I took a trip up north one day,
Where there's sky that likes its gray
Clouds that feed the water table.
I left my desktop, Web and cable--
Headed north, no expectations
Other than keep up relations.
"I’d like to see your patch," I said.
"You’re kidding, Unc," and shook his head.
"I'm serious, I've been working out."
He laughed out loud and thought about
His uncle dropped dead from the climb
To see where nephew made his dime.
"Can’t wear clothes you got, O.K.?
Try these on," passed boots my way.
I tried them on, enough but snug.
Long-sleeves, tough pants. Water jug
And lunch we carried on our back,
"Unc, I'm cutting you some slack--
"I chose a patch just for your sake.
One of the easiest climbs to make--
About as easy as it gets."
And I pulled out my cigarettes.
How hard a climb could this hike be?
I was just about to see.
Paved road: fifteen miles then dirt.
He hid the pickup, "Time to hurt,"
And laughed as we pulled bikes down from
The pickup bed. I'd ridden some.
"We'll go five miles down that path,"
My heart gets busy with the math.
Can't say I enjoyed those five
Miles the pickup couldn't drive--
Blackberry brambles over-head,
You duck, they grab your wrists instead.
We hid the bikes and walked some more--
He'd shushed me quiet long before.
No trail there, where we turned in.
To me, somewhere no one had been.
From there, straight up, he said, "Don't break
Ferns--or they'll see paths we take."
Up through brush and poison oak,
My heart complains, "Me fit? A joke."
No path up, I swear, no way.
He knew the way--don't have to say
He'd gone this way a dozen times--
Pounds were added to the climbs.
All he carried now was me.
I was dying but got to see
First deer wire around the patch.
Then terraces, dug out from scratch.
Around them chicken wire for
The rats and rabbits--constant war.
"Here, Unc, I want you to put
This on the wire, it's Tanglefoot."
Tanglefoot. And I've been had.
A sticky grease and smelling bad.
Smeared on wire, rats won't cross--
One rat less against crop-loss.
There's also CAMP and creeps out there
Besides mosquitoes in the air.
Mosquitoes kept off with the Deet--
Rip-offs, too, you have to beat.
Both blood suckers, that's for sure,
No trail to patches only cure.
I worked to finish one detail:
Tanglefoot--comes in a pail.
I deserved it. Once I told
My nephew, pot cost more than gold,
And growing it can't be that hard.
Yeah, growing dope in your back yard
And never deal with the climb--
And don't forget the jail time.
While he worked on tougher chores,
I gooped the wire on all fours.
Hoses led up to a spring.
Timed drip-feeds led to each ring.
Five inside each terraced pit--
Rings hold all the starts that fit.
Half-dozen terraced pits'll match
Your average marijuana patch.
"Next month I sex and pull the males--
Miss one and the whole patch fails."
Every grower has their way,
And every way comes out O.K.
There's a way to make plants flash
Early but it takes some cash
To buy the female starts from those
Who can fool plants to expose
Their private parts. The gardener gods
Can get the males to drop their pods,
Like testicles, at one foot tall
Without waiting for the fall
When the sun starts cutting back.
They cover up starts with a sack
To shorten days, and plants think that
It must be time for getting at
Getting sex, males are pulled,
And females, for a good price, sold.
My nephew, with his own starts, found
They thrived early in the ground.
Mr. Natural, was his name,
Natural's better was his claim.
(Not to mention costs were lower,
And he was just a humble grower.)
I gooped ten rings and did it well,
But I was beat, the kid could tell.
"Unc, break time, I'll get the rest.
You did good--Unc, you're the best."
"Thank you, kid, but all the same,
We gotta get back from where we came."
"Downhill, Unc, a piece of cake."
"So you say, I'd have to make
I different call, but I'll get down,
I hear a beer call me from town."
We washed our hands in alcohol.
Way down, careful not to fall.
Cleaned up, changed when we got back.
I probably should have hit the sack,
But went to town, dropped in at Nick's
And watched the sexual politics
Go down with locals, tourists too.
We sat back and had a few.
Thinking--three months down the road
My nephew hauls a different load.
Down, not up, with early-grows,
At night with light a headlamp throws.
Bad enough by day go through it.
You ask me, I couldn't do it.
