It’s 9 AM, and I’m in my bed typing this out. I’ve got pillows and blankets, and I’m warm and comfortable. I actually bought this bed with money that I earned trimming this year. I guess, implicitly, I sleep on a bed of peace. Kinda cool, but when I think back on it, this bed was 7 or 8 days of working 10-14 hours. A week of trimming peace equals out to a comfy cozy bed to sleep in. In another year this bed might have equalled out to 2 or 3 days of work, which is nuts when you think about it. The trimmers are by no means the last point in the distribution chain, in fact they’re the first point where money is changing hands after the crop has been harvested. And so, if you look at how the trimmers fair, you can get an idea for how the whole industry is doing.

If you’ll remember I last left you at fixing breakfast on my first full day at my frist trim scene of the season. I wound up spending roughly 5 days at that spot before the work ended. In traditional form we waited around on our last day while scene bossses were coming and going until eventually they called us over. In typical fashion there was a ledger where we were shown numbers for how much peace we trimmed each day (in grams) and then cash changes hands whilst thank yous are said, and respects are paid. We left from the first scene after sundown, and slowly crept back down the mountain on winding, and often imperceptible roads. When you’re driving away from a scene though the speed with which you flee never really matters, as the overwhelming sentiment is one of relief. Although in this moment the relief would be brief. We got back late, passed out, and then got back on the road at 8 the next morning.

That’s a door handle, and it’s not dirt on it, that’s all hash from hash-covered hands repeatedly opening and closing the door.

We left early because we had a long ride. Our second scene saw us venturing out of the Emerald Triangle, and in fact out of California altogether. This is where we saw the best peace of the season, and likewise some of the best-grown peace I’ve ever seen. In fact I wouldn’t hesitate to say that the gentleman in charge of this particular operation was nothing short of a master cannabis grower. While the first scene wasn’t terrible, a sentiment that the year’s harvest was off had begun to proliferate throughout town in Arcata. However when we arrived in Oregon that couldn’t be further from the truth. On the day we got there and set up tents and worked less than half of a day I trimmed just about a pound. It looked like we were about to settle into the kind of work that people myth about. But as luck would have it this is also where the decline began. The first and second days consisted of much passive agressive behavior towards us, and it was apparent that for whatever reason, the welcome we had been extended was no longer valid. On the third day we decided to pack up and head back to Arcata and chalk this one up to the oddities of the personality types that come with the line of work. And just like that we were back on our way to Arcata. Bare in mind though, all this bouncing around, starting and stopping is very costly, and seriously diminishes the profit margin. So, 5 days after we had returned to Arcata from our first scene we were back again.

This time around we had a lag for a few days before we were able to find the next scene. And of course the lag is mostly filled with trepidation. Every day that passes unworked is at least $200 being deducted from your projected totals for the season. If you aint cuttin, you aint stackin cash. And that’s the motive here. But, thankfully after a lot of asking around we were back out again, and this time the scene was in town. It’s not uncommon for folks to have a large grow on a mountain an hour or two out of town, and then process everything in town. And so in this instance we were showing up to someone’s house every morning around 10, and hanging out till midnight or so.

Hit the jump for the rest!

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MY sincere apologies in the delay between these things. Life still ain’t easy, and while there is definitely plenty fun out here, there’s a lot of work too. I’ve been trying to find a job in cannabis for the past couple of weeks, but alas no luck. Things are pretty fucked right now, but lemme jump back to October to really tell it:

If you’ll recall the previous account of my journey in the 2011 harvest I left you last when I had just arrived to my first scene of the season. It was either in South East Humboldt, or North East Mendocino. Tough to say which, and pressing for those kinds of facts is not exactly the best idea. There is a very familial and open element at most scenes, but that sentiment exists with some serious restrictions. Of course folks want you to feel comfortable posting up for weeks on end, and working in less than ideal conditions. So, the folks who run the scenes—who are usually not the same folks who were in charge of growing all the peace—are usually heavy with the motherly instincts, and they try to be as accommodating as possible.

They want you to feel like you can ask for what you need, and they want you to feel like you’re safe and comfortable. But, there is a kind of unspoken limit to that. Basically, facts, and numbers are taboo as you can probably imagine. And while I certainly could have asked someone if we were in Humboldt or Mendocino, I wasn’t really trying to start off as the dude pressin for facts. I was however, trying to start off trimming at least a pound a day.

