“There is a picture of me as a kid, running through a pot field. I still remember doing it, an uncle giving me a quarter for every row of pot plants.”
My stomping ground as a kid. When you live up in the mountains, you live outdoor. Camping, fishing, you spend most of the summer outside and don’t want to come back home. Then comes winter, and you are locked inside with six feet snow everywhere, burning with cabin fever.
Mt. Shasta is part of the mountain valley marijuana growers’ area called Valhalla, at the center of the triangle. There is a picture of me as a kid, running through a pot field. I still remember doing it, an uncle giving me a quarter for every row of pot plants. I would run and slap the bottom of the plants. You want the bottom branches to break down a little, but not break off. It is part of growing, stressing your plants; makes them more potent. I remember getting a handful of quarters for just running down the stinky rows, as I thought of them back then. I did not like the smell, as a kid, it smelled like skunk.
Shasta is also the name of my dog, a Lab Shepard mix, she was with me for three years, until she was taken away when I was arrested. She found a good home, according to the ASPCA. My mom kept track of her for me.
Listen to interview snippets: