Finding a Way
Impalpable : Incapable of being felt by touch.
Why I continue growing cannabis is impalpable because it feels like being wrapped in a dream. Some sense can be made, time blends into the next moment seamlessly yet chaotically.
I smoked cannabis for the first time when I was fourteen, I remember coming home and burying the clothes I was wearing underneath a box of books in my room because I was afraid my mom would smell it. Even so, it did not take long before she became aware her ideal, sweet child was a fucking pot head. Weed made me more present than I could recall since childhood, and I found myself painting, drawing, writing, and meditating in nature. Smoking became not only a creative outlet but a way of calming my nervous system. On the flip side was I grew up in a "police state," good 'ol Wisconsin. At the time cannabis was a schedule one drug, right up on the list with cocaine and heroin, and so to my parents I was a criminal on a path of destruction and ultimately death by drugs. Comical because Lunesta, Dexatrim, Gardasil and Accutane were all popular and widely accepted "prescriptions" at the time.
What it feels like to grow something I’ve been discouraged from my entire life, is the same place where I could be considered a Marxist. “For the greater good” makes sense to me in the way that if I am living an authentic, compassionate life, my actions will benefit everyone. My mistakes will help us all to improve. I feel inspired to continue because of a hope for us all to grow together. In a way quality cannabis is my offering to humanity.. Instead of thinking of cannabis as a cash crop, I focus on soil itself and how to improve the quality of Earth. Cannabis has provided me with more than an avenue to do so, and continues to be a widely consumed herb in many regions. Throughout this journey I have been humbled and amazed.
Ambition has driven me further than class, scholarship, or counseling although I am grateful for my therapists. Over achieving which only brought me burn out helped me realize how to balance ambition with healthy habits. Soil science was the first thing to excite me in my adult life other than substances or sex to be honest , thankful to mycelium who taught me life continues no matter what habits I maintain.
My entire school structured life I struggled deeply with numbers, mathematics and equations. I failed miserably starting in third grade when I learned to copy my neighbors sheets. In high school I spent three nights a week after school with a private tutor. I’ll never forget Mr. McKim. Bless him for his persistence with me, because no matter how much we tried to prepare, my tests came back with more red pen than ink or A scores. Teachers passed me out of pity (I know this because I ran into the classroom excited on my 8th grade graduation that I made the honor roll. My teacher at the time looked at me and shook his head, suddenly I knew I didn't pass the final. Even though I only needed a C, I could tell he had done me a favor and changed my score. He smiled, somehow I knew he was saying "it's okay.") Leaving school that day I felt light and a sense of gratitude, yet I did not recognize it at the time.
After completing my third year in college, I dropped out after failing remedial math for the fourth time. Frustrated with the system and amount of cash I was dishing out to fail the course BEFORE the "real" course. I was able to keep it together, but not for very long. I felt not only like a failure, but a victim of a system that was never created to help me. Simultaneously the love of my life died unexpectedly in a car accident. After bouncing around, getting addicted to heroin and moving out of my parents house, I was on a steady path of self destruction. Perhaps I have angels with me, or somewhere deep down I knew I would overcome because instead of giving up like I wanted to, I allowed myself to be guided by an incredible force in my life. A very dear friend took me on a road trip to the West Coast in hopes I would clean up, and it was the most salubrity gift. Clean from substances, clear in my head once again I felt like for the first time in my life I wasn't simply treading water but swimming freely.
Growing cannabis I thought I had it made because I didn’t have to deal with numbers. Well joke was on me because prices per pound fell so low, everything became a personal endeavor.
I started keeping a notebook which I jokingly doodled “The Bible” on the front with an upside down cross. Inside I kept receipts, spending, payments, trimmers grams per pound, pounds that went out as samples and inventory of what was weighed, recorded, ready for sale. Separating two "accounts" between myself and partner in crime meant I needed to keep track of expenses, payout and spending for each person. Chasing down receipts, drawing boundaries on my willingness to spend, and seeing everything laid out in front of me made me realize the cost of growing vs. turnover profit. Balancing that shit like a black market check book, let me tell you, for someone who never dealt with numbers I fucking beat my head into the grass a few times out of frustration and confusion. Tempted to burn the entire thing about once a month, it was a good thing I had a partner in crime to consider.
I realized I was already keeping track of everything, and what stressed me out was the “unknown” of how much I made or was owed. The Bible became the perfect opportunity to ease these thoughts, and numbers did not seem to be the problem. I realized next, after 30 years, the problem for me has always laid in the equation. Born a trouble shooter, problem solver, I live in present moments with a goal to continue moving forward. Math equations served nothing other than simple memorization to codes I would never utilize. Having to get something “exact” without purpose was a fucking crapshoot.
My brain is a muscle, and there are many other things I could learn. Keeping track of my own crop, employee checks, and expenditures began to make sense. After three years of keeping my own numbers, someone offered me job as a bookkeeper to maintain accounts for both an LLC and contractor business. Driving home after talking to him was surreal as I thought back to Mr. Mckim and how much struggle my spirit felt dealing with numbers in the past. In this same conversation, he offered to help with any schooling I may need to complete in order to do so. I called my mom and asked if she felt like I was capable of book keeping. She has never doubted me, even though we have had our differences. She said “Well I’m sure you could but you know people go to school for a reason.”