Guerrilla farmer, works unseen,
Staying out of sight, routine.
Might think "dumb" is what I did--
Kick in the head with an outlaw kid.
But for my body, had a blast--
The sky was kindly overcast;
I didn't have a heart attack;
And have to smile looking back--
He's out there, up against the law.
His crazy uncle stands in awe.
Four months later's when he called--
The patch he showed me long since done.
Can't say I was too enthralled--
Football season had begun.
"Unc, I need your help", he said,
He was fucking with my head--
This old man's as helpful as
The currents off of Alcatraz.
"Quit your smoking, swim some laps,
Need your help to fill some gaps."
He knew he had me, knowing I
Couldn't let a trip go by.
"Get healthy, Unc, you're coming up."
Old dog lectured by a pup.
Autumn, when the grapes are sweet
And labor is no longer cheap,
Northern Californians treat
Themselves to what the growers reap.
It's cold hard cash to buy the best
Of buds or buy the wines you test.
Vintners hire brown skin folk--
That's when they can find them.
Vintners wages, inside joke,
When no one needs remind them
Sinsemilla pays much more
Than anything they've paid before.
Autumn, when the buds come in,
You make 20 bucks an hour.
Offered 20 makes you grin--
October rain's not going to sour
Profits, making big buds mold--
Grapes can shrivel, truth be told.
I arrived, my nephew's stoked,
First off asked if I still smoked.
Busted. He said, "Give me one."
I can't get past my sister's son.
Tomorrow we planned to just kick back,
We got fed and hit the sack.
Got up early that next day,
The kid had one small debt to pay.
Drove by so to pay it off--
You won't believe it, maybe scoff:
The grower almost begged us to
Work that day to get him through.
Buds were ready to be hung,
His offer too good to refuse--
And I was feeling mighty young,
Money, frankly, I could use.
The kid said nope, we turned to go,
He said "bonus", I said, whoa.
We spent the day by stripping leaf
From buds and branches--future grief
Is caused by leaves if they're left on,
Leave them on, sweet taste is gone.
Leaf is like the chaff of wheat,
Keeping bud from tasting sweet.
Our job that day was just prelim.
This wouldn't be the final trim.
Near dry, scissors shape the bud
Free of leaf--the buds are stud--
Smoke smooth and cool as drilling mud,
The high as clear as dragon's blood.
You should have seen the finger hash
We had for cleaning up the stash
Of branches piled on the ground--
Trimmed, they're lined up in a mound
Then taken, hung up in a shed,
Upside-down to dry, they're spread
Across the wires wall to wall.
Strains make their first curtain call
On a wire, labeled such--
None of the hanging branches touch.
The kid was telling stories,
As he always likes to do,
Of present foibles, future glories.
Two others there were trimming too--
Told them I was on vacation,
Conversation slightly slowed;
Couple from a hippie nation
On a ridge miles down the road.
As he was busy telling tales,
A joint was being passed around--
A fleet of paranoia sails
Through my mind--without a sound.
The couple were across the pile
From my nephew and from me.
One was shifty, I saw guile,
It also seemed to me that she
Held bad intentions watching him--
It seemed she circled, I saw shark.
Was she working for the trim?
This 60s hippie saw a narc.
The woman freaked me more when she
Said, she just moved to this place;
Just left the service, now she's free,
Said with a smile on her face--
Met her partner months ago,
Now she's going with the flow.
I was in a place somewhere
Hippies moved to, way back when;
The growers? Sons and daughters there--
Their folks loved pot and peace and Zen.
Everyone there knew everyone.
I tried, but paranoia won.
I couldn't get her out of my mind--
The woman who watched, and trimmed the kind.
Later, over beers at Nick's,
Admitted my mind's playing tricks.
My nephew laughed, "Don't worry Unc,
Today you smoked Tibetan Skunk
And it has got to be the best,
You stand on top of Everest.
It's local to the neighborhood--
Your paranoia's understood.
"But look, I know you've got it wrong,
Why would Feds be coming here?
Tibetan Skunk has rung your gong,
Don't think your mind's working clear.
The Feds have bigger fish to fry--
No time for us, the little guy.
"The gangster growers here, you see,
Grow large and let their gardeners fall.
The mom and pop philosophy--
Is keep it small to keep it all.