Trimming a pound a day is the basic goal. It puts you at $200 per day which, even though those days are usually more than 10 hours long, is pretty good money considering the lack of expenses. The amount you trim in a day depends on you, but it also depends on what your’e working with. And this year, that second part of the equation, the variable part, was postin low low numbers. My first day was a half day and I probably trimmed around 200 grams. Which is a little less than a half pound. The peace we were working with wasn’t the greatest, but I wasn’t mad at it. But all I heard was “Oh my god this is so much better than the last stuff! This is the best stuff so far.”

That’s not what you wanna hear when you’re just showin up. But, you take it with a grain of salt too. Most people at trim scenes don’t work as hard as me, don’t know as much about peace as me, and generally seem to be on a different journey. I say this not to brag, but just to put it in perspective. So, while folks were talkin that bleak shit, I wasn’t really hearin it completely. But it registered, and in the first moments of my work for the 2011 season the seed for the theme was planted: no fuckin dice Mr. Moldof. There will be no incredible payout this season, only a reasonable payout (which I am grateful for, so don’t get it twisted) an incredible workload. But I didn’t know that yet.

The first day on a scene is always odd. You’re finding your way around, figuring out the workflow, figuring out where you’re trying to post, figuring out who you don’t wanna sit by, et cetera. It may sound dickish, but you figure this is endless contract work. If you’re surrounded by people or things that distract you your numbers for the day will reflect that. But it’s a choice. You can choose to work slow, and easy, and just not make a lot of money. But I don’t get with that, and that mentality makes me really uneasy, so I’m usually posted alone, with headphones, not tryin to do anything except trim peace. This was no different, and the impending doom of massive student loan debt, no job, credit card payments, and a life out of balance with the status quo was enough motivation to push me to stay bout those grams in my bag.

That’s how it goes, just grams at a time stackin up in a brown paper grocery bag. The big kind with handles. A pound is usually roughly half of the bag, and I was tryin to hit the half every day. You gotta be focused which means chiefin lots of peace, drinkin lots of tea. But you also gotta be human. So, of course, if you’re a real human with thoughts and feelings you’re not gonna be 100% work. You gotta socialize too. And this, Bloglin readers, is where we find ourselves in contradiction to the typical folks who make up a trim scene.

I guess some people are just good at sitting down with whoever, and feeling equally comfortable every time. Me? Not so much. And, as fate would have it young Zachg is very often out of place at a trim scene. On the surface it’s a bunch of young-middle aged folks with white skin. But for me—and likely for a lot of the other folks reading the Bloglin—the commonalities end there. Very few of these folks are Jewish, not that this is a huge deal for me (nor is it some defacto character of Bloglin readers), but it plays its part. There are a lot of hippies, and a lot of burners. Now, I don’t have anything against either of these lifeways, but I think they’re pretty divergent from my own. Very simply I’m a rap dude, and trim scenes are mostly hippy folks.

That’s reductive, but it’s true, and it’s the most efficient way to cover an otherwise tenuous explanation of two things that are different in ways that don’t need to be addressed in words (trust me, I typed and un-typed that several times). It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, but let’s just say I can’t be my full and true self at a trim scene because many of my comments, habits, and actions are not taken kindly. So, while the social aspect is there, it is strangely detached for me because I know that I am surrounded by people with whom I have very little in common. Aside from trimming world peace.

Hit the Jump for the rest!

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I’m probably Prolly’d on this, but it doesn’t seem to have too many views, so I figured it would be worth posting. I get genuinely, and deeply enraged when I see this kind of shit, which is why I have to really meter how much I watch the news. I got arrested the first time when I was 8, and growing up in South Florida meant dealing with a paramilitary police force for all my young adult life. Seeing this kind of stuff takes em straight back to being 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and getting handcuffed, rough-housed, and harassed over shit that I should have been free to do (mostly skateboarding). Fuck those cops, I hope they all sink into deep depression, cease caring about personal hygiene, and contract serious illnesses.

For real though, the solution here is to shit your pants. When it escalates like that, you gotta actually really lose your shit. Vomit, piss, shit, whatever it takes, but at that point the police have collapsed the social mores that bind us. Come unbound in the face of corruption and you change the game. The moment you shit your pants, or fake a #ceasar it changes everything. It’s fuckin crazy eerie that they haul dude off into that tunnel at the end. And the choke slam? May all your sperm lead to chromosomal deficiencies you worthless slime.

