I had spent considerable time over the last two months
caring for these plants. For a month, they grew from inch-high babies, to
foot-tall teenagers, which is when they were ready for the flowering stage. I
brought them out of 24-hour fluorescent light into the big room for 12 hours of
light, and 12 of darkness. That is how you trigger the marijuana plant to
produce its potent buds. I spent hours a day in the room looking after them.
Checking them over, looking for bugs or any signs of strain, but they were
perfect. I had many friends that grew before me for years and I learned from
them. I was all set up to be a fairly good size producer, at least large enough
to keep all of my friends happy.
The plan was to crop 20-30 plants every six to seven weeks,
which would be pretty easy with the strain I had been blessed with. We called
it simply, Magic. And I think its name was derived from the feeling it gave us
when we smoked it, looking back I can see the smiles on our faces every time it
was in the room, it was magical. There just wasn’t any better weed around back
then.
So on that beautiful Summer day with myself and three of St.
Paul’s finest in the room, it all went away. Of course they wanted effect, so
they made me rip them all out by the roots which made a huge mess in the room,
then put them in giant black plastic garbage bags and carry them down to the
undercover vehicle. That process took a little under an hour. They said they
were done in that room and we closed the door. I decided not to mention that
they left 30 living clones and all of my light fixtures alone.
They then told me that they wanted to search the rest of the
boudoirs. No big deal I thought, but I had thought too soon. We started in my
room, they wanted me to watch so I couldn’t claim later on that they planted
anything. They looked high and low through my disaster of a bedroom but found
nothing until they made me lift up my mattress. Underneath we all saw at the
same time a large mirror covered in cocaine residue and a variety of bits and
pieces of crack pipes. I thought I was fucked but the main officer man just
pointed at them and said, “Those would be a lot of felonies.” And he lowered
the mattress down. Uhhhh, ok. We proceeded downstairs as the rest of the rooms
had been searched with their respective owners. Now it was time to check for
warrants. I knew I was clean because I had just taken care of my warrants a few
weeks previous, but one of my roommates did and the officers, again, said
something quite peculiar… “Ma’am you should go get those taken care of as soon
as possible.” And that was the end of that part.
One last look around and one of them disappeared into the
basement and came back up and stated there was a fire hazard downstairs and
that they would be sending a fire inspector back in a week to make sure it was
cleaned up. And then, without so much as another word, they all left. They just
left. Did that just happen? How in the fuck am I not in handcuffs? It didn’t
make any sense, but I wasn’t going to run out and ask them.