When CAMP spots big ones, hits the ground,
The Mexicans are ones who're found.
"Big difference between the patch,
And humongous fields of pot--
Who you think Feds want to catch?
Who're the easier ones to spot?
Feds have only so much money,
Relax, tomorrow you'll think it's funny."
Maybe after my third beer
Tibetan Skunk stopped ringing bells.
But for the beer, my head was clear,
No longer seeing jail cells.
The kid suggested I'm naive,
"Get real before you just believe.
Tomorrow you'll see some chances taken,
Maybe close calls--can't get shaken--
Close calls come from lousy luck,
Loose lips, set-up sitting duck."
Next day we both got up late,
Went and helped to trim some buds--
Last stage bound to irritate
Nose and throat with crystal Scuds--
Crystals launched when buds are dry--
Trimming those buds, crystals fly.
Some trimmers you'll see wear a mask.
No stage safe-and-easy task.
My nephew's on a 4-man team
A driver and 3 on the ground.
And fulfilling an old man's dream--
I'd be driving them around.
This wasn't to the patch I'd seen,
This one's down a steep ravine
Belonging to another who
My nephew helps to pull it through.
I knew his crew when they were kids,
Thirty years ago.
Now it's pounds instead of lids--
It only goes to show
Hard work farming public land
And staying small go hand in hand.
My nephew packed a camel back--
They have a water bladder.
He also needed his frame pack...
The load for that is ten times sadder--
All the pot that one could carry
Through the woods and to a truck.
All I had to do was ferry
Them and drop them off to duck
Out of sight, get off the road,
Then meet them when they had a load.
He packed his headlamp, some triple A's,
Gorilla tape and pruning shears;
Packed food and water, Milky Ways,
Rope, TP and couple of beers.
Partners pack a different list--
Covering what my nephew missed.
Packed his cell--case I was late
To let him know, not yet, just wait
'Til I reach the pick-up spot--
Timing's crucial, to not get caught.
"You're going to keep your cell phone on?"
"Of course", he said, "in case that you
Have to tell me something's wrong.
Text message me, is what you do--
Don't need bars to get across--
Text doesn't suffer signal loss.
Say you can't be there by 8--
We'll know that you are running late."
"What if it rings there in the woods?
Someone might hear and find it strange
And call the cops--you're holding goods."
Kid said, "We're past hearing range,
Only near the rendezvous
You'll hear the ring. But tell me who
Would think much of a barking dog?
My ring tone's a croaking frog."
We drove twenty miles out,
It was coming up on 3.
My nephew, shotgun, turns to shout,
We're almost to the broken tree.
Get there, pull off, shut down, wait--
We hear no cars from either way.
Let them out--the starting gate,
Or like I've opened some bomb bay.
With their gear, bail off the bank,
I close the back, and then I crank.
Plants are cut and bundled--waiting
For the chancy night-time freighting.
Loads stuffed in contractor's bags,
Gorilla tape to tie them to
Frame packs, and nobody lags
To haul back to the rendezvous.
They timed it right, no calls were made--
I pull up, eight on the dot.
Hiding there below the grade,
They scramble up with what they've got--
100 pounds of high grade weed
That doesn't have a single seed.
When it's cleaned and dried it might
Be seven pounds of pure delight.
They pile it in as fast as hell,
Follow it in the camper shell.
A car is coming down the hill--
You know I can't describe the thrill
When I turned the lights back on,
Put it in gear and I was gone.
Back at the shed it's stripped and hung,
By midnight we were through.
All day long been highly strung,
Now it's time to have a few.
I spent a week, wish I could tell
Some stories but it all went well.
Although there was a little thing.
Something just bad luck could bring.
Maybe not little, could've been bad,
My nephew's frame straps broke, he had
To tie the cross straps in a knot.
Waiting for me he just forgot.
Should have untied it then and there,
Instead he gave himself a scare.
When I arrived he couldn't get
The knot untied--he threw his load
Over his head to hurry and yet
His hat and lamp fell to the road.
The lamp went out, we heard the car,
We split--ahead of it by far.
The hat and lamp were evidence
That there's a patch down there below.
My nephew, though, he had the sense--
While the plants were hung--to go
Back and find them, which he did.
Responsible--my sister's kid.
