PUBLISHED WRITINGS

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 115
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 115 – Cuvée

Grown by: Subcool of TGA Seeds
Processed by: Frenchy Cannoli

Good begets good and the Cuvée plant lovingly bred by Subcool of TGA Seeds proves no exception. She is a delicious cross mothered by the exquisite Pinot Noir and fathered by the robustly flavorful Space Queen, affectionately called ‘Space Dude.’ Using a combination of three phenotypes, Frenchy Cannoli created very potent and tasty Hashish that loudly declares that it is the cream of the crop.

Olive colored and waxy, like the tastiest crayon you can imagine, the Cuvée Hashish is very expressive. Opening the jar of the Cuvée Hashish is like walking in the early fall through the Redwoods of Mendocino County in Northern California. The ambient aroma of slightly damp pine rolls out into the room and lingers heavily. Taking a deep breath, I am treated to a more intense pine-like smell, complemented by nutty overtones similar to crushed hazelnuts. I palm a small, pea-sized chunk and squeeze with my thumb. It initially resists and then, as with all good quality hash, melts into a soft paste. Along with a sweet, floral odor, a totally different essential aroma of fennel and rosemary take center stage. The familiar smell is inviting and taking cues from Frenchy, I eat it, and I am rewarded with a pleasant taste of breakfast sausage.

I can tell that smoking this Hashish is going to be especially good.

For a clean, unadulterated smoke, I opt for my Hashish pipe, packing the previously crushed chunk into the bowl and firing my glass rod. Tapping the chunk lightly, I inhale with medium force. Out of nowhere, the smoke bursts into my mouth like a perfectly coiffed bull adorned in flowers and pearls. The volume is nearly uncontainable, slipping past my nostrils even as most of it roars down to my lungs. With full intensity, it comes back up in my exhalation; recalling sweet pine cones and tangy tropical fruit. The smoke swirls in front of me and the blue trails hang thickly. If the Pinot Noir Hashish caresses like a smooth tango, the Cuvée Hashish tantalizes like a lusty burlesque. I pull on the Hashish pipe another time, this time fully aware of the coming rush. The Cuvée Hashish doesn’t disappoint, whirling over my tongue before dipping in and out of my lungs as fast as she entered.

She is a hot tease!

A fierce and full-bodied floral flavor fills my mouth, buttressed by the savory notes of rotisserie, and ending with a full, piney and diesel finish. The room smells both like a spice house and a 50s diner. All of my senses are at peak attention.

Almost immediately, a tingling sensation begins skipping up the bridge of my nose, pausing at my forehead and drenching the rest of my skull. Euphoria blossoms, welling up from my stomach and amassing at eye level where I swear I see stars and fairies for just a brief moment. Or maybe it is balloons and clowns. With my rapidly changing mindset, it becomes clear that I will not be getting any focused work done at this time. As the minutes slide by, my mind finds it hard to be tied down for too long. I am aware of all of the sounds of the morning: the birds heralding a new day, the neighbors’ extra long shower, the garbage truck rumbling along, and yet I cannot keep a string of thoughts for more than 30 seconds. I think this is an absolutely perfect experience for a Sunday morning. The high is elevated, but not soaring. I give in to my fleeting thoughts and enjoy the sun shining through the parted blinds. It has been almost 5 and a half months since I moved from South Beach, Florida to the Bay area, but with the Cuvée Hashish, I am right back on Ocean Drive; languidly enjoying the pleasant passing time with hardly a care in the world. My body feels comfortable, but I am barely aware of it in any case. I am floating along, like a feather on the peaceful wind.

After 45 minutes I want a little more of the Hashish, but my blow torch, never the most reliable, sputters its last. With no more perfect time than then present, I decide to try out the Jomotech Dark Knight Honour Vaporizer that I received for Christmas. I am pleased to be able to adjust the temperature over several rounds to see what works best. After charging, I drop an intact piece of Cuvée Hashish into the Pyrex cup. Terpenes begin to burn off of the Hashish at around 340° F and it achieves full melt by 410° F.° The inhalation of the vapor is far smoother than expected. Whereas a deep draw on my Hashish pipe pulls a multitude of flavors into my mouth which explodes immediately, the vaporizer’s flavors are significantly muted. It is only on the exhale that the nutty pine taste is somewhat present. Being keen for intense mouth-feel and texture, this lightweight vaporizer experience is initially somewhat underwhelming. However, a mere two minutes later, I felt the gentle pull upwards for another sweet and stress-free mental flight. I am elated.

Hours pass and I think of everything and nothing. I am thankful that my weekend plans include mental recharge and self-reflection as the year comes to a close. My mind is infused with a calm serenity and I am eased back down with no discomfort. It has been a sweet ride. The Cuvée Hashish will be remembered for her bawdy aroma, bold flavor, and amazing stress-releasing power. I owe so much gratitude to MzJill, Subcool, and Frenchy, because in so many more ways than one, I am blessed.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 116
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 116 – Zkittlez

This article has been modified from the original to address previous errors.

Grown by: 3rd Gen Family
Processed by: Brandon of Moonshine Melts

“#Taztetheztrainbro” is worthwhile encouragement for the Zkittlez Hashish by Moonshine Melts. She is a brash, insistent, and LOUD locomotive barreling through the cannabis world. The persistent buzz has been building for a while, but recently it has become an undeniable and deafening roar; and with good reason. Zkittlez has not only won many awards, but she has captured the hearts and taste buds of all fortunate enough to have tried it.

“We create the funk.”- Brandon, Hashish maker, Moonshine Melts

It is a bold statement, though definitely not without merit. Brandon speaks lovingly of 3^rd Gen Family, the tight-knit Mendocino County family known for being a closed circle, keenly focused on making the best medicine possible, and continually redefining measures of quality. In the last 24 months, 3^rd Gen Family has amassed an enviable 18 awards.

