Legacy

Legacy

As a young child, I remember visiting a marijuana research station in Mississippi as my dad worked on his Ph.D. in Horticulture, at Mississippi State University. The sweet smell was enchanting as I peered into garbage cans brimming with green buds. Fear of God, my Father, struck a fatal blow to my curiosity. The instructions from God demanded that I neither touch plants nor "product" anywhere on the station. This was the conservative 1960s.

Today, while reading contemporary articles, journals, magazines, and comment sections concerning legacy Marihuana, I firmly believe I will end the day by screaming and pulling my hair out, including but not limited to: eyebrows, eyelashes, mustache, and (insert your first thought here). Precisely what is "Legacy Marijuana," but old guys & gals who grew long before today's generation puffed their first blunt? We were not even growers back then, certainly not cultivators, and "No-Till" was an actual Agriculture term, not a technique appropriated by growers who had no idea.

Frankly, as I recollect the golden years, we were thieves in the night in the 1970s and 80s, so to speak, growing where the slightest opportunity for observance or capture was made impossible in our estimation. I would not say I like Ticks, snakes, redbugs, poison ivy, spiders, and all the associated pitfalls with growing outdoors. I should mention the apprehension concerning Black Helicopters, SWAT, and every other paranoid delusion we gave Creedence once the growing season was in full measure. There was a self-important struggle to bring "weed," and yes, it mainly was a weed, or "shit," as we called it back then, to our circle of friends or micro-market. I learned to grow from Hippies, yes 1960 radicals, and Vietnam Vets simultaneously. You cannot imagine the lunch conversations, even with no Human Resources Department to guide us. One group taught me how to grow trees and pull the tops, primarily horizontal, to create less opportunity for discovery and amazing bushes. The other group led me to set traps, use coke bottles with rope for watering, and quick-draw our .357 magnum pistols on deer or other creatures invading our grow. You decide who belongs to each group. Nonetheless, I found education early and often-times not well. I loved the plant.

My Father, as previously mentioned, was a Professor of Horticulture; thus, I had ample opportunity to learn the science and fundamental growing techniques behind the art and science of Horticulture. I did not give two shits for poinsettias, geraniums, chrysanthemums, begonias, Hanging Basket petunias, Floriculture, Ornamental Plants, Taxonomy, Turfgrass Management, and all the rest of the classes and laboratory work that defined a classical Horticulture degree. I love greenhouses, growth chambers, geotextiles, chemicals, nutrients, and associated biological sciences. I should mention the discovery of the suppliers, manufacturers, and Subject Matter Experts that set my mind spinning and smoke bellowing from my ears as the gears turned with plans for weed farms. This was not to be.

While "Dear Old Dad" was invited down to the local Police station to help the authorities keep confiscated MJ alive, I grew immense MJ trees on the other side of the river. Having to turn down every opportunity to go to the police station and work with dad on keeping "evidence" alive, I expended every effort and excuse not to show my face at the police station. This black marketeer paid all speeding tickets immediately. I was a grower and becoming increasingly paranoid about the black market growing. Who wants to see their own Father keeping “your,” evidence alive in preparation for a court date? Not me, certainly not my mom.

So, I acquiesced, accepted the traditional career stepping stones, and eventually built a great life while experiencing living in four countries and working or passing within nearly forty. The experiences gained and the surrealism of what my eyes have seen in Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, etc., have provided me with profound gratitude for "Big Ag." My desire to grow MJ never left that corner of my mind, where fantasy, the past, and experience meet and plan for the eventual.

Today, is the day I say "Thank You," to those legacy growers and freedom fighters for the legalization and acceptance of medical use MJ and the eventual universal acceptance of adult recreational use MJ. I started realizing the potential in 2018 after returning from a scouting trip in western Africa and engaging in a start-up for farming hemp in Oregon. The Love of the plant was still there, and over the last four years of numerous grows, shows, and meetings, the eventual is now. Hemp/MJ, is a lifesaver thrown to the Agriculture and Horticulture industries, their suppliers, Universities, and Subject Matter Experts in the form of a palmate leaf, universally recognized miracle bud, not yet maturing into its potential. You deserve the mansions, sports cars, wealth, and fame for your perseverance and the good fight you continue, your legacy. Just do not forget the moms and the Pops. Looking forward to seeing what tomorrow brings to the weed community.

This Weeks High Tune: “Spanish Moon” by Little Feat.

Advice: Go hard on the bass.

J.C. Nelson