I wake up before dawn, my body sore from the prior day’s labor. I shrug off the sleep as I head to the kitchen and brew up a strong batch of Guatemalan coffee. I suck down a protein shake to help my body prepare for the day and pack a large mountain meal and a gallon of water. I throw on a pair of Carhartt’s and a hoodie, slip on my boots, and strap on my work knife. I kiss my sleeping family goodbye, gather my things, and head for the door.

As I leave the house I sigh while contemplating how little privacy we have in town, neighbors on all sides of our modest home. Street and porch lights diminish the brilliance of the stars and moon, while the occasional automobile disrupts the morning’s silence. I hop in the truck and head south in the darkness, allowing the caffeine and the radio to stoke my optimism and nurse me back to life.

I eventually take a left and start climbing up the hill, leaving the sparse early morning traffic behind. As I motor toward the ridge, I feel a sense of meaning, purpose, and peace. As I weave through the forest, the first signs of light begin to penetrate the dense canopy of evergreens. As I climb higher, wildlife becomes more abundant. Squirrels, deer, and turkey can be seen from the road and I feel at home. As the sun begins to rise the ridgetop glows pink, red, and orange, offering a dazzling display of beauty and complexity. Far below the pillowy marine layer hugs the lowlands, enveloping everything in its life-giving grasp.

I arrive at the gate and am met with a profound silence, interrupted only by the occasional scurrying of a ground squirrel or mountain quail. The clean, crisp mountain air fills my lungs and smells of nature, that inland scent I remember from river trips to Willow Creek as a kid. I wind a bit further uphill and arrive at the farm, the plants glistening in the morning dew. I take a moment to give thanks for another day and for the opportunity to do what I love. Surrounded, not by buildings and the clutter of the city, but by a sprawling expanse of natural beauty. My problems fade away and I feel centered, connected to the very earth from which we were fashioned.

Working in the hills of Humboldt is a magical experience. For me, it’s about loving and appreciating the cannabis plant and about honoring the way it centers me and connects me to the higher purpose of saving and improving lives. Hill Life is about glorifying the plant and about being continually thankful to live in this region and participate in this industry. Never before have I been so passionate about work, nor clearer about my purpose and my mission.

While demanding and rigorous, farming cannabis is immensely rewarding. Through loving the plant and the farming process intimately, I find a level of professional satisfaction that I hadn’t experienced in the past. Working in the elements, embraced by the majestic beauty of the county’s mountainous regions, is simply spectacular. Being surrounded by deer, wild turkey, jackrabbits, foxes, bobcats, bears, and other wildlife is more than scenic, it’s spiritual.

Growing the world’s most beautiful plant in an effort to save and improve lives gives me a meaning and a purpose that far surpass helping people invest their money. The mountain roads, the blazing moon, the shining stars, and the lush hues of different cannabis varietals all speak to me and provide me freedom, motivation, and a level of peace and connectedness that nothing else has.

There are people in my life who fail to understand why I would transition from a comfortable profession in business to becoming a pot farmer. They fail to understand how I could feel such a spiritual connection to our natural world and the creatures that call it home. They fail to understand why I would sacrifice myself physically to toil in the dirt and the hot sun, spending many nights away from the family to care for a plant. They fail to see the humility and dignity that many farmers possess. Most of all, they fail to see that I am responding to a higher calling, one that I believe was laid down for my life long ago.

From the moment I first touched a pot plant at the age of 17, I knew with utmost certainty that I wanted to be a grower. I was so fascinated with that little plant I grew from a bag seed I would spend time with it every single day. It was in a couple gallon container and I would bring it into my bedroom each night, so it would be safe. I remember rubbing its emerald green leaves as they felt so soft and velvety. I fed it a seaweed-based fertilizer I found among mom’s garden supplies and it was luscious. The plant only ended up about 3’ tall as I had no clue as to what I was doing, but it was frosty, with lime green buds and bright orange hairs. It tasted delicious with that old-school pine flavor and was really stoney. Life had other plans for a time and it took me another 14 years before I became a professional grower…as I mentioned a path laid down long ago.

For me, Hill Life is about getting out of my own head and about connecting to something larger than myself. It’s about honoring my surroundings and dancing daily with a plant that means so much to me and others. It’s about giving a mountain wave on the AP or above Horse Linto. It’s about knowing that if a trailer blows a tire or if I have vehicle problems on a mountain road, another grower will come to my aid. It’s about community, commitment, love, and a continual process of personal growth. Hill Life is the best life.

I feel blessed to have found a home in this industry and sincerely hope to spend the remainder of my professional years here. As we look at the burgeoning cannabis industry today, Hill Life is in real jeopardy. Many family farms are struggling amid rising production costs, falling prices, and cut-throat competition. A way of life, where farmers work in harmony with the land and love both their craft and their natural surroundings is slipping away.

We need your help. Consumers can advocate for family farms and demand their products at dispensaries. While family farms won’t compete on a large scale or in the bulk flower market, we possess love and a knowledge base that corporate operators will never know. As we support each other and continue to produce some of the world’s best cannabis, we will maintain our foothold in the industry and continue to honor the sacrifices of those who came before us.

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Jesse Duncan is a lifelong Humboldt County resident, a father of six, a retired financial advisor, and a full-time commercial cannabis grower. He is also the creator of NorCal Financial and Cannabis Consulting, a no-cost platform that helps small farmers improve their cultivation, business, and financial skills. Please check out his blog at, his Instagram at jesse_duncann, and connect with him on Linkedin.