“Plenty can be friends, but few can be family. We’re brothers.” – Shiloh Massive, Farmer

Not content to rely upon the skills of one member of the family, 3^rd Gen Family features several talented growers and concentrate makers.   It is the group-minded ethic and the unflinching attention to detail that has made the family so successful.   Zkittlez alone has garnered the following accolades:

2014 Emerald Cup 2^nd Place (Concentrates)

2014 Emerald Cup 5^th Place (Flower grown by Tony Mendocino)

2014 Emerald Cup 6^th Place (Flower grown by Brandon)

2014 Seattle High Times Cannabis Cup 2^nd Place US Solventless

2013 Emerald Cup 9^th Place (Grown by Pineapple of Connoisseur Union)

Keeping the entire operation in-house, the Zkittlez Hashish was originated by the @greenrfieldz_tbg and the TerpHogz crew.  This Sativa-dominant strain is an OG x Humboldt Grapefruit cross with more proprietary genetics not yet revealed. Brandon processed the whole plant fresh frozen. A heavy yielder, the Hashish was very resinous and odorous, and according to him, a joy to create. But considering all of the hype, will it be a joy to smoke?

Before me sits the 45 micron sample. In contemporary style, the Hashish in the jar is loose resin waiting to be pressed. Opening the jar affords me the immediate and unmistakable ambient aroma of gasoline, as well as my first good view of the tiny golden brown nuggets. I am amazed at how the trichome heads glisten like diamonds in the sunlight; individually packaged morsels of psychoactive bliss. Getting closer, continuous whiffs recall bright citrus that comes in waves, like driving through thousands of acres of orange and lemon trees in rural Florida. This exuded aroma harkens cocktails and good times. I pour a small amount of the resin onto parchment paper, and using a Hashish press, smooth the resin into a thin slab of terpy goodness. Her essential aroma is sweet like confectioner’s sugar. Like fine silk, I pick up a small portion of Hashish and gingerly drop it in my perfectly heated Halen Honey Hole. The dab is completely full-melt, bubbling beautifully as the enticing smoke curls seductively into the dab rig. A sinewy and determined lady is on her way and there is not much I can, nor want to, do about it.

With a mid-temperature dab, Zkittlez Hashish reveals herself and she is glorious. Inhaling and then exhaling the Hashish is like water-skiing through gasoline and then throwing a killer aerial while kite-surfing through a bag of tasty, unending rainbows. The flavor of Skittles candy overlays the initial fuel and carries through the end of the smoke. Minutes afterwards, I can still taste the lime and mild acidity that earned the Zkittlez Hashish her name. However, her fanciful moniker belies her very heady high.

A few minutes after the first dab, I feel my spirits lift. I am already feeling pretty good, but, now I am feeling content, and more than a little giddy. A smile is still on my face while I suck at the roof of my mouth, eager for more of that Zkittlez flavor. It is intense, luscious, and everything I need right now. I am tempted to take another dab, just to taste the Hashish more fully, but opt not to. She is already bringing a steadily soaring high and flying too high will prevent me to fully experience her wonders.

I enjoy this present plateau. My limbs have relaxed, but do not feel heavy. My head tilts back and I look at the plain white ceiling with newfound interest. I am lost in thought, but my thoughts are not racing. I pause my thoughts to put on music and sink further into the comfort of my sofa while I laugh to myself about a private, inside joke. I am not couch-locked, but rather supremely satisfied by the plush of the cushions. As stressful as life can be, sometimes a simple moment in pleasurable silence is all that’s necessary. Fifteen minutes later, I am again chuckling about life and allowing the week’s negativity to pass by. I crank up the music and feel the bass throbbing through my body. The vibe is deep and I feel connected to the singer’s every word. I am in a private party in my living room and I am loving it. Besides, another hit is soon in store.

Being Frenchy’s student, I would be remiss if I did not press the resin and let it sit for a while. With this in mind, I had rolled 1 gram of Zkittlez resin into a ball 3 weeks ago. Cleaving into the mass is like pulling apart blond taffy. Hitting with my 3-hole pipe, I find this specimen even more flavorful than the first. The fuel is still intense, but slightly mellowed. The candy flavor coats all of my mouth and travels down to my lungs, dripping syrupy goodness all the way. Breathing out, a distinct, perfumy taste slides by, like the caress of a departing lover, punctuating the experience perfectly. Zkittlez Hashish is mouth-watering opulence with a bite. She is so good, I confidently say the hubbub was definitely warranted. Get to know this Ztrain, man. The next stop is mood-altering awesome, so you had better hang on.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 117
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 117 – HP13xMaui Waui

Grown by: Mean Gene of Aficionado Seeds
Processed by: Mean Gene of Aficionado Seeds

It is often remarked that in life, good things come to those who wait. The sweetest joys take time to build, grow and mature. In the world of Hashish, once goodness has been attained, a period of patient curing and aging turns the merely great into truly phenomenal. Aficionado Seeds’ Master Breeder Mene Gene created Hash Plant #13 (Indica) x Maui Waui (Sativa-dominant) full-spectrum Hashish more than 5 years ago and today, she is a robust and delicious hashterpiece. Few have had the pleasure for enjoying hash that has been savored and saved for years. To hear Hash Master Frenchy Cannoli tell it, the very best smoking experience is partaking aged Hashish. Though there is no hard evidence that Hashish has been aged from the beginning of its existence, aging is nevertheless a standard practice in Hashish producing countries such as Afghanistan and India, and as close to home as Northern California. The act of pressing and then aging a large mass of resin at once transforms the Hashish from millions of trichomes to one solid entity of delectable, mind-bending glory. According to Frenchy, when he has Gene’s Hashish available, he does not smoke his own. Frenchy waxes poetic such that I must sit up, take notice, and anticipate the oncoming ecstasy.

It’s time for some DANK.

