A Moment to Remember

I got back from a week in the woods, helping a friend tend his garden while another friend helped me by taking care of my home indoor and outdoor grows.
This summer was shaping up to be a great one, even though global warming is for sure coming in, and I can?t remember it ever getting hot so early and getting so hot.

Still, I am of the belief that heat stresses plants to make more resin glands, as long as they have the water and nutrients they need to do so.

But when I got home from the backcountry, looking forward to nothing more than a long, hot shower and sleeping on a bed instead of the ground, I got sick.

Sick because of the message on the phone machine about Marc Emery getting busted.

I lay down on the bed without taking a shower, trying to digest the news. My head was spinning around from worry to anger to fear to rage to despair.

I didn?t know how bad the bust was, or if he was in jail.

Like all growers, I wondered if the bust could have a trickle-down effect to people who had gotten seeds from him. Should I be paranoid or just chill, I wondered.

I went down the road to the Internet Caf?, logged on to his website and read the articles. It was worse than I expected, probably worse than he expected. Everybody knows that the penalties in Canada are nothing. For what I?d get ten years in prison for here in the USA, I?d get no jail time at all up there in British Columbia.

So the Canucks set up their own boy to let him get taken down by the American DEA? Knowing full well that if he gets convicted down here, that he could go to jail forever? Looks like the Canadian government and police are just as screwed up as the American police. Too bad.

And I thought the Canadian police were pretty good people. Now I feel like a chump. They?re just?police. They carry out the war, wherever they are.

I woke up this morning feeling sad and displaced, after a night of troubling dreams.

In one dream I saw a reality scene from a while back, when I visited Vancouver and met Emery and Marijuana Man for the first time.

Wow, I thought, those guys are now in prison.

In my dream, it was just like what really happened that day I met them in Vancouver. I went in the shop from a crowded street where junkies had kind of hassled me, and all the girls who work there were hot little babes who were laughing, sexy, and really friendly. They showed me some wicked glass that I wish I could have afforded. My money, honey, is for seeds, I told them.

Then I excused myself when I saw that Marijuana Man wasn?t with a customer. He?s such a funny guy, I hope he gets out of jail so you can meet him some time. He sits behind a desk with his computer looking at microscopic pictures of resin glands. What a harmless guy. He looks calm and happy. Why would anyone want to put the guy in jail for the rest of his life?

How many times a day he has to smoke a bowl or joints and discuss pot growing with some clown like me, I don?t know. But he was more than polite. He was quiet while he rolled joints but what he did say was right on. I told him where I lived and he told me what to grow. He said he had lots of people come in from around where I lived.

Probably some of them are my friends, I said with a smile. Probably they are, he replied, blowing smoke rings.

I was just about to leave when the Man himself walked up. To me, Emery is a star. He has the look of a guy who?s done it all and seen it all, who has transcended normal levels of consciousness, and one thing also is for sure, he loves to get people high.

He has this huge bong that takes two people to operate. He told me that he had the finest of the fine bubblehash from the Bubbleman himself. I am not so familiar with this product, but I am not going to wimp out in front of the Marc Emery.

So, I have to draw and draw on the bong to fill the long glass column, and then he takes the bowl out so the smoke goes into my lungs in one big rush.

I felt like I passed out or something, but it was only for about 10 seconds. When I regained my head, I saw Emery looking at me with a sweet smile on his face and he was saying to Marijuana Man, ?I?ve got to tell Bubbleman that this stuff is killer. We knocked this Yank unconscious!?

I was in their BCMP store for about two hours, and it was better than being in a Dutch coffeeshop, which I have also visited several of.

For one thing, the couch. For another, the lovely girls. And they aren?t charging you for everything like a business. They just like to show you a good time because they want you to see what a pot vibe is.

I felt like the entire visit was one big donation FROM Emery to me, even though I gave him a few hundred buckaroos for the seeds.

I noticed that everybody in the store who worked there got along with each other like family. Lots of places I?ve been, even where there?s weed, the people are Babylon, tense and hard, just like in the regular world of stress and straights.

In the BCMP, maybe because everybody was stoned out of their gourds, it was more like a relaxed summer camp orgy feeling.

I managed to get those seeds across the border and safely home to the good, rich soil. They all sprouted, just like every time I bought seeds from him.

The little old lady I grow for hasn?t been feeling good lately, so I took down a male plant and gave her the whole thing to smoke.

I like to breed my own seeds, not just buy them. Now that Marc?s gone, I think I am going to breed out every strain I?ve got, and some of my friend?s strains as well. I just talked to him about this, and he said, ?Sure, we?ve got to breed it all and try to make it stable so we can keep these genetics pure. Might be that we are the only people who will ever have these.?

I agreed with him, especially because what I am going to use for the male is a local plant that nobody knows where it came from genetically, a real vigorous type with phat leaves but tall and a Sativa high that will provide a thick stalk and mold resistance to the ladies I grew from Emery?s seeds.

