Marijuana.com

KWhite

The wind that always blows up here pushing gently on me, I waited as the cable cars from the parking area over a thousand feet below me came to a stop. We do not allow anyting up here that creates pollution, our cars are run on solar energy up here. Comfortable and green, the cars were probably the first calming influence in the visit here. This was a Very Special Place.
Smiling as I walk to meet the guests, cameras about their necks and as many different styles of haute Casual as one could imagine, I shake a few hands and exchange a few moments of pleasantries. This is not everyone's first trip to the Blue Mountain. Most people seem happy to follow me toward our first reception hall. Greenhouse 1.
I suppose I should explain.
They call me and my wife marketing geinius' now, and will tell you on Wall Street that we saw it coming when others did not. I do not think so.
Getting rich was never our goal, it just seemed to happen as we built our Very Special Place.
Blue Mountain Herb.
In the 1990's, when the war on marijuana seemed hopelessly lost, I had vowed one day I would build Blue Mountain Farms. Not a simple farm of marijuana, no way.
I had vowed to build a palce that memorializes the fight for freedom that was the drug war. Getting rich seems to be a simple reflection of everyone else' agreement on the theme.
I mean, we used good taste as this Special Place grew.
It had started when weed was legalized. I had been growing for awhile, and seeing the way the wind was blowing, I made a decent sum of money before legality dropped the prices.
Yes sir, I also claimed it as income that year and proudly paid taxes on it. Just like we always said we would.
To make a long story shorter, there is a place in Wyoming, called Story.
It is a little town, picturesque with wildlife walking through the main street and a glacier creek feeding a trout farm. Pines and high mountains all about you.
I bought a small bit of land up there with the proceeds, ground my way through the paperwork and the clearances, put up the ten foot fence that I was required to have under the new rules. and planted a field of marijuana.
Having long maintained that marijuana or hemp would be good for the farmer in Wyoming, we were watched pretty close. Most folks were content to be progressive enough to not oppose legalization as it swept the States, but it was still a thing better left to California or Somewhere Else.
That first year I made enough money selling medical grade marijuana to legal distruibution centers that I paid off the land, and built a greenhouse. Now, I will be honest, I had always argued that marijuana would be an excellent money maker if legal, can you blame me for wanting to try? After that year a lot of farmers wated to try.
We put tables in that first greenhouse, advertised a bit and soon were building log cabins on a piece of unplanted land in the pines.
People were paying to spend the weekends on Blue mountain.
Soon, it seems like it went very fast anyway as I look back, well, soon we were hiring people, our weed was going out in hemp made Blue Mountain Herb pouches. A craftsman approached, offering to make pipes under our name, for room and board, a Glassblower and an artist somehow ended up here. They make considerable more than room and board nowadays.
I point out the warped window to the next building seen through the leaves of various cannabis plants.
That is the workshop, what used to be a simple place to make pipes, shape bongs and what have you became a little centre of culture.
That ten foot fence is still around, regulations requiring it faded slowly as all the old lies fell to day by day realities. People did not become addicts, if anything the American Siociety seemed to take a big breath and slowed down a bit. People seem to have a need to hang things on that fence. They say it symbolizes something.
But I digress.
ten years after the fall, and this place has become a little museum to the Marijuana Culture, and a memorial to the war.
Buildings were added, there is the cloning house, where old strains are kept pure, next to it the male house and the creation breeder.
The outdoor plants are the last of a long line of careful selection and breeding.. Not just any weed gets the Blue Mountain stamp.
And quality has paid off, we are the only American marijauna company that exports to Holland.

Stepping back, I let the guests file into the large room, more decorative anymore than a true greenhouse, gesturing for people to sit, to stand whatever they like. Raising my voice I offer.
"There are various of our products for you to sample should you wish. water is everywhere coffee or juices are on the house and yours for the asking."
I pause as people begin to open the shiny lids of tasteful and labelled containers. our employees keep these filled up with the freshest of our promotional bud and hashes. Filling my old pipe, I light it, joining my smoke to the other clouds forming in the wide expanse of greenhouse one.
"Good, as you know, we only allow 100 people per day to take the tour, a care for the ecology up here makes us limit that, we want to keep our corner of the earth clean."
Sitting onto a handy table, crossing my legs, I begin to explain.
"I want to walk you through our little museum, but I do not want you to think of it as a must. The philosophy of Bluse Mountain Herb is a direct spin off of the Old Marijuana culture.
There are several water gardens and simple spots we have put together for your pleasure, feel free to sit, and smoke, if you wish.
These tours take place for several reasons. we hope to propagate a sense of care for our world, that is Firm philosophy"

Taking a huge hit, I point the pipe stem out toward the impressive peak that climbs up craggy behind the farm.