I have smoked long enough to know there is nothing quite like experiencing something new with the people you love. My husband, our visiting friend from Miami, and I make our way to the beach in the City of Alameda. As we arrive, San Francisco Bay unfurls before us, beckoning us to take a short escape from the hustle and bustle of reality. The Santa Cruz Mountains stand proudly in the distance; the top of San Bruno Mountain shrouded in thick, dense, grey fog, as if perpetually high. The water of the bay laps placidly with no care in the world. On this sunny Friday in California, life is nearly perfect. We choose a shaded area beneath a beautiful tree shaped like a loving grandmother; limbs bowed by the weight of heavy leaves, and yet still standing gracefully and regally. For a pure experience, we will use a 3-hole pipe; leaving the Hashish free of muddying flavors. I crack open the custom container from Jyarz made especially for Frenchy, and I stare at the shiny, eggplant-hued hunk of Hashish as it gleams and tempts. The prevailing attitude in the Hashish industry is that the lightest color is the beauty ideal, but this Hashish, created from plants grown to their full potential, presents like a smeared Tootsie Roll. Dark and textured like tar, she holds secrets soon to be revealed. The ambient aroma that tip-toes up to my nostrils is a combination of cocoa and shea butters; rich, but light. She is not sharing easily, but I am persistent. Short and quick inhales are rewarded with a lingering sweet tropical mixture of banana, pineapple, and old mothballs. There is a whole lot more to her than she readily confesses. Using the tip of my rod, I pull the hash apart, marveling at the taffy-like stretch and pull when out wafts her essential aroma that reminds me of those maddening crumbly rubber erasers from elementary school. She is a unique mix. When I take my first hearty hit, I expect the Hashish to slap me immediately with a rush of intense flavor, but she slips unassumingly down my throat. The taste is initially so light that on the next hit, I pull harder, eager for a really good mouthful of thick smoke. This time, a fruit cocktail explodes in my mouth followed by a curious buttery nuttiness that coats my mouth completely. Exhaling adds another creamy layer to the flavor; reminiscent of Nutella.

One by one, we puff and pass the pipe. On each exhale our fragrant smoke is carried across the sand and over the water; slowly and reluctantly dissipating. Watching the wisps slide effortlessly into nothingness is mesmerizing. After two rounds, we quietly shift in the sand and watch the softly lapping bay saying little to each other. Though we are sitting on the shore of an urban beach, the Hashish transports us to tropical paradise of Hawaii. When we break the silence, it is only to remark how absolutely wonderful we feel. The breeze licks at our faces just right. The birds chirp sweetly, as if heralding fairies to delight us with their charms. Life itself has become a lover’s gaze; attentive to everything that makes us happy, and amplifying whatever we desire. This experience is a hedonist’s dream. After 45 minutes of admiring the gentle sway of the reeds on the shoreline and smiling at the joy of just being alive, we pack to head back to Oakland.

Dabbing concentrates is all the rage now and I want to experience this Hashish differently. People who are unfamiliar with pressed Hashish often look at it with a puzzled expression and say, “But does it dab?” I want to find out. Once home, I pinch off a small chunk and press it into parchment paper. Almost immediately, the Hashish smooths into a dime-sized patty. After thinning it further with a heated glass hashpress, I toss it into the freezer for 10 seconds because a quick chill is sometimes necessary to get sticky Hashish off of parchment paper in one clean pull. I heat my quartz banger, and wait for it to cool appropriately. Few things are as awful as an overly hot dab of Hashish. I too advocate “waste it to taste it,” though my temperature skills are improving daily and it is getting easier to find that sweet spot. About 30 seconds after getting red-hot, the bucket is ready for the dab and the Hashish melts like a dream. Sepia bubbles slide over the hot surface and delicious sweetness slides into my mouth. As expected the flavor is very different. Rather than a dainty fruit cocktail that the pipe afforded, the dab is an electrified mix of spicy pineapple soda, nuts, and pepper sauce. That pungent Hashish fire is there, but it is encased in a dampening bubble; making itself known, but just barely bristling my nose hairs. Instantly, this smoking experience is at once grounding and sublime; leaving me feeling deeply rooted to my position and yet as free as a dandelion head lifted by the wind and carried to far flung, previously unknown destinations. The two extremes make me feel like two separate people sharing one mind consciousness.

Trriippy!

Instead of the calm beach experience of earlier, I am really energized and I want to chat, dance, sing, think, smile, and laugh all at once. In my mind, I am again in Hawaii, enjoying a tantalizing hula and I am blissfully enamored with this altered reality. In my body I FEEL like the color orange and in my mind’s eye, I am entranced by the frenetic whip of the dancers’ waists, as if whisking away my mind’s cobwebs. Swish, swish, swish…flavors of pineapple and buttery kumquats dance in my mouth gleefully with whispers of oil-laden nuts and chocolate. Tasty! I am near elated for about 90 more minutes and I drift back down in cushioned comfort; colors still appearing a bit brighter than usual as if experiencing delayed heightened awareness. My mind is clear and I feel vaguely optimistic. Today has been a good day.

Perfection is an unattainable finality whose journey takes time and cannot be rushed. I have seen my own creations get better over the course of months. According to Gene, after 5 years, his Hashish has only improved. I no longer wonder why Frenchy touts Gene’s Hashish as la crème de la crème. It is mysterious, coy, aged, and very much alive. Let’s see how she wears her age in a few years; even sweeter, even more alluring, and a few steps even closer to her prime.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 118
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 118 – Blooddrive

Grown by: East Born/West Grown
Processed by: Frenchy Cannoli

Sometimes we focus on what we want, rather than allowing what we need to find us.  The Blooddrive Hashish, surprisingly presented to me, is a gentle and pleasant helping hand that I can appreciate daily, as she kindly softens life’s edges and makes transitions more comfortable.   Change, always inevitable, has a tendency to send me into a tizzy.  I like predictable routines and established plans to follow through smoothly.   Otherwise, I can sometimes get anxious and restless, allowing worry to consume me.  Such is the case when informed that, at the last minute, the focus of my Hashish smoke report has suddenly switched to a previously unknown specimen. As I am told that the Hashish that I have been expecting will not be dry in time, I look to Frenchy questioningly for a solution to this particular predicament.