I call weed peace now. Whenever I can remember. It makes a pretty great juxtaposition if you ask me, and it keeps me focused on what I’m doing with my life. If you’ve been keeping up with my tales on the bloglin then you probably know I was back out for the annual outdoor cannabis harvest this year. I didn’t want to be at all. I wanted to be in the Bay working an almost normal job, getting my life together, and makin tunes with my homies. But, as fate (or some cruel omnipotent Curb Your Enthusiasm enthusiast) would have it, it wasn’t in the cards for me this year. After spending the last year hustlin hard to barely scrape by, and live in an art studio with no bathroom, or kitchen, I was ecstatic when I landed a decent-paying job as a consultant and delivery driver for Northstone Organics. I thought to myself, “See Zach, you make your way in this world eating shit, but then things work out. Now you can get yourself a proper home.” And that is exactly what I set about doing.

I packed up all my shit into a storage unit, moved out of the studio, and started looking for a place while I stayed with friends. About 2 weeks into my home search the DEA raided Northstone, and I went from employed and finding a home, right back to unemployed, broke, and homeless. There was only one thing I could think to do: Trim World Peace. It’s not glamorous work, you gotta invest money to do it right, and the payout is totally unpredictable. And, unfortunately this was a bad year for the outdoor cannabis crop, but I wouldn’t know that for another 6 weeks yet. So, on pretty much a moment’s notice I packed up 2 duffels with all my camping gear, all my trimming gear, documentary equipment, and some clothes, and I got on a Greyhound.

It was a huge bummer for me. On one hand I was just plain bummed about my life. The degree to which money, and firm ground to stand on evade me can be discouraging to say the least. And this was just the latest in an ongoing series of major setbacks that have come to characterize my time in California. It doesn’t feel good to dedicate your life to actions and ideals, and have those actions ideals lead you astray. I mean, I’ve definitely been on my path the whole time, and it’s obvious in retrospect. But as all the shit goes down, I just wind up feeling like some fucking bum who is dedicating his life to some childish pursuit with no real import to anyone who takes life seriously.

Then on top of that I had to drop everything I was involved in to go camp on a mountain for 5 or 6 weeks. And if that wasn’t enough I had booked a ticket to fly to New York for Halloween. Halloween is my favorite time in New York because everyone cuts loose. I haven’t been back to New York since I left in the Summer of 2010. I miss a lot of my friends, and to top it all off, I couldn’t get any kind of refund on the ticket. Cool. Geez, looking back on it like this makes it seem pretty shitty—which it was—but I didn’t realize I guess. I was just trying to stay positive, and knowing that I’d be seeing friends in Humboldt was enough to not bother with gettin bummed. I aint no sissy.

Hit the jump for more!

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I’m on the mountain. I came down for a day to tie up some last loose ends and I may not have internet for the next month save a few trips. But I tried to make it fruitful. I wrote a bunch of reviews for the Bloglin, I made that video, and I did a bunch of other stuff such as laundry that’s not worth mentioning. I’m posting it in Standard Deviance for obvious reasons. The other one which is my raps over the “N***as in Paris” beat is perhaps less obvious. The title though, if you’ve paid attention to the column over the last year, should bare some significance.

Arcata is basically the mecca of the Emerald Triangle. It’s where people congregate, and drifters drift. At this time of year there are tons of trimmers in Arcata. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s been like that for a long time. Children have grown up there and turned out alright. In fact they seem more level-headed than a lot of other Americans I’ve known. It’s all just puns in the end.

Cannabis is heating the fuck up right now. And, from what homies back East, and down South have been telling me, there is not a lot of news coverage exposing what Obama’s “non-interfering” federal government has been up to (please fill me in in the comments if you have any links or leads on existing stories). Over the course of roughly 2 weeks a group of meddling individuals in a number of government branches have managed to launch a coordinated effort to disrupt California’s medical cannabis industry, and the supply chain of safe and affordable medicine for those with a very real medical need.

The motives are still unclear, but two things are certain: this is a reminder/wake up call of how real this business is, and Obama has lost the support of California’s cannabis industry and has instead garnered its disdain. For those of us abiding by the state’s laws, creating jobs, paying taxes, strengthening communities, and opting out of a corrupt system of labor this rash of recent federal actions is a slap in the face. Remember Obama’s claim that his administration wouldn’t interfere? Well, here’s a summary of a few of the recent events that have taken place under his administration, and which have not garnered even a peep from Barack Obama the nation’s first black president, and an admitted cannabis smoker:

IRS says cannabis businesses can’t deduct business expenses because they are illegal businesses. Thus people owe back-taxes, and they’re claiming that Harborside owes $2 million.

