THE QUIET BLOSSOM A Story about the Modern Wild West, the American Dream, and Marijuana by Michael A T Clark The Quiet Blossom copyright © Michael A T Clark, 2018 All rights reserved Publisher's Note: Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations or sample images embedded in critical articles or reviews. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of any part of this book via the Internet, or via any other means, without the permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated. For permission, address your inquiry to: [email protected] This is a work of creative nonfiction. The events are portrayed to the best of the author's memory. While the events in this book are true, some names and identifying details have been changed to protect the privacy of the people involved. Ebook ISBN: 978-1-945587-24-5 Clark, Michael A T The Quiet Blossom 1. Marijuana; 2. Cannabis; 3. Green Rush; 4. Marijuana trimming culture; 5 Anthropology; 6. Social Movements; 7. American Sub-cultures; 8. Ethnography; 9. Memoir. I. TITLE Original cover artwork: Michael A T Clark Book editing, design & project production: Carla Perry, Dancing Moon Press Cover design & cover production: Sarah Gayle, Sarah Gayle Art Manufactured in the United States of America P.O. Box 832, Newport, OR 97365 541-574-7708 www.dancingmoonpress.com [email protected] FIRST EDITION To The Sky Thank you Glenn Clark, Myles Stiffler, Cristin Waite, Tomas Zedinek, Paula Verez, Rafaela Alves, Chris Bisset, Alison Clement, Cole Robinson, Edward van Aelstyn, Mafalda Fernandez, Mike Clark, Wren Clark, Carla Perry Contents Book One: A Living Fantasy (Fall 2008) Part 1 .............................................................................................................. 1 Part 2 ............................................................................................................ 13 Part 3 ............................................................................................................ 29 Part 4 ............................................................................................................ 42 Book Two: The Nascent Culture (Fall 2009) Part 1 ............................................................................................................ 51 Part 2 ............................................................................................................ 72 Part 3 .......................................................................................................... 110 Book Three: Runaway Transitions (Fall & Winter 2010/Spring2011) Part 1 .......................................................................................................... 148 Part 2 .......................................................................................................... 184 Part 3 .......................................................................................................... 228 Part 4 .......................................................................................................... 254 Book Four: The Nature of Gardens (Fall 2011/Fall 2012/Spring 2013) Part 1 .......................................................................................................... 264 Part 2 .......................................................................................................... 295 Epilogue (Fall 2017) ................................................................................. 303 Book One: A Living Fantasy (Fall 2008) Part 1 1 The cars passed in a blur, heedless of our hopeful thumbs. But we didn't care; our optimism was endless. It would keep our thumbs held high all that day and into the next if need be. We were standing by the road waiting for a vessel, one that would carry us towards our dream, a dream into which we were already wading and into which we were prepared to dive and let the currents carry us to a new existence. All we had to do was let go and go. We were costumed in our worst garments and bearing a few artifacts that mostly served to show how ill-prepared we were: almost no money, too few clothes, threadbare jackets, a flashlight low on batteries, and giant smiles that made up for it all. Where we were going, there was no need for concern; all one needed was confidence and intention. That was our take on it at least. "Someone stopped!" Adrienne called to me. 2 MICHAEL A T CLARK I had spaced out and was staring at the sheep across the road, my thumb balanced in the air. I turned toward the voice of my companion. Some old tin box of a sedan was on the shoulder of the road with its blinker on. I shook vague thoughts from my head, hoisted my pack, and ran after Adrienne who was already conversing at the passenger-side window. "He's going as far as the coast, Ben," she said as I trotted up. "Works for me!" I replied, putting on a grin. I felt the excitement of the unknown lapping at my feet as I placed them on the floorboard of the car. A first ride is like starting a new book— the first chapter in an adventure that starts the moment you leave the familiar behind. The driver pulled onto the road and the sheep fields and trees outside the window began to slip into the past. I turned my face to the road and looked ahead towards the hills and bends that obscured my view of what was to come. I didn't know it then, but I was about to join a social movement, a small but significant cultural revolution that was, and still is, shaping the minds and ideals of American society. A movement that started within a small, isolated community and has since rippled out to leave its mark on my generation and the generations to come. I was so caught up in my short-term goals during that brief term, so caught up in self-confidence and manifesting my dreams, that I failed to see the greater significance until much later. At the time, culture, a changing society, and other significant undercurrents were far from my thoughts. What I was looking for, dressed in my worst clothing and thumbing cars, was money. After names and thank-yous, and the first awkward pause, our driver asked, "What were you kids doing in Eugene?" THE QUIET BLOSSOM 3 Adrienne was quick and cheerful with her reply. "Oh, we live there." He nodded, "Mm-hmm, and why did you say you were going to California?" I exchanged looks with my partner. The driver wasn't threatening, that was for sure, resting his elbows on his belly and rubbing his grey stubbled chin against his shoulder periodically as he plodded around the curves comfortably below the speed limit. "Just going to visit some friends!" Adrienne told him with a winning smile. The man nodded and we puttered through Veneta and up into the grey-green gloom of the coast range. "And you? What were you up to in Eugene?" I finally asked, trying for a polite tone rather than a curious one. Our driver gave me a wry look in the rearview mirror then allowed an apparently characteristic pause that seemed part of his sentence structure. "… Oh, I had to deliver some weed to a friend. Just a day trip." I looked at Adrienne, who looked at me. The trumpets of victory were sounding. She fixed me with her gaze of communication, which we both felt could express everything necessary between us, and then tried for her own relaxed pause before destroying it with an over-eager voice and blurting our true intentions to the stranger. "Well… actually, we are going to California to work on a pot farm!" The driver nodded calmly. "Yeap, that's what I figured." Maybe in later days I would have been bothered by his certainty and judgment of our appearance, and his assumption that 4 MICHAEL A T CLARK we weren't letting on the truth, but in my naivety, it just seemed too remarkable to inspire annoyance. I laughed with pleasure at the clear awe of the situation, "That's kind of crazy, that our first ride is in the same line of business." He lifted his chin in the suggestion of an impressed chuckle. "I guess so," he said, leaving unspoken the comment, Well, it's not exactly rare to find an Oregonian who has some relationship or other with marijuana. "Anyway, whereabouts is the farm you kids are headed to?" Another look passed between the two of us. "Well, we don't actually have anything lined up. We just heard there was a lot of work in Northern California and that it was easy to find if you were in the area." Our driver looked amused. "Well, I'm sure you'll find something." He labored at getting to something in his pocket and eventually produced a medicine bottle. He unscrewed the cap and pulled out a dense little bud, a bit brown and brittle, but offering up the familiar funk of weed. "Here ya go, a little something of mine for good luck!" And that was that. After parting with our driver, everything seemed so aligned with our goals that by the time Angelo picked us up in front of the state penitentiary outside Crescent City, we were pretty certain we were on the path of our destiny. 2 In reality, we knew almost nothing about working on marijuana farms in California. What Adrienne had admitted to our driver was all we had to admit. Eugene, Oregon,