Frenchy hands me a small, dark container as he sports that impish grin that assures me that he has the situation handled.  Looking at the twinkle in his eyes, I hastily open the glass Jyarz and fuel rolls out smoothly.  She does not take much prodding to further reveal her diesel tendencies.  A quick sniff and the smell of gas is right in my face as if standing in the middle of a truck depot.  I peer into the glass and see a plump and moist mass.  Reddish-brown, almost copper, with a soft and malleable texture like sumptuous red velvet cake, the essential aroma of the Hashish is familiar and comforting.  Perhaps tasting it will give me a better clue. Biting into the Blooddrive Hashish, my mouth is consumed with a flavor very reminiscent of the Cuvée Hashish I sampled some months back.  My palette’s recognition is unsurprising considering the two strains’ shared lineage of Afghani, Blackberry Kush, and Space Queen.  Blooddrive is a special phenotype of Milkdrive; a strain  created by Dave of Garden of Weedn (IG:@gardenofweedn) when he crossed Oregon Diesel by Homegrown Natural Wonders (IG:@homegrownnaturalwonders) with Cheese Quake by Subcool of TGA Seeds (IG:@subcoolseeds). The Blooddrive phenotype, discovered by tester Bushido Garden (IG:@bushido_garden), is so named because she seeps a bright crimson fluid when topped.  Cuts were given to Thomas Scaduto (IG:@eastbornwestgrown) and Alex Corporan (IG:@ebwgcorp_07) who  grew them out to completion in an indoor grow room.

And now I am lucky enough to sample the pressed perfection that Frenchy puts to every Hashish creation.

Continuing my tradition of enjoying Hashish in the great outdoors, I decide to take a trip with my husband Nick (IG:@cashmereconcentrates) to the Marin Headlands which overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge, the city of San Francisco, and the San Francisco Bay.  A favorite among tourists and locals alike, the Marin Headlands offer an opportunity to be visually immersed in the city while ensconced in the natural context.  People mill about the first parking area, eager to take pictures so high up in the sky.  Little do they know, I am aiming to get so much higher.

Truthfully, I am a quite frazzled because I have just battled the Bay’s notoriously awful traffic and arrived later than I expected. I am experiencing the Hashish for the first time. I am arguing with my husband and my flight out of town in is just a few hours.  I feel anxiety welling up into my chest, tightening it painfully, and I am beginning to perspire.  However, I am holding  full spectrum Hashish from Frenchy, so at the very least, in getting lifted, I will forget about my stress for the moment.

I slide into my backseat to take a quick dab on my travel rig.  I pinch off a piece of the soft Hashish, playing with it in my hands.  It feels like cookie dough.  Ordinarily I would press the Hashish between parchment paper using a hash press, but the oil content is so high that a finger press is perfect and the dab is ready.  As the Hashish slides into the Quartz bucket, it bubbles furiously and emits notes of fennel and other savory spices, much like piping hot gravy.  On the first inhale, the diesel  is very prevalent  but quickly makes way for a sweeter and milder berry flavor.  Though similar in taste to  the Cuvée Hashish, the smoke of the Blooddrive Hashish does not does not overpower nor eagerly rush back out of my mouth.  I savor the sweetness and exhale as citrus mixes with pine flavoring.  I look around and no one notices me in my private zone of impending happiness.  I take another dab at a slightly lower temperature and this time I am rewarded with less diesel intensity, but tart citrus and sweet molasses sensations come to the forefront.  The smoke slides out of my mouth cooly and smoothly, with no fuss.

She is easy like Sunday morning.

I am expecting to feel that familiar tingle in the bridge of my nose, but there is nothing.  I take another hit, not looking for flavor, but hunting that euphoria to banish the stress that feels like it is strangling me.

But nothing comes.

There are no mental fireworks, nor is there a rush of elation.  I exit the car for fresh air and to change my immediate surroundings.  Perhaps the setting of my Cadillac’s back seat, with its soft and fragrant leather, is confining and I am effectively preventing myself from getting feeling good.  Nick looks at me expectantly and I shrug, remarking that the strain might not be so special after all.  Looking to our right, a skinny trail snakes along the edge of the road leading to the highest point of the Marin Headlands, Hawk’s Hill, which is 1.5 miles away.  Standing among the chattering visitors feels like being a beehive, so we opt to try the pedestrian path for a little space.  The thin trail clings precariously to the side of a cliff, inviting runners and hikers to take their lives in their own hands.   It is hardly an ideal endeavor for anyone with a bundle of nerves, but I need to move and walk these jitters out and walking along the road is not a much safer option.   As the late afternoon sun blazes into our eyes, we turn our backs to the city and the bridge and we make our way through sage scrub and small clumps of flowers eking out an existence in the harsh and windy landscape as they cling to the sandy soil.  After about 10 minutes of walking, we arrive at a vista lookout and a turn to admire the city stretching behind and below us.  The glass and silver structures of San Francisco glisten in the distance and the bright red towers of the Golden Gate Bridge pierce the sky.  I am reminded that I am supposed to be on experiencing a heavy Hashish high, but I feel no giddyness.  I do notice that my jumpy, lip biting energy has been replaced by a strange calm.  In fact, I feel almost placid.  I then realize that as an Indica dominant hybrid, this Blooddrive Hashish has done an amazing job of calming the waters and righting my ship.

We turn and continue walking along the edge of the cliffs, eager to get to the top and back before the sun sets.  My anxiety has died down completely, but the thought of walking down the cliff in the complete darkness is not appealing.  Thirty-five minutes later, we  arrive at Hawk’s Hill and the view is breathtaking.  We are elevated enough to see across to the East Bay cities of Oakland, Berkley, and Richmond.  Down below, in the sea, tankers appear as tiny boats in a bathtub.  This is a perfect opportunity to take a few more puffs.  Opting for as much discretion as possible, we pull out a vape pen and puff on the tasty Blooddrive Hashish, savoring the swirls of flavor and brazenly exhaling the pungent, yet quickly dissipating smoke.  Less than an hour ago, I felt on the verge of tears, but at this moment, I not only feel like I am on an even keel, but happy to take on everything else.  Back at home, I still need to clean, pack, press hash, take care of my cats, water my plants, and a whole host of everything else which would ordinarily make me feel at wit’s end, but right now, I am practically perfect.  In my relaxed state, I talk a little more and I smile genuinely at Nick.  I do not have the mental escalation I expected, but I my mind is quiet and I am very content.   Our walk back down the cliff is soft,  pleasant,  and hardly scary,  even in the diminishing light.  I was wrong.  Blooddrive Hashish is very special indeed.