ATF says cannabis patients can’t buy new firearms and have to hand over existing firearms because cannabis patients are addicts.

DEA has started raiding a number of the most legitimate, law abiding, tax-paying, regulation-conforming dispensaries (including my main employer). Word in the industry is that it’s likely smash and grab cash-thieving.

California DAs are grasping for straws and threatening bystanders. Northern California DA Melinda Haag is going after land owners who rent to dispensaries, and sent letters threatening to seize properties if landlords don’t evict cannabis tenants.

Federal officials claim that they are “cleaning up” but this is a total farse. In their 30 year war on drugs the black market has grown. In the 15 years of California’s medical cannabis program we have succeeded in creating the only solution to the black market; a legal market that is safe; a legal market that provides jobs; a legal market that doesn’t foster the growth of illicit drug cartels; a legal market that supports the values of those who founded this nation in opposition to a tyrannical and exploitative ruling class.

My main employer of late was one of those shut down in recent DEA raids. The federal government took my job away. But they’re still calling for me to pay my credit card bills, and pay my student loans. I’m on the streets if it wasn’t for the grace of friends. What am I supposed to do? I know what I feel like doing, but I’d never be foolish enough to document it anywhere. I don’t know how you’re feeling but I hope it involves outrage. The folks out here in California fighting for their rights are fighting for the rights of everyone in this nation.

Don’t get mad, don’t get even, don’t get fed up. Start strategizing, and start organizing, and wait for the call. I refuse to abide this, and I intend to do something. In fact, I’ve already begun. Head over to HR2306 and read up, because that bill is going to be a major part of organizing people across the country. Legit though, this is some real life Star Wars type of shit. There is an evil oppressor at work, and there is a group of rebels who have been maintaining a resistance for decades. This is real as fuck, this is about freedom, this is life or death, this really is the future of our people. I know you can’t see it from the outside, but the cannabis/hemp industry is going to play a large role in the re-casting of our nation. It’s putting power and money back into the hands of the working class, and it’s putting sustenance back into communities. If you ever bought or sold weed then you are part of the resistance. Get ready to rise the fuck up.

You ever smoked crack? I haven’t. I freebased once by accident. In my freshman year of college a friend and I were smoking joints of weed laced with coke. We probably had some stupid name for them too, but anyways, one night we were out of rolling papers, and I had the bright idea to use a bowl. Now, in addition to that bright idea we also decided to just pour the coke directly on top of the weed. Being inexperienced drug users my friend and I didn’t realize that the coke was gonna burn up way faster. Thankfully it wasn’t too much cocaine, but it was enough to get me pretty wired. Weed on the other hand, doesn’t get me wired, so I’m not sure why it’s taken me so long to disassociate freebasing from dabbing.

Dabbing, if you’re unfamiliar, is just a shorthand colloquialism for smoking hash oil. The whole freebasing association is because of how you smoke it: with indirect heat. The first time i saw hash oil smoked it was out of a glass pipe, heated witha glass wand, and it looked like dudes were freebasing out of a lightbulb. You can’t heat the hash oil itself with a flame, the hash oil has to come into contact with something hot, at which point it completely vaporizes leaving behind no ash and no trace. The smoke is incredibly smooth, and the Carbon Dioxide extracted oil I smoked this past weekend tasted a lot like a crayon.

Hash oil comes in a variety of resinous states from highly viscous liquid, to putty and wax-like compounds. The final state of the matter depends on preparation methods. Like hash, hash oil is created through an artisanal process that removes plant matter and other inactive compounds, or perhaps even active but unwanted compounds. The process is unique to the individual, and there are different methods and gases that can be used, all of which have different affects on the final outcome. But in all cases the end product is a highly refined substance with very high potency, and incredibly smooth vapors to inhale. It’s quickly becoming the method of choice for industry folks when it comes to medicating. And if that’s the case, then it’s only a matter fo time before it moves to the public.

***Late Bonus***

I just got this photo of some rather professionally rendered hash oil via a Facebook group.

So, funny story about the weed in that picture up above. It’s from 1973, and the picture is out of a High Times magazine. And the weed in the picture is currently at Steep Hill Laboratory in Oakland, California. In my strangely enigmatic travels I came across the gentleman whose hand is in this picture, and he took a liking to me. It turns out he was a distributor/rep for one of the earliest publishing companies handling cannabis cultivation.

