Search Results: caitlin (12)

Sharon Letts

It’s not Weeds, it’s real
By Sharon Letts

The sound of Jake getting ice in the middle of the night startled Caitlin out of a sound sleep. It was 2:30 a.m., and as was her modus operendi, she lay there, unable to sleep, listening as the ice dropped into his bong one by one. She then followed the trail of his movements through sound as he puttered about, alone.
It takes a life together to have intimacy, and she was wanting.
Jake often stayed up late and slept half the day away. They were surrounded by redwoods, but she could count on one hand how often they had hiked together, let alone waked and baked together.

By John Dvorak
I love hemp! I’ve been studying hemp for more than 20 years and I’m still learning something new all the time! And there is so much more that we can ALL learn about how great hemp is and that’s where the Cannabis Curriculum comes in.
If you’re in school, why not study something interesting and cool like cannabis hemp? It doesn’t matter what class you’re taking, with a little creative thinking, you can apply it to the beneficial aspects of cannabis hemp or the devastating effects that its prohibition has on society. You can do a book report, a term paper or a group project.  
When you do this, YOU learn something new about hemp, your classmates learn something new and your teachers learn how great hemp is. That’s what the cannabis curriculum is all about:  education and communication. And if you send me the results of your hemp research, I’ll add it to the Cannabis Curriculum Clearinghouse, a database that others can access to assist with their hemp research efforts. 


Humboldt Stories
“It’s not Weeds, it’s real.”
By Sharon Letts
“Did she say eight?” Caitlin asked, fidgeting with the coffee server.
“Eight-ish, I think she said. She talked so fast,” Nick laughed. “She’s New York all the way, you know? Manhattan, Dahling,” Nick mocked.
“I just hope we’re doing the right thing,” Caitlin said. “Seems like packaging and branding right now is putting the cart before the horse, so to speak. If Prop. 19 would have passed it wouldn’t be so much of a problem — maybe.”

All photos by Sharon Letts

Humboldt Stories
“It’s not Weeds, it’s real.”
By Sharon Letts
Caitlin stopped and turned to look one more time at the bed she had shared with Jake for more than five years. Part of her felt a pang of sadness — of not wanting to leave — and that was an odd feeling, considering the neglect and abuse she had suffered in his care.
She picked up her pillow and put it under her arm. The bed looked empty and small. The room unfamiliar with her lovely things removed.
She would not miss the lifestyle of living in a grow house. Especially one in a tract house community where no one says hello — it was like living in a strange Twilight Zone episode where your house was quarantined off from the rest of the world. A neighborhood where you couldn’t chat over the picket fence and say, “Would you like to come in for a cuppa?” That is, unless it was understood the “cuppa” was a “bowl of,” with a wink.

Sharon Letts

Humboldt Stories
“It’s not Weeds, it’s Real.”

By Sharon Letts
Nick turned off Myrtle Ave onto Park Street, and down a dirt road. Caitlin had been living in a trailer on someone’s property since leaving Jake. Today, they were traveling together to an historic apple orchard he was looking to restore, with an eye on good medicine.
“Why shouldn’t cannabis be grown with food,” he argued to a circle of self-righteous, back-woods growers. “Why shouldn’t farmers be allowed to include Cannabis and Hemp?”
“Because they will throw your ass in Federal prison,” someone responded to howls of laughter.
Caitlin was waiting at the end of the road, smiling and waving as he pulled into the drive.

All photos by Sharon Letts
Trimming Sour Diesel

“It’s not Weeds, it’s Real”

By Sharon Letts
Nick drove down Samoa Boulevard from Arcata onto the South Spit, and into the town of Manila, where Greg lived. Tonight Greg was paying $200 a pound, plus a bag of popcorn, for the most tedious, boring work in the industry. 
Getting onto someone’s list for trimming is all about relationships, trust, and if the group wants you there. For the hours are long and often run into the wee hours of the morning. 
There was also the issue of vehicles in front of the house to finesse. Too many, too many days in a row, and red flags would be raised. Greg was a musician, so if you had an instrument you carried it inside, and, if anyone wanted to jam on a break, so much the better.

All photos by Sharon Letts

Humboldt Stories
“It’s not Weeds, its real.”
By Sharon Letts
Lewis woke-up, rolled over, and sat up, pushing a half-eaten bag of chips away from the computer screen, knocking an empty can of Rock Star to the living room floor. 
The flashing icon on the screen told him that “Medford Mantis” was ahead again, with “Slayer II” a close third. 
“Take that damn wall down, rat bastard!” 
Peeling a piece of tin foil away from a corner of the window he could see it was light outside, but couldn’t tell if it was early morning or late night.
It took hours to regain his status. When he was satisfied he picked up the bong and fumbled for a lighter that worked.

Made In Humboldt California

Humboldt Stories
It’s not Weeds, it’s real.
By Sharon Letts
Nick arrived at the Small Business Development Center in downtown Eureka one minute before the Business Plan workshop started.
“No small talk with others,” he thought to himself as he summed up the room that was filling up fast. Young and old sat side by side. All were there to start some kind of business of their own, and he was right there with them – it’s just that his business was, well, a little green.
He was tired of house sitting for other people and their grows, but he didn’t want to be just a grower either.
If and when legalization hit he wanted to be ready to do something else, something more.

Sharon Letts

It’s not Weeds, It’s real.
“Hi, I’m Caitlin and I’m a Stoner”
Story and Photos By Sharon Letts
Caitlin walked quickly through the living room, into the dining room, and back out through the kitchen, then back again.
“I should leave in 15 minutes,” she thought, and made one more loop around the house.
“No fucking willpower,” she said aloud, and without another thought, she went straight into the bedroom, took a small tray from the bookshelf, and sat on the bed.
On the tray sat a wooden box, and inside held a rolling machine, papers, lighter, ashtray, and a little jar of kief-rich trim.
The plastic rolling machine hurt the inside of her thumb as she rolled the device. Friends teased for her lack of hand-rolling-know-how. “You aren’t a stoner, Caitlin, you are a casual user,” they chided.

Sharon Letts
No different than most, Caitlin’s smoking tray held a hand-blown glass pipe, a small, round grinder made from redwood, a vintage model ashtray, a sage smudge stick and a lighter

“It’s Not WeedsIt’s Real.”

By Sharon Letts

Jake shut the bathroom door behind him, cracked the window, dropped his drawers and sat down on the toilet.
And so begins the morning ritual of medicating.
Removing his smoking tray from the cupboard under the sink, he rinsed the previous evening’s dirty bong water, filling it with fresh, wiping it down with a rag, and setting it aside. Next, he chooses his medicine from an assortment of small, glass Mason jars.
“Cat Piss,” he said, adding, “Where in the hell do they come up with these names?”
Breaking up the bud and filling the grinder, he thought, “Down to the last nug.” He filled the bowl with soft, gray-green goodness and inhaled, closing his eyes, “Doesn’t smell a thing like cat piss!”
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