Peace of mind cannot be overstated as life bombards us constantly with obstacles, real and perceived, to overcome. Worry is mentally draining at best, and completely crippling at its worst.  For those who suffer needlessly from anxiety, relief can mean the difference between barely surviving and thriving.   Blooddrive Hashish will remain in my private head stash, ready to calm my useless fears and temper my hyperactive mind.  Sometimes getting ‘high’ is less about soaring elation and is simply about elevating out of the depths of despair.  When the road gets rough and life harshes my mellow, to my great appreciation, I can count on the Blooddrive Hashish to smooth out the bumps so that I may enjoy the ride.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 119
Download PDF: WED WORLD, Issue 119 – Hawaiian Trainwreck

Grown by: Happy Trees 707
Processed by: Nick of Happy Trees 707

In California, a popular dairy company advertises that “Great milk comes from happy cows and happy cows come from California.” That sentiment is echoed in Happy Trees 707’s mantra, “Happy trees make happy hash.” Single minded focus keeps their cannabis trees very happy and, in turn, tender, loving care makes happy Hashish.

Not as loud and gregarious as other more known hash makers, Nick of Happy Trees 707 has been carving a CBD niche with which to be reckoned. His dedication is borne of the sincere belief that CBD is the true medicine. From his perspective, ‘big pharma’ has no place in healing and for best care, patients can trust in the caregiving of cannabis. For this reason, he has been specializing in full-melt CBD Hashish. When he began making Hashish seven or eight years ago he made full spectrum ice-water Hashish. Three years ago, he switched to segmenting micron sizes and, to facilitate good drying of his Hashish, using the popular ‘microplane’ method.

His first foray into high CBD Hashish was a combination of Jesus OG from Subcool of TGA Seeds and the high CBD strain Cannatonic that was agitated together in one wash and resulted in Hashish that he named ‘Holy Water.’ It went on to win 3rd Place at the 2014 High Time Cannabis Cup in Los Angeles. When he is not tending to Hashish plants at Happy Trees 707, he is busy accumulating accolades for his hard work and pioneering vision. Since last year, he has been awarded:

2014 High Times Cannabis Cup LA – 3 rd Place – Nonsolvent Hash – “Holy Water”
2014 Dab-a- Doo SF Invitational – 1 st Place – Nonsolvent – “Merit Badge”
2014 Emerald Cup – 1 st Place – CBD Flower – “Hawaiian Trainwreck”
2015 Chalice California – 1 st Place – Highest Flower CBD – “Hawaiian Trainwreck”
2015 Chalice California – 2 nd Place – Nonsolvent Sativa – “KC-36”

The Hawaiian Trainwreck seed was brought over from Hawaii by a friend of Nick’s a few years ago. The seed was germinated, cuttings were taken and the plant was allowed to flower. When the flower was made available, Hawaiian Trainwreck was not a particular hit with younger patients. However, older patients really liked it. After being tested the Hawaiian Trainwreck revealed a cannabinoid profile of 11% THC and 10 % CBD; offering a near perfect 1:1 ratio. This Hashish was created using trim and some small nugs. My experience with CBD has been limited to topicals for pain and sprays that I employ when I feel that THC has carried me on too far of a journey; in other words, when I am just too high. Its ability to modulate THC intake doesn’t make it the usual party-time enhancer. I am intrigued about the 1 to 1 ratio THC to CBD which studies have demonstrated is helpful for neuropathic pain, rheumatism, and a boost to overall mood.

Back in July, I received Hawaiian Trainwreck Hashish from Nick at Chalice California. Naturally he had the Hashish stored in a cold environment. He handed it to me and in the short time outside of the cooler, it was subject to the extreme heat of Southern California where the temperature hovered in the mid 90 degrees Fahrenheit. When I opened the jar, the glistening beige beads beckoned me for further inspection. Its greasiness unmistakable, I longed to taste it, but opted to wait until I could experience it fully; without rush due the high temperature. I put aside my pleasure for just this moment. I open the jar and am not surprised to see that the greasy 90μ Hashish has melted into one mass. Although the sample had been kept in the refrigerator, the heads could not help but mush together. However, rather than caking or buttering, the Hashish has merely self-arranged into a tight taffy, and after I prod at it with my dab tool, it stubbornly pulls at itself and the jar like a wailing child holding on to the last vestiges of the summer while being pushed into the first day of school. Opening the jar had not produced a strong ambient scent – a soft sweet odor had wafted out of the jar, but disappeared quickly. Tugging at the Hashish, the smell of treated wood and buttery nuts struts confidently into the room. It is like opening a bag of roasted peanuts while luxuriating in the sauna. Deeper inhalations are rewarded with more nuts and the delicate aroma of vanilla. This exuded aroma reminds me of a baking cake. As the mass of Hashish is both stretchy and shatter-like, I slowly pull it out of the jar, gingerly breaking off a small piece. I began the familiar process of smoothing out the parchment paper, pressing the Hashish into the middle of the paper, folding parchment over the top, and using a heated glass press to flatten out a dab.

It is for the tactile and visual pleasure of Hashish like Hawaiian Trainwreck that presstech has been perfected.

