A Dusting of Early Snow

Frequent Photo

A burly former martial arts instructor, The Piano Man, as he prefers to be known, is certainly capable of lethal violence if he allowed himself to lose his temper.   Last year he nearly did.  A friend of a friend convinced him to front 2 ½ pounds.

“He came back with 2.  He had only sold a half.” The mover returned two pounds but The Piano Man realized that only one was his.  The other must have belonged to one of the other growers who fronted the mover pounds.

“It was all loose and shakey, ‘cause they’d been going through it,” The Piano man claimed and he said the one pound was a different strain than the stuff he grew.  To make matters worse, both of the returned pounds were 7 grams shy apiece. He tried to get the mover to exchange the pound that didn’t belong to him and to replace the missing grams.  “It turned into an ordeal…I tried to solve it in a peaceful manner—find a civilized way to handle…”  he interrupts himself with an explanation, “We had mutual friends.”

Soon it became apparent that he wasn’t going to get the resolution he wanted peacefully.  “It was Christmas Eve.  It f’d up my Christmas…I was getting’ upset and wanted to hurt someone…”  He paused and the visions passing through his head weren’t of sugarplums.  But then he added, “The whole point of [pot] is to be more peaceful and one with nature.  If you want to be more violent—deal coke.”  In the end, The Piano Man kept both short pounds, his and the other.  “No one liked it ‘cause it looked so bad,” he said of the orphan pound.  It went for $2400 instead of the $3400 he had been expecting. And, it took him 3 months to offload it.  “I lost a grand….plus 3 months.  I had to send it out 3 times.” He sighs over the extra danger and stress that put him in.

When asked if he would have liked to go to the police, he said, “I like to settle stuff myself.  [Going to the police} is a whole different drawn out scenario.”  He hesitated then added reflectively, “It would be nice to think I could deal with them again.”  But after a moment he tells a story about a friend.  “He was doing his first thing in his garage—3 days from harvest…He lived across town.  [When he came over, he discovered someone] broke his garage door down.”  Everything had been cut and was gone.  Because the marijuana was medical and he had a doctor’s recommendation, the grower went to the police.  “They inspected it and told him…’The only thing we can do is fingerprint [the room].  [Then] we’ll have to interview anyone who ever was in there.”  Not surprisingly, the grower opted to go no further.  The Piano Man seemed to feel this story explained his reality sufficiently—when you grow illegally (even if you have a quasi legal status), the police are a luxury you can’t afford. Some people argue that the grower, by living outside of society’s rules forfeits the right to the protection of society.

Yet, there are compelling reasons to create a venue where growers can get help from the police.  Laws exist to create safety for society. Law enforcement officials act as guards— preventing crime (and retribution for crime) from leading to Hatfields versus McCoys scenarios.  Legal protection for the grower could lead to a safer society for us all.

I wrote about this subject last Janurary and  address this subject more fully in another article I wrote for Humboldt Grow (the site hasn’t yet been updated) that just came out.  Feel free to go out and buy large stacks of the magazine ;>