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By “Bud Doc”
This is the story of how a normal, everyday kid ended up as a farmer. Not just any farmer, a weed farmer.
I had a normal childhood filled with parents divorcing, living on welfare for a while, and my mother working two jobs to make ends meet. There were small row homes lived in and a lot of stew eaten. My mom made it work though, and found a nice man to marry. I bounced between homes growing up and had a lot of tough emotional times. Somehow I was able to graduate high school and even earned a partial academic scholarship to college. I promptly joined a fraternity and had no direction, only drinking. Our country was at war and my grandfather had served, so I felt the calling. After enlisting I was provided direction and discipline. The intention was never to become a “lifer”, but it ended up that way. A marriage at 25 and a couple of children force you to arrange your priorities differently and become a lot less selfish.
Depression and anxiety crept into my life in the late 1990’s. September 11th, 2001, all hell broke loose. In the years that followed, I fired missiles into a foreign country, took down numerous suspected drug runners, and stood face to face with two al-Qaeda members.
Pretty stressful, eh? It all culminated into a genuine (physical) reaction when it comes to death. I have never been to a funeral and many things prompt my anxiety. This is PTSD. It is troublesome to deal with, but it has been made better by using an all-natural plant.
As happens a lot, I divorced after a number of years being married and went my own way. During my service I was able to complete undergraduate and graduate degrees, so finding a job after retiring was not difficult, even in a down economy. But the first year after my retirement, I went through three jobs. I couldn’t adjust. The jobs were not challenging at all and even boring for the most part. Was I looking for something? Perhaps, but I didn’t yet know what.
For many years I could be referred to as one of the “sheeple”: I just did what I was told without asking the questions I should have been asking. Unfortunately, many people in our country will always live this way and I truly feel sorry for them. They will hold us back from being truly great by refusing to stand up and have their voices heard.
I decided to have my voice heard when I saw a fellow veteran fighting for legalization of marijuana to treat his PTSD. The information was available, so like my education, I dove headfirst into it, learning everything I could. Not only did I learn how wrong making the plant illegal is, I found out that doing so has cost many of my fellow human beings undeserved pain and suffering. I learned that the drug war has failed. And I learned we now have prisons for profit. When did this become a thing?
The more I learned, the more questions I had. If cannabis is classified as a Federal Schedule I narcotic, making it illegal at the federal level, how is it possible that the Federal Government has a patent on the medicinal properties of the cannabis plant (US Patent 6630507)? How is it that the federal government can still deny the medicinal value of this plant? Have they not seen the children who stop having seizures? Have they not seen the numerous studies from around the world? Why is Israel and not the US leading the way in cannabis studies? Why does the US government sponsor ONLY studies which attempt to disprove that cannabis has legit medicinal value? The federal government is too large and there are too many laws of what NOT to do. Our founding fathers would turn in their graves as this is not what they intended for this country.
As a career military man, free thinking has not been one of the skills I have honed. However, the military did teach me how to assess situations quickly, determine a course of action and execute with confidence. In this situation, that is exactly what I have done. I stepped back and assessed how our current structure as a country affects me personally and I wondered what, if anything, I could do about it.
I did a lot of soul-searching. I figured if I am going to talk the talk, I am going to have to walk the walk.
But, where to go? How could I make the most impact and still earn a living? I wondered, should I go west? And how? Where?
Then, a funny thing happened. Someone entered my life who I would have never known had I not gotten involved in activism. A comment on a social media site started a conversation that revealed we shared a common goal. We spoke and I flew out to meet him. Within a month I invested about $5K and started renting a place to start my journey.
What I’m doing is illegal by man’s law, not nature’s. I do not feel guilty for breaking the “law” and honestly believe what I am doing is 100% right.
I am an underground medical marijuana farmer, and my journey has just begun…
TO BE CONTINUED…