With a swift snap of the wrist, I open the two sides of parchment paper. A super thin, translucent film is stretched onto the parchment paper. In the sun, the pressed Hashish tries to melt further, glistening in the light and inviting me to enjoy it fully. Pressing the Hashish into a dab-sized circle brought back the delicious aroma of nuts and the revived smell is heady. I use my pointy dab tool to draw lines in the Hashish, delineating several servings. The melty Hashish clings to the tool, eliminating the chance of getting perfect strips ideal for dabbing. Rather the Hashish wraps around the pointy end as if spun by a misguided and manic spider. This is bound to be fun. Firing up my torch, I heat my quartz banger and patiently wait for the heat to dissipate. The resin drops into the bucket and bubbles furiously like oil in a frying pan. The medium bodied smoke slides into my lungs with a mild flavor of camphor and pine. One the exhale, all I can think of is almond tea cakes. Unsure if that is the true flavor or if I am just hungry, I take a second, larger dab. True to form, the Hashish bubbles and melts to practically nothing. My mouth is flooded with the taste of almonds and maraschino cherries. I can taste almost nothing else. The exhale is smooth, prompting not even a whisper of a cough. The smoke lingers with the incinerated aroma of delicious toasted buns.

After two dabs, I wait. My experience with Hashish has taught me that some strains take a while to fully express themselves. I need not have worried. Though I felt none of the usual discomfort traveling up the bridge of my nose, within 10 minutes, I can feel a difference come over my mind. I feel propelled to action. I want to do and accomplish and complete, but without judgement. I feel myself becoming devoid of sentimentality. I am not mean, nor rude, but I feel practical, straightforward, and unencumbered by ‘shoulds’ and ‘coulds’. I am concerned only with that which is. My thinking is crisp, sharp, and accurate. I am not experiencing any fuzziness between experiences, but rather a quick switch, as with a Rubik’s cube – one aspect changes swiftly, altering the timbre of the situation at hand. I feel focused and I want to approach tasks with decisiveness and clarity; like scraping off the excess dough off of the edge of a perfect pie. My body practically bubbles with energy.

Maybe I’ll have one more dab. Let’s see what kind of legs this Hashish really has.

I wrangle off another piece of the sticky Hashish and ignoring my usual ritual, place the unpressed dab into the banger. Almond and vanilla wafers tantalize me again. Now feels like a great time to check up on my plants. My husband and I are growing cannabis plants on our rooftop and though it is the hottest time of the day, I feel compelled to go outside and mind them. I bound up the stairs and fling the roof door open, only to be slapped in the face by the intensity of the sun. Will I melt like the Hawaiian Trainwreck? Who knows and who cares? It’s time to work, work, work. I peer at each plant, inspecting and noticing more than I have ever noticed about them. I have a Sour Diesel Pink Jah Goo Churkle whose colas explode in pink pistils. Halfway down the stem, the pistils are white again. The fiery magenta hairs hold my attention for an additional minute and I am off to the next plant. I find myself mumbling incoherently to myself about the state of the plants. They look good.

Actually they look great, great, great.

I notice my propensity to repeat myself for greater emphasis and I chuckle. The sound isn’t melodic or pretty. It’s a functional laugh as if simply punctuating the absurdity of my actions. I have no time for idle thoughts. It’s time to go, go, go! Once I have looked at each of our 20+ plants, I am ready for my next job. As I run down the stairs quickly, I run into my neighbor who looks like he is about to cry. He is nervous, he explains, about an audition in 2 hours for the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus and he wonders if I can come and listen to him. We make our way to his apartment and I watch him eagerly. He starts belting out his tune and after the first go around, I jump up to join him. I want to give him some of the confidence and moxie bestowed upon me by the Hawaiian Trainwreck. I want him to feel my vibe, my sizzle, and my passion. I have lots to spare and sharing is indeed caring. I spend an hour with him, tightening his act and firing his spark before retiring to my own apartment; vaguely aware that I feel tired and a bit spent.

The sun has taken a toll on me, and though my limbs felt like they floated on air just a few hours ago, they are heavy as logs now and I am exhausted. With little effort, I drift into a light sleep and I am happy.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 120
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 120 – Purple Princess

Grown by: The Doc
Processed by: Billie of Emerald Alchemy

Just as every plant is different, so is every batch of Hashish, and hash makers come in as many flavors as their products. I have had a lot of icewax over the last year, but the Purple Princess really stands out, partially because the hash maker, Billie of Emerald Alchemy, has struck her own path and is following her heart. With an unconventional approach to processing cannabis, Billie’s hash making style is different, reflective of her lengthy experience, 8 years, and her unique perspective on the process. Unlike most, she uses only cured material. She creates icewax that is full spectrum, rather than individualized microns. And the biggest difference is her Hashish making method. Most Hashish makers, myself included, make bubble hash using a machine. Billie, however, completes the collection process by hand. When I ask her how she can handle the physical demands and the strain put on her body, she positively remarks that she is saving herself a gym membership.

She happily explains why she eschews the use of mechanical instruments to facilitate making bubblehash and why the workout is one of love. “My philosophy is to let the resin tell me what to do with it. I like to be in control of every detail of my hash making process thus doing everything by hand allows for me to be involved in an intimate relationship with every batch. When I am processing I constantly stop and take note of what is is happening in the wash. I look at how the plant material is holding up in the agitation process I look at how saturated the water is with resin.”

Billie considers her hash creations to be ‘soul extracted’ as she put all of her heart and soul into her work. Describing her work as magical, she appreciates the privilege of not only processing, but growing cannabis. I listen to her detail, with passion, the other products she makes with cannabis flowers and Hashish – floral and CBD tinctures that feature 40 other medicinal herbs. An avid nature lover from her youth, she marvels at each experience and I am eager to find out if her affection translates into unforgettable Hashish. Created by The Doc, a Santa Cruz area grower and breeder with 40 years of experience, Purple Princess is an indoor grown, Indica dominant hybrid cross of Pre-98 Bubba Kush and Lavender. The Hashish was meticulously processed from high quality sugar leaf, heavy with ripe trichomes.

