January 12, 2018
First, introductions. I am Melissa and Jeff. We farm, smoke, and gripe about what a douche Trump is. Jeff is the brawn, brains, logistical engineer, head builder, head of sales, and distribution. My duties include micromanaging, “sweating him” and making him move on object 47 times only to finally settle on position number one. It’s magic. Our “kid” is a 5 month old Bull Terrier who thinks he was born of my body, he’s so attached. It’s an adorable problem. We are blessed with 5 acres in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. It rains…a lot. I am used to it, as I was born here. Jeff spent a lot of his formative years in Southern California, so he hasn’t stopped whining about the rain since I met him. But it’s beautiful here, we get to have a little menagerie of animals and find cool ways to use their poop. Apparently plants love it. I’m trying to get with the program. Especially since I had a day job…for a loooonggg time and my love for cannabis has had some growing pains whereas its intuitive to Jeff. He needs to grow as much as he needs Mt. Dew. (Don’t worry, the plants would never get Mt. Dew, that shit is poison). But, I digress.
So, 3 years ago I met Jeff…within 10 days this dude had moved in, set up lights, and turned 300 sf of my 900 sf apartment into a grow room. Sigh. But those dimples…
But love bloomed in that little apartment, my love for this crazy horticultures’s, his love for yours truly, and the beginning of my relationship with this amazing plant.
Now, I can’t say this white girl from the suburbs of a tiny Oregon town wasn’t horrified, just a little. I mean, I had dated guys that “grew”, badly, and never to completion (TMI?) and it was kinda cool. Whatevs. I also loved to smoke. For crying out loud, I voted for Obama. Twice.
Well, it was kinda a big deal. This external conflict of “real life, real job, illegal pot grow in your tiny apt”. real. So for a good while I am living this life of bliss over this relationship and this tiny plant…but nobody must know. I was like a really lame super hero, my true identity a mystery (that occasionally smelled like marijuana especially if it was around harvest time). I had a job. What will my parents say? Oh shit, Oh shit, Oh Shit. In short, I was a bit of a stress ball. But we made it work. Because, contrary to popular belief, cannabis users and growers…are just regular people. Jeff is one of the smartest guys I have ever met. And I am a nurse, I work with highly educated people. I’m only marginally bright (I mean, I smoke a shit ton of weed) but I make up for it by being really charming and sassy. A good relationship is all about balance.
So anyway, this dude. Like, moves in inappropriately quick (and may be substantially younger but that’s a whole different post) and is a fucking genious with this plant. I couldn’t keep bamboo alive and meanwhile Jeff over there is the freakin pot whisperer. I mean, I fell head over heels for this guy and within 8 months we are living on 5 acres with 6 foot plants in our backyard. He gets shit done.
But, in all seriousness. Cannabis has changed my life and this relationship that Jeff and I have forged is the best I have ever had and I get to have goats. So…there’s that 🙂