“Hello, I’m black market student” I wanted to say, "and don’t ask me to prove it." But of course I was quiet instead. I looked out my window as late August set in, dying leaves flickered as birds sang an ode to summer. Everything I learned on my own 2,277 miles from home was experience. Stumbling my way through Santa Barbara I added amethyst crystals to my pink and purple dreadlocks. I still laugh at myself looking back, a mid westerner on the west coast for the first time is a fucking conundrum in itself. The fact that I even had dreadlocks, and knew what amethyst was, is an illustration of how I learned to mask at a young age and had an incredible amount of ambition to explore. Santa Barbara felt like a surreal stepping stone. Seeing flowers bloom year round and exploring mountains (as someone raised with hills) was enough for my soul to calm down. Although I never felt at home, I was able to find value in presence. Oregon found itself into my life after a year and a half in the strange oasis of SB. Without much direction I headed to see what was in store, once again found myself with a backpack and absolutely no expectations. Hitting the 101 I was googling photos of Oregon in the back of a beat down powder blue van, next to an absolute nut case of a dog. His name was Punk, and he lost his shit any time a reflection ran across the roof of the van from a headlight. Imagine how many headlights cross in a road trip, if you cannot I will say it is a common occurrence in a eighteen hour drive. Small detail, the van did not have back seats but a make shift bed which meant I was laying without a seatbelt, on a foam pad with a 60 pound traumatized pit-bull who launched himself into the ceiling, biting holes every time he saw a skateboard, stranger, or reflected light..
Punks parents though, and Punk himself were badass. I'm not sure where everyone ended up, but the adventure and willingness of someone I had met in Santa Barbara to pick me up and bring me up to Oregon was once again a life changing event. After twelve years I can finally say black market check books made the biggest difference. Oregon provided me with opportunity to step into my own skin. Failing math in school did not ruin my life, or anything like that. I guess what I am trying to say is I realized how the one thing I failed at the most in life as a young adult (killing confidence in myself) was incredibly important to learn on my own.
If I had been hired as an account or book keeper right off the bat, let's just say I wouldn't because I would have refused the opportunity. I needed to learn, experience, find my purpose and follow something through to the end. Growing became my lifestyle, inspiration, and teacher. "Prices per pound are falling," I thought to myself in early 2022, "Well then lets figure out our expenses." This simple shift in the market combined with ambition propelled me into book keeping without even knowing it. Suddenly "the numbers" and I became in tune. Grams turned into pounds, each trimmer with an "account" "name and date" recorded daily in The Bible. Pounds being weighed for sale on a scale, poured by hand to 460gs and sealed. Inventory became a necessity, strains and trimmers each had a "file." All recorded in a moleskin notebook I am fairly certain a friend stole from Staples and gifted me to use as a journal. I continued to be surprised when the numbers proved flush. But when inventory matched our sales, and things flowed without getting lost or misunderstood, I finally could see how numbers were homies. They helped things maneuver between my partner in crime and myself and also illustrated a picture of what was realistic for future endeavors. There were still moments I would cry out of frustration, but I learned to close The Bible and take a break. They would still be there when I returned..
I reflected on this after hanging up with my mom and for the first time in my life I felt fully capable. Realizing how far I had come hit me like a tsunami of memories and emotions, tied together and messy but continuous. Finally I understood there was never anything to prove, but a fuck ton of life to live. In a way cannabis has been a gateway just as I was warned about as a teenager, writing now as an adult I see two sides to everything. I also recognize how much this plant has provided me, I will forever be grateful.
Dear Mary Jane,
I hope this letter finds you in healthy spirits. Seeds never meant much to me until you showed me how something can grow from the tiniest fragment into a healthy giant. Roots forming slow at first, spiraling downward. In a way I saw myself as a reflection of you, although I did not know it at the time.. Suddenly, watching life sprout, grow, and die formed into routine. Quiet until it was so quiet everything became loud, I lost my mind, left my body more than I can count. Yet every morning, afternoon and storm my garden still remained (mostly) intact. Evenings upon leaving, flowers slowly shifting into furls, I left reminded of a inherent drive to avoid relapse. Seeing life as a gift because I was raised religious perhaps drives reeling thoughts. But instead of a church these days my garden is a catholicon. You showed me how to move from the ground up, how to rise from a minuscule crack in a sidewalk of cement. How to not give a fuck about opinions and at the same time stop with words , Listen as needed. First plant I witnessed growing, you inspired garden after garden .No matter how difficult winter felt, I knew spring would bring fresh buds, rain, a restart.
Lessons from Mary: Perseverance, ambition, acceptance and gratitude.
Lesson from the Underground: If every species relied on an individual, life would be lost. Similarly if everything was exactly the same, we would die of our own cause. We are everything, and we are nothing. Sometimes inner workings of Life are impalpable.
Article by: Medusa G Rilla