Though the flashiest Hashish these days is golden, gooey, and greasy, true to Billie’s off-beat style, Purple Princess is sandy and ecru-colored; comfortably unassuming like a pair of Toms Hemp Shoes. Opening the jar allows a funk body odor aroma to escape, quickly followed by robust, citrusy sweetness. Drawing the jar closer, pink grapefruits come to mind as the Hashish continues to express herself. I am reminded of warm tropical Miami nights punctuated by short gusts of sea air which sting and tickle the nostrils. I rip a small piece of RAW parchment paper and pour the Purple Princess Hashish onto the surface, carefully folding it in half. It seems very dry and I am unsure if the beach sand will fuse together. Applying my heated hashpress, coarse grains press smoothly into a translucent film; thick enough to support its own weight yet easily pliable. The smell of citrus rind wafts upward and I fire up my torch and blaze my Halen Honey Hole knowingly. If presses, it will most probably dab, and I am in the mood for a fat dab. As the Hashish touches the quartz, it bubbles only momentarily before practically disappearing. My clean, full melt is fully appreciated as I take a puff and welcome the smoke into my mouth. Like the aroma, on inhalation, the funky and aggressive flavor announces itself brightly and then is subjugated by a delicate floral mouthful that tastes like a bowl of orange honeysuckles. I take another dab, low temp, and delight in the mouthwatering mix of fruit, candy and the tart, musky flavor of overripe lemons. Sliding coolly down my throat, the Purple Princess Hashish gathers steam and thickens, creating a full mouthfeel. The exhaled smoke is robust, playful, and hazy; diffusing the bright sunshine streaming through the windows. My mouth tingles like I just swished mouthwash and my chest feels somewhat stretched. I feel little else in my body, though a mental change overcomes me almost immediately. A cheery focus urges me start trimming plants from this season’s harvest.

Trimming can be tedious, but feeling eager to keep my hand busy, I sit down and trim steadily for more than 2 hours. Gingerly holding fat OG colas, I snip at fan leaves and think about the care that went into the soil, the light that nourished it, and the grower that fawned over it. I manicure the buds anticipating the Hashish that will be made with the sugar leaf. I poke and prod at the tiny leaves, revealing the beautiful buds beneath and revel in the inherent beauty of cannabis. Time passes and feeling a little cramped, I decide to take a much needed break.

In appreciation of Billie’s dedication to plants and flowers I change my set and setting to the lovely outdoors. The Bay Area is enjoying an extended ‘Indian Summer’ and Morcom Rose Garden in Oakland is the perfect place to enjoy more of this Purple Princess. The 7 acre garden is home to more than 5,000 rose bushes, quiet, sun-dappled paths, dramatic stairways and several gorgeous water features. I hop into the back seat of my car and, using my three-hole pipe I take a few more hits of the Purple Princess Hashish. The thick, silver smoke slides out of my mouth and curls alluringly, like the smooth swish of a Chinese painter’s brush. The smoke hangs expectantly, trapped by the raised windows and unable to dissipate. Time and again, I am reminded how the sensual qualities of Hashish keep me mesmerized. Purple Princess is headily intoxicating and I love it. I notice that while in the first session, I felt the Hashish mostly in my head, after four or five puffs, I now feel an intense body high as well. My neck throbs, not unpleasantly, while my chest feels weigh upon, warmed, and expanded; like resin being pressed and fused into a mass of Hashish. I envision my brown skin like a river of chocolate heated by the sun. My legs are heavy; almost immovable, but I am not bothered. A calm and pleasant positivity has settled upon me and I smile in anticipation of the luscious garden. Pausing momentarily, I slowly open the door; letting in a stream of cool, crisp air. The confined smoke, still swirling, drifts upwards lazily. With THC and the myriad of other cannabinoids coursing through me, I exit my car and walk over to the garden.

The formal garden is nestled in a small canyon, pine trees tower along the sides recalling nature’s heavenly cathedral. I walk leisurely, allowing myself to be overcome with the beauty and the quiet majesty of the environment. Though easily accessible by car, the glorious flowers and proud trees whirl visitors into an enchanted cove seemingly far from city life. I breathe in deeply, savoring the scents of thousands of mature flowers, unwavering in their mission to beautify, even as their dying leaves stretch in vain for the ever-shortening rays of the autumn sun. My legs are starting to feel weary and as I pass a large, tiered fountain, I stop to watch the soothing cascade. Like the cool water, pleasant waves of content continue to wash over my mind. I sit on a bench surrounded by a dozens of roses and I am very happy. The air is filled with the animated chatter of birds high up in the tree canopy. I pay attention to the call and response of different groups of birds before I focus my attention on the lush floral banquet everywhere I look. Some of the body high has worn off and I energetically skip through the rose bushes, taking pictures, and taking time to sniff a few. I particularly like two hybrid tea roses that remind me of the Purple Princess – Magenta, a dusty purple rose that smells of crushed lemons and honey, and Barcelona, a dark reddish, purple beauty with a loud, bold, and showy fragrance.

Though my body high has mostly subsided, my mind is still going as the Purple Princess continues to infuse the mundane with an ethereal quality. Everything about these moments is precious. Similarly to when I was trimming the cannabis, the little peculiarities of each flower stand out to me briefly, popping forth like photographs before receding into the background. I begin to spin in place, turning slowly at first, peering at the varied green pallette dotted with pinks, whites, and purples. Whirling like a dervish, bushes become a solid green mat, streaked with undulating splashes of intense color. This Purple Princess has whisked me off into a fairytale and I do not wish it to ever end.

As the sunlight fades, I slowly walk back to my car, grateful for the experience and looking forward to the next. Purple Princess is the breathtaking result of unwavering dedication to quality and an unforgettable expression of love. Like royalty, she is utterly enchanting, not quite what is expected, and full of much more richness than she readily shows.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 121
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 121 – Platinum Girl Scout Cookies

Grown by: Emerald Family Farms
Processed by: Iced Out Extracts

If awards were doled out for sheer perseverance, Uriah Hamilton of Iced Out Extracts (@iced_out_extracts), would surely get a medal. It was in February 2015 in Berkeley, CA, at a smoking/dabbing sesh of Hashmakers, BHO blasters, and cannabis aficionados when we first met. He informed me that he had just made the trip up from Santa Cruz (79 miles/127 km) via public buses and trains. It had taken 3 hours and he would return back home the same evening. I asked him why would he do this. His simple reply, “I love Cannabis.”