I took a trip up north one day,
Where there's sky that likes its gray
Clouds that feed the water table.
I left my desktop, Web and cable--
Headed north, no expectations
Other than keep up relations.
"I’d like to see your patch," I said.
"You’re kidding, Unc," and shook his head.
"I'm serious, I've been working out."
He laughed out loud and thought about
His uncle dropped dead from the climb
To see where nephew made his dime.
"Can’t wear clothes you got, O.K.?
Try these on," passed boots my way.
I tried them on, enough but snug.
Long-sleeves, tough pants. Water jug
And lunch we carried on our back,
"Unc, I'm cutting you some slack--
"I chose a patch just for your sake.
One of the easiest climbs to make--
About as easy as it gets."
And I pulled out my cigarettes.
How hard a climb could this hike be?
I was just about to see.
Paved road: fifteen miles then dirt.
He hid the pickup, "Time to hurt,"
And laughed as we pulled bikes down from
The pickup bed. I'd ridden some.
"We'll go five miles down that path,"
My heart gets busy with the math.
Can't say I enjoyed those five
Miles the pickup couldn't drive--
Blackberry brambles over-head,
You duck, they grab your wrists instead.
We hid the bikes and walked some more--
He'd shushed me quiet long before.
No trail there, where we turned in.
To me, somewhere no one had been.
From there, straight up, he said, "Don't break
Ferns--or they'll see paths we take."
Up through brush and poison oak,
My heart complains, "Me fit? A joke."
No path up, I swear, no way.
He knew the way--don't have to say
He'd gone this way a dozen times--
Pounds were added to the climbs.
All he carried now was me.
I was dying but got to see
First deer wire around the patch.
Then terraces, dug out from scratch.
Around them chicken wire for
The rats and rabbits--constant war.
"Here, Unc, I want you to put
This on the wire, it's Tanglefoot."
Tanglefoot. And I've been had.
A sticky grease and smelling bad.
Smeared on wire, rats won't cross--
One rat less against crop-loss.
There's also CAMP and creeps out there
Besides mosquitoes in the air.
Mosquitoes kept off with the Deet--
Rip-offs, too, you have to beat.
Both blood suckers, that's for sure,
No trail to patches only cure.
I worked to finish one detail:
Tanglefoot--comes in a pail.
I deserved it. Once I told
My nephew, pot cost more than gold,
And growing it can't be that hard.
Yeah, growing dope in your back yard
And never deal with the climb--
And don't forget the jail time.
While he worked on tougher chores,
I gooped the wire on all fours.
Hoses led up to a spring.
Timed drip-feeds led to each ring.
Five inside each terraced pit--
Rings hold all the starts that fit.
Half-dozen terraced pits'll match
Your average marijuana patch.
"Next month I sex and pull the males--
Miss one and the whole patch fails."
Every grower has their way,
And every way comes out O.K.
There's a way to make plants flash
Early but it takes some cash
To buy the female starts from those
Who can fool plants to expose
Their private parts. The gardener gods
Can get the males to drop their pods,
Like testicles, at one foot tall
Without waiting for the fall
When the sun starts cutting back.
They cover up starts with a sack
To shorten days, and plants think that
It must be time for getting at
Getting sex, males are pulled,
And females, for a good price, sold.
My nephew, with his own starts, found
They thrived early in the ground.
Mr. Natural, was his name,
Natural's better was his claim.
(Not to mention costs were lower,
And he was just a humble grower.)
I gooped ten rings and did it well,
But I was beat, the kid could tell.
"Unc, break time, I'll get the rest.
You did good--Unc, you're the best."
"Thank you, kid, but all the same,
We gotta get back from where we came."
"Downhill, Unc, a piece of cake."
"So you say, I'd have to make
I different call, but I'll get down,
I hear a beer call me from town."
We washed our hands in alcohol.
Way down, careful not to fall.
Cleaned up, changed when we got back.
I probably should have hit the sack,
But went to town, dropped in at Nick's
And watched the sexual politics
Go down with locals, tourists too.
We sat back and had a few.
Thinking--three months down the road
My nephew hauls a different load.
Down, not up, with early-grows,
At night with light a headlamp throws.
Bad enough by day go through it.
You ask me, I couldn't do it.