He was responsible for the delivery of thousands of copies of, as he told me, “The book that taught everyone how to grow sinsemilla. It was a strategy for growers to get more for what they were growing because if there was less seeds, it meant it was more flowers to the weight. But, I feel like there is something very different about weed that’s been able to go through the full life cycle. I don’t know that un-seeded weed is necessarily better.”

Toby (that’s not his real name because I’m not gonna blow up dude’s spot and use his real name) is an older guy, in his late fifties or early sixties. He’s about 5’10″ with a mustache, and glasses. He paints, and drives an old school Volvo wagon. He’s a cool laid back guy. He would fit right into a poster of iconic middle-aged California dudes. If it were a calendar of said fellows he’d probably be June, or September. Anyways, I certainly trust him, and he has no reason to lie to me. So, when he told me that he had cannabis samples from 1973 I immediately thought of Steep Hill. And when I told Steep Hill they took interest immediately. “We’d love to be able to run some tests on something like that.” When I proposed the idea to Toby he was into it.

I didn’t see Toby around for a few months after that and when I finally did catch him again he told that he’d be moving. I was bummed that I wouldn’t be running into him anymore, as we’d had some enjoyable conversations in the past. But, he made sure to get me some of his untouched stash from long ago. When he handed it over he explained that the stuff he was giving me had also appeared in a photo in one of the books he had distributed. He then gave me a copy of the book, and pointed out the page where it appeared. There in 70′s dot matrix color was the same flower almost 40 years ago. He then handed me a copy of High Times magazine and pointed out another more-accurately colored version of the image.

When I took the sample to the lab we joked that if you smoked it you wouldn’t get high, you would just enter into some kind of wormhole through time and have a crazy weed sensei shaman experience. They ran it through a brand new testing technology that I’m not allowed to talk about with any degree of specificity (I signed a non-disclosure agreement to be able to see this thing), but it’s gonna have a serious affect on how testing takes place. Which brings me to what is perhaps the most exciting part of this post: the giveaway.

Of course the whole reason for taking this ancient sample to Steep Hill was to try and get an idea of what cannabis was like at an earlier stage in its genetic development. That development has, of course, been thoroughly affected by the last 40 years of human-helmed breeding. What are the more ancient genetic lines like? And more specifically what does the cannabinoid profile look like? We want you to guess. You don’t have to be exact, and you don’t really have to know shit about anything. With a little bit of basic research I’m sure you can find some accurate estimates, but it’s not gonna be that easy. We need you to guess the THC percentage down to the second decimal. So, for example that would be: “9.99″. Whoever gets the closest–whether you’re over or under–will win a High Times Cannabis Cup 2011 T-Shirt, Tote Bag, and an Incredibowl, the award-winning pipe that took Best Product at this year’s Cannabis Cup.

Send your guesses to: weedzach{ at }g__maildotcom. We’ll announce the winner next week. Contest is over stoners.

Well alright then! No need for much of an intro. Just so you know, these videos were done entirely off the cuff. We had no plan. We just shot a bunch of stuff, and now I’m going back through and editing it. I mean, look at the fucking piece of cloth I have rubberbanded (should that word be hyphenated?) over the mics on my Zoom recorder. If I had planned any of this I would have got a proper-lookin foam windscreen on there as my first order of business.

When I sent the last video to my pappy he said that it didn’t give him any idea of the High Times Cannabis Cup at all. Yeah, you’re right dad. I should clarify that wasn’t the point of these videos. The point was just to give people some tangible ideas about who is involved in these things. I’m just trying to put some faces names and stories to this whole weed thang, nahmsayin?

I guess there’s not much to say. The video does plenty of talking. There will be at least one more of these videos, and maybe more. Man, I can’t stop eating Trader Joe’s cinnamon almonds. Anyways, the High Times Medical Cannibus Cup here in San Fran was pretty agreeable. There were about 60 booths, which included an outdoor area where smoking — but not photography — was permitted.

There was a really good mix of people, it was a lot like a sporting event. I met some new folks, and saw some familiar folks. You can see the winners from the cup here. And check out my column on Vice to read more. And last but not least enjoy the video/pictures which are courtesy of Dreaded Photo. There are no accurate captions for these photos, so it’ll just be a game of lookin ass stoner when it comes to the folks who won. Hit the break for some pictures from the Cup.

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