A believed bud-bandit with high hopes hacked down a handful of plants from one of Kentucky’s industrial hemp pilot program plots only to find his thieving endeavor had merely left his fingers sticky but without the icky.
“They were actually stolen out of the field, they were cut out of the field,” says Hemp Pilot Program Coordinator Adam Watson. “Whether it was a case of mistaken identity or just lack of education of some people, but there’s no illicit value to the plants that were stolen.”
Well, we can thank our beloved federal government and prized governmental officials like Harry J. Anslinger (the J stands for jackass) for the “lack of education of some people”.
Watson and his cronies believe the plant-pilfering was most likely committed by someone that “stumbled across” the hemp plot “and thought it to be something illicit, something illegal, and didn’t realize it was actually a research project.”
The hemp plants that were heisted only account for a small percentage of what was being grown for research dedications.
This story reminds me of a time me and my friends legitimately “stumbled across” a patch of feral hemp when we were 12 years old.
My friend (who’ll remain nameless to protect his identity) discovered the shit-pot patch at the baseball park growing on a hill next to the railroad tracks after one of our teammates cracked a dinger and the ball landed near it.
When my friend went to retrieve the ball, he spotted the ditch weed, and waited until after baseball practice to tell me and the other guys in our friends circle about his findings.
We waited until dusk to go back and harvest what we had hoped would be our first marijuana high ever.
The guy in our group that “stumbled across” the ballpark-bud was the only one that had experience with pot. When he went to get the ball, he saw what he thought were fan leaves of a mature marijuana plant waiting to be cut and puffed.
Little did the rest of us know at the time, or our cannabis connoisseur comrade for that matter, that the stuff we were so excited to puff was in fact feral hemp.
We dashed back to one our friend’s house with the stash whose parents worked the evening shift (which always seemed to be the house where all the wrong-doings went down) and began prepping our newly ganked ganja for puffing.
Our buddy with all the supposed smoking skills suggested we empty out a few of the parent’s cigarettes and proceed to refill them with the rank dank.
We stuffed the now emptied Carlton’s all the way to their filters and then snapped them off, making what we thought were the perfectly rolled joint.?.
We sparked up our fat rollers (and boy, did they spark!) one by one, passing to anyone in the circle willing to endure the massive coughing fit that was in store for those that dared to partake!
If being stoned meant your throat felt like someone had ran a toilet brush up and down it repeatedly all while sitting on your chest and rubbing sand in your eyes, then yes, I was baked.
But as it turned out, what me and my buddies thought was stoned was just us feeling shitty because we smoked wet, green feral hemp buds packed tight with seeds and huge stems!
The proficient pot smoker of our group said something quite profound after our little smoke and choke session was over, “I don’t think this weed was ready to be cut down yet, man.”
How does that old tune go again?
“Teach___, your children well, so shitty, ditch weed__ they___ won’t try____!”
But I digress.