Guerrilla farmer, works unseen,
Staying out of sight, routine.
Might think "dumb" is what I did--
Kick in the head with an outlaw kid.
But for my body, had a blast--
The sky was kindly overcast;
I didn't have a heart attack;
And have to smile looking back--
He's out there, up against the law.
His crazy uncle stands in awe.
Four months later's when he called--
The patch he showed me long since done.
Can't say I was too enthralled--
Football season had begun.
"Unc, I need your help", he said,
He was fucking with my head--
This old man's as helpful as
The currents off of Alcatraz.
"Quit your smoking, swim some laps,
Need your help to fill some gaps."
He knew he had me, knowing I
Couldn't let a trip go by.
"Get healthy, Unc, you're coming up."
Old dog lectured by a pup.
Autumn, when the grapes are sweet
And labor is no longer cheap,
Northern Californians treat
Themselves to what the growers reap.
It's cold hard cash to buy the best
Of buds or buy the wines you test.
Vintners hire brown skin folk--
That's when they can find them.
Vintners wages, inside joke,
When no one needs remind them
Sinsemilla pays much more
Than anything they've paid before.
Autumn, when the buds come in,
You make 20 bucks an hour.
Offered 20 makes you grin--
October rain's not going to sour
Profits, making big buds mold--
Grapes can shrivel, truth be told.
I arrived, my nephew's stoked,
First off asked if I still smoked.
Busted. He said, "Give me one."
I can't get past my sister's son.
Tomorrow we planned to just kick back,
We got fed and hit the sack.
Got up early that next day,
The kid had one small debt to pay.
Drove by so to pay it off--
You won't believe it, maybe scoff:
The grower almost begged us to
Work that day to get him through.
Buds were ready to be hung,
His offer too good to refuse--
And I was feeling mighty young,
Money, frankly, I could use.
The kid said nope, we turned to go,
He said "bonus", I said, whoa.
We spent the day by stripping leaf
From buds and branches--future grief
Is caused by leaves if they're left on,
Leave them on, sweet taste is gone.
Leaf is like the chaff of wheat,
Keeping bud from tasting sweet.
Our job that day was just prelim.
This wouldn't be the final trim.
Near dry, scissors shape the bud
Free of leaf--the buds are stud--
Smoke smooth and cool as drilling mud,
The high as clear as dragon's blood.
You should have seen the finger hash
We had for cleaning up the stash
Of branches piled on the ground--
Trimmed, they're lined up in a mound
Then taken, hung up in a shed,
Upside-down to dry, they're spread
Across the wires wall to wall.
Strains make their first curtain call
On a wire, labeled such--
None of the hanging branches touch.
The kid was telling stories,
As he always likes to do,
Of present foibles, future glories.
Two others there were trimming too--
Told them I was on vacation,
Conversation slightly slowed;
Couple from a hippie nation
On a ridge miles down the road.
As he was busy telling tales,
A joint was being passed around--
A fleet of paranoia sails
Through my mind--without a sound.
The couple were across the pile
From my nephew and from me.
One was shifty, I saw guile,
It also seemed to me that she
Held bad intentions watching him--
It seemed she circled, I saw shark.
Was she working for the trim?
This 60s hippie saw a narc.
The woman freaked me more when she
Said, she just moved to this place;
Just left the service, now she's free,
Said with a smile on her face--
Met her partner months ago,
Now she's going with the flow.
I was in a place somewhere
Hippies moved to, way back when;
The growers? Sons and daughters there--
Their folks loved pot and peace and Zen.
Everyone there knew everyone.
I tried, but paranoia won.
I couldn't get her out of my mind--
The woman who watched, and trimmed the kind.
Later, over beers at Nick's,
Admitted my mind's playing tricks.
My nephew laughed, "Don't worry Unc,
Today you smoked Tibetan Skunk
And it has got to be the best,
You stand on top of Everest.
It's local to the neighborhood--
Your paranoia's understood.
"But look, I know you've got it wrong,
Why would Feds be coming here?
Tibetan Skunk has rung your gong,
Don't think your mind's working clear.
The Feds have bigger fish to fry--
No time for us, the little guy.
"The gangster growers here, you see,
Grow large and let their gardeners fall.
The mom and pop philosophy--
Is keep it small to keep it all.
