

T his weekend I spent two days immersed in all things marijuana – from politics to music, the search for police-donated Doritos and the wide wide world of vaping – I didn’t just get high, I became an emblazoned advocate for our RIGHT to get high. Seattle Morning: coffee, salt air, marijuana The smell of salty sea air was overtaken by the strong scent of pot as soon as I entered Myrtle Edwards Park Friday morning as I showed up for my volunteer shift. Aaaahhh…. Good coffee, salty sea air, and fine marijuana – this is how we do mornings in Seattle. Upon orientation, I am given the Rules of  being a Volunteer at Hempfest:  Rule #1: Do not to get high while wearing your bright green Volunteer Hempfest t-shirt, or they will take it away from you. During my shift near the speakers’ entrance, I was hoping to meet all of my cannabis heroes, like Jorge Cervantes and Rick Steves. Lucky me, Stephen DeAngelo from Harborside Health Center, took time to say hello and shake my hand. He

Labors of Love I knew the two weeks leading up to  Seattle Hempfest   were going to be nuts. Looking at the calendar, I don’t remember choosing this time to 1) harvest 2) upgrade my phone 3) volunteer for Hempfest and 4) go through menopause. What a week. Harvesting went well. The all-testicle crew did a fine job trimming my incipient flowers. It’s all the work that comes after the harvest that kicks my ass — like finding a place to dump the used dirt, bleaching the walls, mopping the floors, getting ready for crop rotation.  It’s dirty, physical and hot as hell this week (which could also explain the hot flashes). But I am so incredibly thankful to the people who helped me, and I am grateful to serve others in my community. I heart cannabis! The Aftermath My stupid contract with T-Mobile finally ended so I threw my old blackberry out the window at a high rate of speed. I really disliked that it froze all the time, and had no cool apps, like my friends. Now I’

I can’t believe its harvest time already. I find it a little peculiar how many men volunteered to help this time. Maybe they thought Helen from Redneck, WY was coming back to give them a few rounds on the sit and spin. ( Triming Buds with Benefits, a Love Story. )   Sorry fellahs, it’s just me and my whip.  In previous harvests, my ex-boyfriend and an old Yugoslavian man would come through my basement and have the ladies taken down in two days. Larry started getting wise when we would conveniently “get back together” a few days prior to my harvest. Fortunately for me, he became #1 Asshole when it was time for his harvest, so my scissors stayed packed in their protective sleeve. It got to be that the cycle of my harvest was the cycle of my love life – one month on, two months off. Today I will prep for tomorrow’s crop out:   sterilize scissors and trays, find disposable gloves, wash out the trim tub, and pull large fan leaves on the first plants to come down. In the mornin

I'm not sure how many joints we smoked on the way to Olympia Hempfest, but we got lost on the way there. There were plenty of parking spaces at the Heritage Park   Apartments   - but no people. Stupid GPS didn't know we were going to the 10th Anniversary of Olympia Hempfest at Heritage   Park , about a half mile up (or down?) the road. No worries. It was a beautiful day. We smoke another joint, turned off the annoying voice of technical direction and pressed onward, finally rolling up to our rock-star parking space right in front, ready to take on Washington State's first LEGAL Hempfest.  The first booth we stopped at was for I-584, a new voter referendum that would decriminalize home growing and sharing of our sweet cannabis. The guy running this booth, Jared Allaway, also does the "Marijuana is Safer than Alcohol" t-shirts. It makes my heart warm to see activism in progress - think global, act local, you modern-day hippies! I made new friends with d

Sometimes the heat brings out the nastiest of little creatures – spider mites. It’s been over 80 degrees in Seattle this week, making my green garden warmer than normal. It seems no matter how many times I sulphur my basement, sterilize the equipment, bleach the garden floors, walls, buckets -- those little fuckers manage to find their way in. Prevention is always key – no people, pets or outside clothing should make contact with the garden gals. But shit happens, and so do bugs. You know you’ve been infested when little flecks of gold spots appear on the fan leaves. Mites suck the sweet underbelly leaf juice, gorging themselves to fuel their activity: laying millions, gazillion of tiny little mite eggs every three days. If in your garden inspections you find any kind of “web”, you should immediately remove and destroy the plant. I’ve heard of some people taking a high-pressure hose to the leaves, and then spraying with Neem Oil or Green Cure (a prepackaged powder mix avai

One of the challenges of being a pot farmer is finding labor to help with trimming buds at harvest. You need a good pair of hands, and people who can keep their mouths shut. I had visions of blindfolding people before bringing them into my lair, but opted instead for retired old people who still want to serve a purpose. One such person is Helen, from Redneck, Wyoming, whom I met during a road trip in 2011. She had just finished chemo for breast cancer and was eager to smoke what I had brought into her RV Park that summer. I listened with great enthusiasm about her stories as a Playboy bunny in the 60s, as we sat smoking around her fire pit, her handsome cowboy boyfriend doting over her every need.  We became instant soul sisters and stayed in touch for over two years by phone and email. And then, one day she confided to me that her handsome cowboy boyfriend was caught receiving a blowjob from the neighbor down the street. The neighbor it turned out was a dude. I can only ima

I don’t normally get high before going to church, but I had just come from a business meeting about weed, so naturally I smoked weed. I’m not a real religious person, but I attend services regularly because I get to see my pretty 22 year-old daughter. Since she moved away to an evangelical Christian college on the Eastside of Seattle, it’s pretty much the only time I can see her. So I go to church, and usually the two of us go to lunch after service. I meet her at our usual pew and I look in her eyes to see if she can see that I’m higher than the overhead teleprompters.  Somehow she always knows, but I pray she doesn't give me that disappointed look. Just then the entire congregation jumps to its feet, singing joyful, modern Christian rock songs to a real life boy band – complete with tight, skinny jeans and Justin Bieber hair styles. Sometimes I secretly lust after the lead singer, wondering how much he sins, although I’m pretty sure I’m the one that’ll be going to hell.

My babies, as photographed by Nathan Griffith  Mom shows up with the usual bag of groceries – coffee creamer, toilet paper and packaged lunch meat. What every single woman lives on.  I lead her into the kitchen where I set the bag down.  We settle into my small but adorable living room, sip flavored coffee and catch up on the latest family gossip. My cousin is unwed and knocked up, she says, with a gleen in her eye, thankful it isn’t one of  her  kids. Eventually she asks how my “event planning” job is progressing. Will they offer me a full-time job so I can get health insurance? She says women my age need breast exams and colonoscopies, and I agree. But they won’t be offering any health care because I don’t work for the event planning company. Never did. There was no easy way to say it, so I blurted it out, “Mom, I’ve been growing pot for a while, and I’m really happy. Cannabis saves lives, and I only work with the best dispensaries. I really don’t think you should have a p

I have to vacuum before my mother arrives from Arizona. I’m 40-something years old and I still want her housekeeping approval. While we’re close, and speak on the phone every week, we haven’t seen each other 1:1 for a while. I’m freaking out because I think she’ll have an aneurysm when I tell her how I’ve been paying my bills the past three years. Garden of Eve The time has arrived for me to come out of the Pot Closet to my mother. How did I get here? I was laid off from my event-planning job while dating a “normal-looking” guy, who owned his own landscaping business. “Larry” also happen to own a basement full of marijuana plants for extra spending money (on prostitutes, as it turns out, but that’s a different blog post). He taught me everything I know about being a Pharmer -- from cloning and transplanting, to providing my babies with the proper nutrients and watering techniques.  I learned a lot – about the miraculous cannabis plant, and about the lying, cheating asshol