Garden of Eve

Man, I can't believe it's been so long since I last wrote in this thing. I'm not the same person, doing the same thing. Everything has changed - my job, my home, my waisteline. I’ve given up my entire basement grow operation, and moved out of my house so I can be closer to the 'office'. Thankfully my son is there to pay the mortgage and feed the cat, who I left behind to watch over him and his new roommates. He didn’t want to take over the family business, in favor of being a landlord, because its easier, and beer pong is more fun with humans than plants. Since I've taken a day job in cannabis, I realize now ALL the people in this industry are nuts. I guess you have to be in order to change the world, and other peoples' perspectives on cannabis, plus they're all medicated for a reason . (Yo, kettle!) Sometimes we're our own worst enemy, with the douchiest of douchebags still trying to ruin it for everyone from the inside out, egos always interrup...

My editor handed me a book to review, but not a printed version, rather a thumb drive in a padded envelope. I was told that this USB unit has an expiration date, encouraging visions of a smoking time bomb after I insert it into my aging laptop. Speaking of smoke, ‘Cannabis for Capitalists’ really is more of a users’ guide for growing mass quantities of marijuana - excuse me, for growing CANNABIS. Considering this was written Kerrie Badertscher, a certified professional horticulturist, and her husband Kurt Badertscher, both of Otoké Horticulture, I should probably use proper terminology. Once you get past the text formatting issues of the PDF, there is an overwhelming amount of scientific information for horticultural growers. Cannabis for Capitalists explains how to properly interpret fertilizer labels, for example, and have dedicated a full chapter to Microbial Soil Biopesticides. They cover new industry worker safety standards, staff and garden checklists, photos and refer...

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...

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...

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 ...

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 t...