Seed growing takes a bit longer than regular seedless crops, but I don?t make all my ladies pregnant; I only put pollen on select branches on the finest plants.

I had always wanted to breed a special strain or two and offer them to Marc for him to sell. Now I think I might one day end up selling seeds myself!

I am the kind of person who tries to be happy, even if it means I am sticking my head in the sand and ignoring what?s really going on in the world.

How else can I keep my sanity living in a country where most of the people are sheeple instead of people? If I was to focus on all the idiots and idiotic things that are going on, it would make me too mad and depressed.

Like five years ago when the helicopter police kept sweeping our valley, making me run in circles in the humidity and sun trying to protect my crop, and my friend got busted and lost his land and house to the cops.

But I admit that my thoughts today are more mellow and they are all for Marc and his people as I watch the Toker?s Bowl Four video on the RealPlayer screen.

This year?s video has professional editing and camera work and a sweet storyline?especially sweet and poignant now that those kind people in Vancouver have seen their leader stalked and led away like so many freedom fighters before him across the world.

In the video, they show the ?Denmother? woman booking the Bowl event and making sure it?s a grand party for everybody. You see scenes showing the visitors are happy and giggling non-stop for four days. They have a wicked costume ball. The bands and their music are all rocking, and I can tell that the musicians did the music custom-made for the Bowl.

I know if I had been there I would have had to drink several cups of coffee because they had the phatabulous BudderKing and the BubbleMan in the same room offering hits of their strongest, which are both super-resiny but totally different highs too.

You can see that this is the classiest most radical party on earth, and I doubt seriously, given all the food, bus trips, boat cruises and pot that they gave out, that they made any money off it.

What I am seeing in the video is that the Emery people gave a party and the people who came paid for some of it, but not all of it. So the Bowl was just another gift from Emery to his culture. Giving cannabis fun and freedom to everybody was what the man was all about, and it?s going to be hard for the DEA to convince anyone that Emery was anything other than a playful, political genius using venture ethical capitalism to fund a successful social movement, medial herb, and booming industry.

Flashback to another dream: at the end of that Toker?s Bowl video, Denmother (the blonde woman who helps Emery and who got busted along with him) gets married. You can just see the love and joy all around that room. There are tears, and there are bongs. There are happy, stoned people from all over the world, dreaming of living in Vansterdam.

And everybody says see you next year, and nobody thinks that it can get anything but better. People are booking reservations for next year.

Until the gun and badge gang come in with their ugly intentions and their search warrants, and crash the party, and ruin it for everybody. Now the blonde woman, and Marijuana Man, and Marc- they are all in danger of being in an American torture chamber the rest of their lives. It?s so wrong. It?s happening too much. We cannot allow it to be this way. We have to have the courage to stand up for human rights and international law. It?s crucial. It?s Irie.

I know that this year I will have to grow a few more plants, in memory of Emery. Because I am going to sell some of my pot, which I usually do not do, and I am going to sell it for top dollar, as much as I can get. I have learned from Emery: break the law to change the law. Use the money to free the plant.

When I?ve got me at least a thousand or more, I am either going to go to Vancouver and hand over the money personally, or mail it, but it is going to go for Emery?s legal bills, because I feel that as an American, if I do not have the guts to overthrow my stupid government as I should do, then at least I should help bail out the people who are attacked by my stupid government. All of us who are Americans owe a debt to the world because of what our country does bad to the world, is how I feel.

It?s my way of saying sorry I am American. Sorry that my government has to mess with everybody else like a fat, violent bully would.

My gods are nature, marijuana, my girlfriend, and the ocean. I don?t know who to pray to anymore, if I ever did. But if I watch the Toker?s Bowl video again and cry like I did last time (yeah, I know, men aren?t supposed to cry), I feel an aching in my heart, and I think that praying is the only thing I can do to relieve it, because I don?t have the power on my own to fix this broken world, this world where people who love plants, are criminals.

Emery, Marijuana Man and Denmother are good people who got a lot of smiles putting smiles on other people?s faces. That?s all they are.

There are bad people in this world who probably deserve to be arrested and put in jail, but the police don?t go after them. Instead, they take down my friends, people I got high with, people I care about, people who are doing something fun to change the world for the better.

Maybe tonight I will dream of a sunny day when all of us can gather together in our version of heaven, and enjoy herb in peace and harmony. There will be plants, seeds, bongs and joints, pretty girls, reggae, strong hash. There will be no DEA, no urine testers, no wars.

There will be only be all of us and Emery and all the Vancouver people, glowing and larger than life, safe and sound, just like at the T Bowl, just like those days I will long remember and now wonder will I ever be able to do that again?sitting on the couch stoned at BCMP, wishing I could put time in a bottle, to keep that marijuana family feeling for the rest of my life, at the big hempfest in heaven!