"That is easy to do here, and something we hope most people will take with them. We also receive some of our best job applications from people who have taken the tour. the third and least important is advertisement of our products" I grinned "least important as far asmy bank account says anyway"
As chuckles greet that line, I stand, gathering them up by eye.. one young man hestitated..

"If you wish, take what you are smokng from with you, there is more as we progress, but whatever you like."
A point touched my memory
"All the papers here are hemp papers manufactured for us,and so ecologically sound. If you should choose joints to pipes or bongs, please use the ashtrays we have set out for you"
With that I plunged on. Into the dark and ominous tones of the Museum.
After Greenhouse one, The group always enters the Museum. Always!
Well lit, single flowering plants in glass towers spread about the room encased in shadows. The Constitution ot the United States hologrammed into the 1961 single convention on narcotics. A copy of the Congressional records that lead to the marijuana tax act of 1937. Pictures of naked people in the dark as gun toting police circle them, the cold and shame large on their faces. You can see it on their faces, the shock after leaving that green and pleasant setting, to be back among the fear.
Pictures of hope, as we leave the sombre mood of the first section, we enter the lighter reform section. Internet sites and newspaper articles, pictures of Politicians on both sides of the issue, the death of the drug war was recorded here. Walking through that room, many pot smokers have told me it caused them to look at other issues, bringing them to be active in things that need doing.
Whatever, after the the Museum, I do not give them a chance for rest, no..

"Ta-da................!"
Opening the door, the sun brilliant through the transparent roof above, we burst into the flowering room. The oohs and ahhs always mark the older folks. I mean, buds of THIS size, they were the subject of illicit convesations and quiet exclamations of envy only a few short years ago. ANd still today, wel lmost people have just never SEEN bud in this quantity.
I had said some of those were not here for the first time, the ones who last year had selected and planted a seed, now rushed off with their number tags to find "Their" plant.
Does it cost Me to give away a whole mature plant to my guests? sure, but it gains me much much more.

"Coffee and refreshments if you wish, in a while we will move on to the work shop."
As I sat down next to my favorite fountain, a large trout in the glacial water eyed me. I figured I must look funny through the water as smoke rolled from my mouth. To a fish anyway. The pleasure of my guests beginnig to make me feel repaid, as it always does. A few new friends sat and began to smoke whatever turned them on at the moment, the best part of these tours began, simple conversation.



To Be continued.

 

mindraver

sounds like Cannabis Heaven to me! cant wait to read the next entry.

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Cannabis is my anti-drug.
- the mindraver

Logos

Build it and I will come...

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Brother Logos
The more I learn, the less I know.
THC Ministry | The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus the Christ | The Reluctant Messenger of Science and Religion
True religion is real living, living with all one's soul, with all ones goodness and righteousness. --Albert Einstein

KWhite

Looking up, aware That I had lost the thread and a few moments in quiet reflection, I stood.
Having already lost a few guests as they harvested their plant, I spoke to the others. They looked typical for this stage. Most were incredibly stoned, running an eye over the small silvered containers of weed I could see why.
Oh well, isn't that what the love of weed is all about?

