An Open Invitation to Anyone Who Continues to Fear the Cannabis Plant
It’s harvest season here in California. The last full moon of September has waned; while the new moon forms, thousands of perspicacious growers are hurrying to cut down their flowering bushes and trees, their cannabis indica and cannabis sativa, eager to hang the pruned plants to dry and cure. A week or so later, if it’s not to humid then, the sugar leaves will be crispy and the flowers compacted into nuggets of hairy gooeyness. Trim time.
Some folks will smoke these dried buds; some will eat them; some will extract the essential oils. All will feel slightly better about being alive.
Seeing the plant in its living glory, in the final chapter of its extraordinary journey from seed to medicine-giver, one is inspired to cordially invite those who belong to the small minority of Americans who badly misunderstand this gift from nature to see for themselves what all the fuss is about. Those who continue to categorize cannabis as a Schedule One narcotic — same class as heroin — need not hit the bong or roll a blunt; they simply need to see (and smell, and touch) a thriving marijuana plant and what it produces. They need to be reminded that nothing is added or done to the dried flower to make it something wonderful for the human brain. Nothing. It’s a flower that grows on a common plant. A weed.
One day our descendants will look back at the mercifully brief Age of Prohibition and wonder how we could be so silly. And so mean to ourselves.