When CAMP spots big ones, hits the ground,
The Mexicans are ones who're found.
"Big difference between the patch,
And humongous fields of pot--
Who you think Feds want to catch?
Who're the easier ones to spot?
Feds have only so much money,
Relax, tomorrow you'll think it's funny."
Maybe after my third beer
Tibetan Skunk stopped ringing bells.
But for the beer, my head was clear,
No longer seeing jail cells.
The kid suggested I'm naive,
"Get real before you just believe.
Tomorrow you'll see some chances taken,
Maybe close calls--can't get shaken--
Close calls come from lousy luck,
Loose lips, set-up sitting duck."
Next day we both got up late,
Went and helped to trim some buds--
Last stage bound to irritate
Nose and throat with crystal Scuds--
Crystals launched when buds are dry--
Trimming those buds, crystals fly.
Some trimmers you'll see wear a mask.
No stage safe-and-easy task.
My nephew's on a 4-man team
A driver and 3 on the ground.
And fulfilling an old man's dream--
I'd be driving them around.
This wasn't to the patch I'd seen,
This one's down a steep ravine
Belonging to another who
My nephew helps to pull it through.
I knew his crew when they were kids,
Thirty years ago.
Now it's pounds instead of lids--
It only goes to show
Hard work farming public land
And staying small go hand in hand.
My nephew packed a camel back--
They have a water bladder.
He also needed his frame pack...
The load for that is ten times sadder--
All the pot that one could carry
Through the woods and to a truck.
All I had to do was ferry
Them and drop them off to duck
Out of sight, get off the road,
Then meet them when they had a load.
He packed his headlamp, some triple A's,
Gorilla tape and pruning shears;
Packed food and water, Milky Ways,
Rope, TP and couple of beers.
Partners pack a different list--
Covering what my nephew missed.
Packed his cell--case I was late
To let him know, not yet, just wait
'Til I reach the pick-up spot--
Timing's crucial, to not get caught.
"You're going to keep your cell phone on?"
"Of course", he said, "in case that you
Have to tell me something's wrong.
Text message me, is what you do--
Don't need bars to get across--
Text doesn't suffer signal loss.
Say you can't be there by 8--
We'll know that you are running late."
"What if it rings there in the woods?
Someone might hear and find it strange
And call the cops--you're holding goods."
Kid said, "We're past hearing range,
Only near the rendezvous
You'll hear the ring. But tell me who
Would think much of a barking dog?
My ring tone's a croaking frog."
We drove twenty miles out,
It was coming up on 3.
My nephew, shotgun, turns to shout,
We're almost to the broken tree.
Get there, pull off, shut down, wait--
We hear no cars from either way.
Let them out--the starting gate,
Or like I've opened some bomb bay.
With their gear, bail off the bank,
I close the back, and then I crank.
Plants are cut and bundled--waiting
For the chancy night-time freighting.
Loads stuffed in contractor's bags,
Gorilla tape to tie them to
Frame packs, and nobody lags
To haul back to the rendezvous.
They timed it right, no calls were made--
I pull up, eight on the dot.
Hiding there below the grade,
They scramble up with what they've got--
100 pounds of high grade weed
That doesn't have a single seed.
When it's cleaned and dried it might
Be seven pounds of pure delight.
They pile it in as fast as hell,
Follow it in the camper shell.
A car is coming down the hill--
You know I can't describe the thrill
When I turned the lights back on,
Put it in gear and I was gone.
Back at the shed it's stripped and hung,
By midnight we were through.
All day long been highly strung,
Now it's time to have a few.
I spent a week, wish I could tell
Some stories but it all went well.
Although there was a little thing.
Something just bad luck could bring.
Maybe not little, could've been bad,
My nephew's frame straps broke, he had
To tie the cross straps in a knot.
Waiting for me he just forgot.
Should have untied it then and there,
Instead he gave himself a scare.
When I arrived he couldn't get
The knot untied--he threw his load
Over his head to hurry and yet
His hat and lamp fell to the road.
The lamp went out, we heard the car,
We split--ahead of it by far.
The hat and lamp were evidence
That there's a patch down there below.
My nephew, though, he had the sense--
While the plants were hung--to go
Back and find them, which he did.
Responsible--my sister's kid.