"Friends, this is where your tour becomes decidedly different."
Grinning I walked into the approximate centre of them, the people being stoners, politeness took over and they quieted down a lot, not that they were boisterous. This is the Blue Mountain farm. Not Bushed Gardens.
"We think your visit here should be fun. And tours I have taken where I followed someone around for three hours then left without having a chance to look at exactly what I wanted to look at were always Not Fun to me"
My arm idly touching at different points about the farm as I spoke.
"I can highly recommend a smoke by the trout outside, the weather is good. There is also a stair to the highest point on the farm. The sunsets are awesome up there. The farm property is clearly marked, please stay on it, and if you see a bear, be polite!"
Nervous laughter greeted that comment. Well this is Wyoming and many of our visitors just have no idea of what is walking around a real mountain forest. I figured it is not my place to keep people safe, but they do need to be told. It is not surprising, most folks stick to the manicured areas. But we do not make decisions for other people here.
You see, we figure that is what caused the drug war and all of that uncounted pain.
Some people wanting to tell others how to live. Don't figure it is an idea that will ever work, but it is always tried.
People began to scatter after being asked not to enter private dwellings. Not a thing we ever really have to worry about. There is an air of peace about the farm, we have absolutely no incidents up here.
We did have one baby brought to the world in the middle of the workshop. That spot has a large bong shaped by our Glassblower, a memorial with a picture of the babe engraved in thre glass. It seems she helped deliver. My wife and a few others were there at the time too. I can tell you one thing. That kid will never need to worry about College.
Walking into the said workshop, I got comfortable.
I mean, Stoners were never known for conformity were we?
When the original artisan asked for room and board, I had to build a workshop. The artisans all wanted a log cabin, and that seems to fit the place. Sitting in a comfortabls chair next to a low burning iron stove, I sipped a cup of coffee. The heavy yellow Pine roofbeam running into the main area, a soft light kind of straying from the various work areas.
They had left it very medievil. Sure, air lines and electric tools were everywhere. But there is also an small bellows and fireplace. Our Silver Smith is a bit traditional.
People were looking at items, talkng to the craftspeople.
A spark of light caught my eye as The Glassblower snipped a bit of glowing glass into two parts. Judging from the look on her face, this was gonna be her Daily Attempt.
The Daily Attempt,as she explained it to me, was her chance to beat her best work.
And this girl was good!
She had learned The art in Germany, from old traditionalists.
On top of that, well, what is Talent worth. Some people take their field into new paths.
This lady drew new maps.
The oohs and ahhs gratifying as she began, I looked up as a hand fell onto my shoulder.
"Being lazy?"
My wife of almost forever smiled down. Dirt under her fingernails told me it must be friday, the day she works on new strains over in creation.
"Yeah, can't you see how hard I am working? Damn near fell asleep through fatigue"
She grinned a bit, shaking her head. MY wife is an evening smoker, I am a continual one.

"You smoked too much weed again, I KNOW when you are stoned"
A little worried look came over her face.
"That new strain I wanted is not going to make it."
Taking a cup of coffee, a thing that is EVERYWHERE around Blue Mountain, she sat for a few minutes, talking to me.
"It grows good, and fast"
Shaking her head and sipping another short sip off the hot elixir, a look of disdain forms in her eyes.
"But the quality keeps dropping back to what we used to have, and I cannot get the harsh out of it" She smiled again.
"Oh well. I have to go pay bills, you want to come help"
Grinning she skipped away after making me promise to look over the books, a task I hate, and also promise we would take in the sunset from our "Perch" way up high on the mountain. A thing we did as often as possible. And always alone. I was amazed at ther simple acceptance of bad luck. I know she had been working on her pet strain for over two years. ah well, you win some, you lose some.
Her gone, the quiet air of the workshop no longer satisfied me. Rolling a large joint, I walked out into the crisping air of late afternoon.
Sitting on a bench built about a large birch, I was joined by a few people, seems they wanted to talk. A joint being the perfect way to break the ice, I lit it and passed it to the first persion next to me, An older fellow, looked like a cop. That was no longer an issue when sharing a joint anymore. Thank the Gods that madness was past.
"You make a lot of money on weed?" I thought the older police looking fellow, whom I soon learned was named Jerry, would blow a lung. The young fellow asking looked to be a freshman in some college. That age anyway.
"I mean, I have smoked at least a good hundred dollars of your best this morning, and you do this how many days of the year?
umm, trying to give an honest answer, I thought about it.
Now, sure, I am the Official tour guide. can YOU think of a better job for a one time activist? SOMEONE has to do it.
"Yeah, it costs a bit, if you look at it that way. But It is not like I am giving away anything I do not have a LOT of"
Jerry chimed in, pointing at The Indica field off past the crick and a few trees.
"No ****, how many pounds does that field bring you?
Now, Blue mountain farm itself is not the sum. Nor could it be with what we sell a year. All of our farms are in America, and all are strictly controlled.
These are simply the first.
"A professional guess at that field, hmmm"
I eyed it, now you have to remember. I was a grower in the dark old days. so, you get a feel for thick cola's and short bushy plants.
"Probably 2 tons of bud. Another hundred pounds of hash once our folks get through with it."

