How Farming Kept Me Humble

An account from a Midwest migrant

I came to Oregon with no savings, career path or degree. I left my family and every friend I had ever known behind. It was 2016, after a string of bad events in my hometown from addiction to my favorite person in the world dying unexpectedly it is safe to say I was unhinged.

 When we arrived to our rental and realized our neighbor  was a policeman we quickly gathered our things and left without any trace. None of us felt like we were fit to support ourselves and our habits at the time. We took off to a smaller city, four hours south because of a distant opportunity to tend cannabis in the Pacific Northwest. As a west coast migrant I was a bit hesitant, but had nothing better or even yet worse to do. I decided to stay in the van and ride it out.

 Early spring, cold nights wrapped in clear consolations we made our way to Southern Oregon. Landscape shifted from coastal trees to arid desert. My past fluttered through my dreams, causing me to question my reality and past. Fear came and went, and we arrived to a farm off the beaten path. Found ourselves in a barn next to the main cabin nestled amongst oak, madrone, and fir trees.

It became clear in a few months the person I was working for someone with a Neo Nazi hunch...Staying up late watching conspiracy videos and probably snorting massive lines of cocaine. Drinking raw eggs blended into coffee for breakfast.  I have never been someone to judge drug use, but neo Nazi shit I did not have the patience for. And wearing nothing but a bathrobe while drinking egg coffee made me gag. My friend and I bought a Volvo to live in and decided to leave our barn lofted room, sleeping bags in tow. We found another short term job, moving plants around in U-Haul's and digging holes.  We acquired a classy Sportsman's Warehouse tent and posted up one of the rental properties we worked at.

I loved that about this place, if anything, people who saw us as we were still appreciated good work ethic. My friend took to trimming while I became obsessed with plants, seeds, clones, genetics.. Finally something in my life my soul was tended and overactive mind present. Constantly faced with nature's challenges and a beginners attitude I failed both in the process and business endeavors. Lost thousands of dollars, several crops, yet I succeeded.. My clothes became more tattered, soles of shoes worked, yet I was comfortable in my own skin, strong in my both my mind and body. Learned to appreciate blisters as they turned in to calluses that helped me shovel. I found value in my frustrations and the same in problem solving taught me gratitude. Discovered how planting seeds in Earth with tiny bits of water would feed a family.. Growing cannabis gave me purpose, like a musician creating sound. I immersed myself in bud culture and was on a steady path to continuing genetics when something I could never expect happened.

 I was physically assaulted by someone I considered a friend. It felt like my entire world was shattering around me again, these fragile walls I built how pathetic... How foolish to allow myself to believe I was healed? To protect myself with this small spirit? How childish of me to trust? Reaching for community I only found blame and alienation, what were once friends became offensive and judgmental conversations. It was late August, air thick with leftover heat I found myself with an incredible amount of inertia, throwing myself into growing with every ounce of energy I had left. I withdrew and kept my head down but rumors spread quickly here.. After working a long day in the field I came home to my landlord sitting at a picnic table with his laptop out and a PBR, lit cigarette in hand.

"Come, sit, " he said

I knew this conversation was coming, but I had absolutely no idea how absurd people could get. Then again this is the PNW....

He looked at me somberly and said, "I think music can speak for this.." He proceeded to play Grateful Dead songs, perhaps two or three (I lost count because I was chain smoking my own cigarettes at this point) with lyrics similar to:

"it's time I go on my own, all alone" and "this path I take I've chosen" "where does the time go?" "hour has come to follow this lonely heart"

He looked me dead in the eye and said "do you understand? The infidelity.... not paying your way from selling... You have no idea how it is out here huh?" his glazed eyes questioned me.  

"You are evicting me?" I asked, heart burning with a desire for straight forwardness.     

"Next month" he replied.

This was the clearest phrase I've ever heard from the dude, who rides around in a golf cart with  case of PBR like a sort of hippie trump. I had a burning desire to tell him what transpired, instead of arguing with an echo I nodded my head, stood up from the picnic table and went inside to pack my things..

 I've been a dope fiend, and I still will stand up and say there's more bullshit written in that dictionary than my hip hop lyrics and drug use. I felt small and insecure, like a piece of myself was missing after being assaulted and I remained quiet for months.

 Every day  cannabis plants eased my nerves. In this buzzing realm, between stems and drip line, I would find myself taking full breaths, inhaling and exhaling troubles. Many days I recall sitting on a riverbank. chest heaving with humidity. Horsetails fluttering in august breeze, alone, creek water wavering in undefined patterns. Cool water providing me relief from hundred twelve temperatures. In the back of our field I slept in my truck, washing in creeks and digging deeper into plant secrets. Despite being alienated from humans, I always felt accepted.  Surrounding trees, plants rosin crystals turning milky first and then amber, an owl in a nearby fir breathed a sigh of relief. I never felt alone, only guided.

Sadness came and went with the seasons that year and I learned a lot about human nature as well. I realized people are afraid to face conflict, and quick to turn a blind eye to mistreatment or abuse. Nature may be harsh, but people can be far more cruel. Living in a rural community, anxious of going to the store or facing some unprecedented conversation with a "friend"  was worse than the love of my life dying in a lot of ways. After Jessi died, I had a sense of community, friends and family. This felt more like an ostracism stamped with a shun.

 I was afraid to tell my family about what happened, not for fear of judgment but more so because I knew I was never going "home" to be protected by them. I kept to myself, once again finding a shred of peace in soil.

Duality showed up in my life a year after I was evicted. Free of false friends and inspired to keep going, I landed at a small farm with a cannabis guru. They showed me with very little word exchange how to use compost, urine, almost every living entity could be food for our cannabis. I watched more than anything during those years, amazed at how much my structured growing technique was irrelevant.  Finally I realized I was caught up in technicalities, language, ego driven ideas. I laughed realizing how pretentious growers can be, to believe we as a human species discovered  "the way" to grow. I faced the fact I was allowing myself to be informed through advertisement rather than experience. Perhaps we have dankified cannabis, made it into something evolved from its origin much like wolves bred into domestic dogs, but plants have shown me they will grow. Regardless of their placement or harsh winters they are relentless. This inspired me to dive even further into cannabis culture, genetics, seed production and cloning. A mad plant scientist, testing teas and collecting bones. Fermenting questionable smelling teas because I finally saw from a broader perspective. I found peace in witnessing their cycle and felt alive again. It always felt easier to let go in my garden, with my face pressed against wet soil, breathing slowly as I listened, I healed.  

Lesson from the Underground: Attachment is similar to death, what must be shed helps us move forward in unforeseen ways. Life is a joy when Death is a friend.

 ………………..

Stubborn, like an seed fallen between cracks of concrete and grime

like a plant without conscious effort

I grow. I thrive, I die.

My bones are absorbed into soil, a quiet cocoon is built.

like a moth I break free from restrictions at will.

Simultaneously bees buzz around me, as porous beings do .

there is little difference between me and you.

discrepancy is in the eye of the beholder,

and violence will not bring us closer,

natures inherent nurture is to survive

Finding balance in duality is prime.

Article and Poetry by: Medusa G Rilla