The jaw on a mousy little brunette with a pretty smile dropped.
"wow"
I get asked these things often, and if you think about it, the reaction of people is normal.
Hell if you told them what a corn field averaged at harvest, they would yawn. But weed is different.
For one thing, the Marijuana Culture did not die with legalization. Ir seems we love the taste, the smell, everything about weed. Smokers are good people, they just love curly pipes, and sunburst bongs, quiet conversations and everything slightly left of staid.
Years of inflated bust reports makes a ton of weed....still an awe inspiring thing in a lot of minds.
"I could never smoke that, wow." she and the young man wandered off over a little bridge through the pines, talking animatedly about whatever. Last I saw of them, the wind was playing about them as they walked through the same field we had been discussing. "Jerry James"
The fellow stuck out a HUGE fist. I took it and we shook.
"So" I grinned and offered him my pouch and a spare little pipe I always keep handy. "You a cop"
He took the offerings, but you could see he was still very uncomfortable with the idea of smoking in public. You can spot cops that believed in the drug war a mile away. I have to be fair though, once the laws were changed, they were as good as their word. The arrests stopped after a few short test cases, and the Police went on doing their jobs. Just not with us as targets.
He nodded slowly, thick fingers packing the bowl, not lighting it though.
"I do not allow surveillance cameras up here"
Jerry looked me full in the eye and nodded once, then put the pipe to his lips and lit it, inhaling deep of the sweet smoke, coughing in his inexperience.
I mean, hell these guys have it hard.
The war on marijuana users is over, but in Police departments, well, old ways die hard, and a picture of the good officer smoking here, could well , stop his career.
"Denver P.D. I wanted to see for myself."
I get these guys a lot. It has been ten...almost eleven years since the last State repealed the last marijuana law that was of a prohibitory nature. I mean, the laws are there, laws on minor consumption, registration fees for growers and distribution licenses for retail outlets. A lot like alcohol. and works as well.
But cops were still coming to "See for themselves"
I am always gentle with them. I figure without some cops speakig their mind we would still be hunted. In any case I nodded back.
"Yeah, I can see that, it was a messed up time wasn't it."
He nods, some conversations are just that way, simple understanding.
Hell, this man or his colleagues were my worst nightmare once, and now......water flows I guess.
"And, what do you think?"
He paused, whicjh made me certain aiI would get an honest answer.
"I don't know yet. you know how many people I busted?" The look on His face stubborn. "And a lot of those people needed to be behind bars" He spoke emphatically, but the look in his eyes seemed to show uncertainty. I nodded agreeing with him.
"Sure, but that was always outr argument, some criminals use cannabis, not all cannabis users are criminals. I can see the argument about a way toi get bad guys. But you guys were getting good people too." I asked him an honest question.
"Are you still arresting the same people as before? the bad ones I mean?"
He thought about it a liong time, a really long time, finishing the bowl before He answered. I left him the time, it was a big question for Jerry.
"Yes, they still get arrested, just for different stupid things, but we still get the same ones.
One thing the intervening years have done, that hate between smokers and officers disappeared. It helped that soon after legalization, cops were smoking too. Legal is legal and the younger generation were not going to be told no. They said it helped the stress after a rough shift and left no hangover.. Gods how we crowed as that one hit the papers. But Older ones still had a lot of soul searching to do.
"Man, it was your job, family to feed?"
"Three kids" I grinned at him.
"Guess all we can do is be happy we were both able to raise our kids" I took a killer hit, My voice rough as the smoke pushed blue into a westering sun.
"And NEVER met in a professional capacity."
I stood up, it was getting chilly, it always did up here when the sun started heading down.
"Jackets for y'all in the cabins, are you staying the night?" I grinned evil in the low light, the buzz heavy on me.
"The grubs simple, but good, and you get tortured by me and a few others on the guitar later. I hope to see you.
You could tell the stone was touching him, He simply sat there, his eye caught by a far eagle above a distant peak, a peace seeming to enter this mans soul. Blue Mountain farms has a way of doing that to you.
I spoke a quiet "later" at his nod, leaving the little pipe and pouch to him as I went looking for coffee and a coat.
Reminding a few guests where they could get their jackets, and sending one serious looking young man to Martha, our personell person, I found the coffee and restocked on weed. This was the good time, time to walk the farm and start moving folks toward the mess hall.
As always, Jerry put me in a contemplative mood, stopping to lay my hand on the rough bark of a pine, watching that same slow sunset as it came quickly, I realized I was a bit bitter.
Sure, we made it, but damn it was a close thing.
People look at Blue Mountain and they jeer. "See, the Potheads just wanted to get rich". Now, I would lie if I told you all was wonderful after legalization. But it will NEVER happen again. I can live with the jeers. Years of being a pariah, years of fear, of growing in secret, never talking to certain people about certain things. They can jeer. Personally, any kindred spirit that did good after those years, well, Good luck to them!
We earned it. Hell for years they told us we were to stoned to be ABLE to get rich.
Sure we were the non conformist. We were..are.. those folks who decided to defy a law, and whether that law was good or not, alone the decision to be a lawbreaker changes you I think.
A lot of our profit at Blue Mountain gos toward making sure things like this never do come again. You shoud see my Lobbyists expenses each month. And you should see the even bigger expense for charity.
Funny thing that, pot smokers almost universally seemed to graduate into politics, in big or little ways, it seemed that having nothing to do, we took up other things. Rainforests and Human Rights, we were everywhere now. Bit then we always were. Just a part of the populous. Some folks will always jeer, but we earned this.
Heading back, time to pick up momma while the summer staff took care of feeding our guests, I smiled as she stepped out. Her favorite pipe, one given her by a Lakota friend over in South Dakota was cradled in her arm, an eagle feather twisting in the evening breeze. I stepped up to her and stopped.
Turning, the sun half a hand over the highest peak, we started off, hitting the rough ground of the trail that only we took. scent of warm pine somehow wholesome in suddenly crisp air.

To be continued

Logos

I have a feeling this Sunday's news postings are going to be a little more special.

Excellent story Kelly! Keep it coming!

 

KWhite

The sun coming up over the mountain is a benefit that happens every day up here. Seems you never get tired of it.
Another strange benefit, money ceases to be real important when you are happy with your work. I am very happy.
I guess I was born to raise pot.
Don't misunderstand me, I do not mean that in any way other than frank.
Downing the last cup of coffee I would allow myself before I went to greet the guests, I put it in the sink and looked at the rain washed morning. Low patches of fog that I knew would be gone in an hour tarried behind the last wings of the early morning shower. Brisk, I was glad for the open door of the mess hall as I hurried in.
We tend to eat simple up here. We can actually afford lobster if we want it but we don' want it much. But biscuits and gravy are always to be had. bacon, eggs and beef in various forms are plentiful. That and all the other bad things you can eat. We work it off in the fields.
I suppose if you are happy, simple things become enough.
My wife and I eat apart. aside from lunch we keep those times private, otherwise living on site would make you crazy.

Grinning I sat down next to the intense young man and the mousy girl from yesterday. The small smiles between them told me a lot, and it was a cool thing to watch. Fresh love beginning is always a cool happening. It seems to happen a lot on the mountain, maybe the fresh air and cold nights?
An awful lot of the summer help get married up here. Now at first it was biology students and what have you that wanted to learn more. All had grand ideas about furthering the weed, and a lot of them work here now.
But they were all fairly young too. To make it clear, we had to build a chapel.
A Pastor or priest usually makes the trip up from Sheridan when the need makes itself apparent. A few are content with a Justice of the Peace. Even had Pagan ceremonies a couple of times.
This looked like it might be the start of another one of those.
Snagging another cup of coffee, spying Jerry heading toward the back patio and a pine bench next to the creek, I joined him with a greeting.
Fingers trembling a bit, rolling a joint in the chill air, I watched quiet as he stared silently at a hunting eagle as it patrolled the grounds.
"You attract some strange folks up here" He turned that large face toward me, you could see the honesty in the mans eyes. This was a man who tried to be true to himself.
"Yeah, we do. interesting evening?"
"Interesting conversation!"
Chuckling a bit, He dropped onto the bench, heavy cowboy boots folded under the rough hewn log.
"Very. I expected...I don't know, I expected to get...drunk" He looked about at the opening day, His eyes following some point of interest only he would ever see. "But I didn't hell, the way I felt last night, I should be puking my guts up, I never could drink."

My head shaking, some folks still had not listened to what we had been saying. all those years and the incessant arguments. Always speaking our side of it and a lot of people still did not realize what we had been saying.
"You probably still cannot. I can't booze makes me crazy. And you did not drink"
I looked him hard in the face, wanting this point cleared in his mind if I could do it.
"You smoked pot. You smoked marijuana and you will not have a hangover. you will not have a tendency to make bad decisions now, you are no longer inebriated. That was last night"
Lighting my pipe, I took that first hit of the day, loving the feeling as it rolled over my mind. Simple fog becomng as intriguing as bedewed fairy mists for a moment.
"Technically, I am now inebriated"
Offering him the pipe, I was surprised when he took it.
We watched that new made couple come out the door. him rolling a joint while she followed the run of the creek, oohing and ahhing at the size of the trout. They walked off skipping into the woods.
"My daughter, she is about that age." he pointed the pipe stem at the pretty girl. "She suggested this place, said it would help give me another perspective. After some of the discussion yesterday, I just might have that"

Laughing I stood up.
"Want to go for a walk? Starting off, he fell into step, taking the pipe and hitting it again.
I don't know, I had one hell of a conversation yesterday. I told those people I was a cop. No one cared."
"Man, Its been a decade. For us it was a big thing. I was a user, you were a police officer. But these younger ones do not really remember the drug war."
He nodded as I steered us toward the left. Following a path I named lookout path, it winds slowly higher in an easy hike, before you know it the earth falls away from a cliff. Pines at your back and miles of wilderness far below your feet.
Our conversation had followed all the twisty paths that a stoner conversation can. I think Jerry was surprised at the thoughts that open to you when you are high. At a loss for words, he wasn't.
There is a simple ritual to rolling a joint. I do not really like joints, but they are somehow like the breaking of bread. I twisted one up, and we sat there, legs dangling over a thousand feet of drop, The farm a green jewel populated by happy ants below us.
"You know, even when the drug war got so crazy" I offered him the joint, a guest should always get to spark it I think.
"Even then, I was always of the opinion that you guys meant well. " I took the joint and pulled hard, Coughing a bit as old habits kick in, holding the smoke too long.

"But its damned hard to hate long when you know the guy was doing his best." I stared into the aging day picking my words carefully.

"it was very frustrating. I KNEW your intentions were good, but your logic was faulty, and then none of you would ever listen.
He nodded too" "yeah, there was no way I was gonna believe anything. It just does not..did not...seem right!"
"What?" Hitting the joint again, blowing the smoke to the winds. "America stoned every day?" I coughed hard then continued slowly.
"Yeah, that was the great danger. marijuana would rob us of our motivation. lemme tell you something."

I directed his attention to the very first field we had planted. Today she was a gorgeous light jade in the sun as she simply grew under soft skies.

"I was stoned as hell when I planted the first seed in that dirt. Been stoned nearly every day since. To one degree or another" I held up a swift hand to stop his exclamation"Hold on now, I am a special case and in a special circumstances. I know. But we have proven we were right. The majority are responsible users. weekend or after work users. For those who are not, there is a therapy centre, not a prison! "
My voice calmed down a bit, quieting. "You said your oldest smokes? Would you want her in prison?"

The old passion rises easily. It still burns white hot at need.
One thing I was certain of, as certain as I was that life ends with death.

The drug war could come again if we allowed it. I would never ever allow THAT! I guess the fight over the kinds of things that cause prohibitions and persecutions never really end.

"I KNOW that." He sounded roughly harried, almost angered.
"But do you think it is easy for us? for years and years you were the bad guys. And now I find out you people are not bad people. Just people."

He looked a little sad for decisions made in the past, but this was a strong person in front of me, one able to face facts or he would not have come here looking for them.

"Yeah, thats all we ever were."

Standing we took the long way back. Blue Mountain farms rolls along quite well when I disappear. The plants grow, dinner gets cooked and my wife goes around shaking her head and doing things I should have done.

As we came back down into the first clearing, I watched the first star twinkle alight. Looking up at that magic I decided people like Jerry and the New Couple, were what made Blue Mountain something special.
It is not marijuana that flows from here. Hell, it never was simply about marijuana. All of those years of protest and persecution.
Anyone can grow marijuana. No, It was about opening the eyes to see a world slightly different. It was and reamins about freedom. I can think of worse things to be "ABOUT".
Jerry will be back.
Jerry will be back because he is free to do so.
As I took the group of guests/friends to the cable cars the next morning I shook his hand. THe night before was a bit hazy, there had been a lot of smoke, a lot of people, some simple music and a bonfire.
Jerry had won a ticket for His own seed. I had helped him start and tag it that morning. next spring Jerry has said he will be on hand to set the seedling into earth. We have a special field just for these.
He says he will bring his wife. It seems he wants to show her a sunrise.

Wandering back, stopping to gather up my wife and offer her a big hug and a free cup of coffee, I had to shake my head. Maybe that is why people keep coming back. The sunsets.

Watching the night come down reflecting on the past ten years, all of the crazy things that had happened, I caught a reflection of our cat Munchie. As I was thinking "If these walls could talk" I swear, that wide feline visage swung around in the dark, sharp teeth in a slow grin in the firelight as he lay on the mantel behind me.
That cat winked.....


I am certain the Blue mountain marijuana farm will be heard of again.

K

Perplexed Pixie

This is a very old post but it does seem to be a nice read. wow that guy has vision.

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