Since then I have seen Uriah trek to every major and minor Cannabis event in the Bay area, eager to show his wares and to absorb knowledge from anyone who would share. He has consistently displayed an intensity and maturity far beyond his 19 years. Motivated by a deep passion for the plant and a well earned distrust of pharmaceutical companies, Uriah set out in 2013 to create a Hashish brand that would give people alternative, less detrimental options. His brother had committed suicide while on antidepressants and Uriah saw the need for different therapeutic choices to be available. In mid summer 2015, armed with nothing but faith, he moved from Santa Cruz up North to the Emerald Triangle when he realized he had scant opportunities for receiving the highest quality material. A fortuitous meeting with other industry professionals connected him to Emerald Family Farms, and with his newly added partner Aidan Carroll, a fellow staunch supporter of organic Cannabis, he agreed to produce top quality Hashish for them.

Grown from clones by Jonathan Gilbert at Emerald Family Farms, the Platinum Girls Scout Cookies (a hybrid with OG Kush and Durban Poison parents) was not the first choice for creating the Emerald Cup entry, but it turned out to be the best. Along with Aidan, Uriah harvested the entire plants and flash froze them; a technique commonly referred to a Whole Plant Fresh Frozen (WPFF). Using reverse osmosis water from Miss Aiya’s New World Water in Arcata, CA, they created their own pure ice cubes to wash the flowers. The yield was good and the resin was very fragrant while washing. All of this tender loving care resulted in the ultimate recognition – 1st place for Solventless Hash at the 2015 Emerald Cup this past December. I jumped at the chance taste this Hashish and describe my experience. Several months ago, I had the pleasure of smoking and writing about the 2014 winner (Zkittlez by Brandon of Moonshine Melts). and I was not disappointed. I had no doubt the same would be true for the Platinum Girl Scout Cookies.

When I had first received the mixed micron sample of the Platinum Girl Scout Cookies Hashish at the Emerald Cup, the little trichome heads shone like a jar of mini diamonds. Now, as I open the jar, I am greeted by a dark golden mass of resin. Good resin cannot help do what is wants to do – melt together. At least 70% of the heads have fused together, forming a viscous mass of dank. The first aroma to subtly waft out of the jar reminds me of cake, slightly sweet, but reserved. Pine follows quickly after, but it too is relatively muted, having lost its acrid sharpness. A deep inhale is rewarded by the smell of lemon meringue pie, possibly the OG parentage coming through. I dip my dab tool into the jar to test the texture. The resin is dense and sticks to itself like hair pomade of decades passed. Each stab and swirl of my hand makes the citrus lemon aroma more intense. I think I am actually getting hungry. I would ordinarily pre-press the Hashish, but right now it is evening on New Year’s Day and my husband Nicholas and I are tucked away in a photobooth on the Embarcadero, San Francisco’s bustling waterfront, and it is packed with tourists. I have been celebrating my birthday and I am feeling quite nervy, so I suggest hotboxing the photobooth as a daring way to start the New Year. The Platinum Girl Scout Cookies is now cold and somewhat harder to manipulate, but I manage to scoop a sizable dab. I pull out my 3 hole pipe, I scrape the Hashish off of the steel and into the bowl. I am trying to be careful but quick at the same time. I light my cigar torch and heat my quartz rod. When it glows red, I blow on it and then dip it into the bowl, inhaling the sweet smoke. The smoke slides in my throat smoothly and easily, in no great rush to spill out. The first taste is vanilla and butter, followed by lemon and then a strong piney aftertaste. And just when it seems that the flavor rollercoaster is through, it is punctuated by a final neat taste of vanilla. I blow out alternately through my mouth and my nose. Being so smooth, the nasal tickle is hardly noteable. I sure do hope that my thick cloud of smoke is hardly noticeable wafting upwards into the cold, clear night. My mouth feels lightly coated with oil. Nicholas takes a hit and I try to sit still. I am nervous that at an moment someone will rip the curtain open. Set and setting mean so much to the high. Am I ruining it for myself? I take a significantly larger hit still worried that my nervousness will make me not feel a thing. Despite the sheer volume of smoke I have pulled, the smoke slides down softly, and the exhale is an earth pine and it is sweet like rum and spice cake, the perfect accompaniment to Holiday festivities and this Hashish captures the feeling perfectly. I need not have worried about my elevated experience. Within minutes, I feel a motor beginning to rev in my belly. The Durban Poison is unleashing its sativa effects and I feel like a god riding on a chariot. I am ready to sprint forward and take on the next mini adventure.

After making sure the photobooth has cleared, we join the throngs of people bustling about the waterfront. Strangers’ smiles are plentiful and heart warming as people are still bubbling with merriment and cheer. I feel powerful and able to take on anything. The bitter wind blowing off the Bay has far less sting as I feel the Platinum Girl Scout Cookies Hashish begin to affect my body. From the top of my head to the tip of my toes, a slow, comforting heat begin to envelope me. It feels like the Hashish has created a barrier to protect me from the cold. Thoroughly bundled, I appreciate the added comfort, but make note of the skewed perception of fireside warmth. We will be ok as long as we keep moving.

We walk briskly toward Pier 39, a large waterfront tourist shopping center that is sure to delight my senses. Decked out in endless strings of lights, Pier 39 glows in the night like an ethereal castle. Dozens of shops sell merchandise of every taste, variety, and value, from tchotchke to pricey, over the top jewelry. It is also the perfect place to people watch. Commerce bustles all around us, but I am not phased as I am still in that bubble. In any case, my attention has been caught by a giant double decker carousel that dominates the middle of the open air shopping center. Thousands of lights dance before my eyes and I feel like I am in a fairytale. I look to my husband and he too is starstruck by the luminous display. I want to get a better look at the intricate paintings on the handcrafted masterpiece and I dash up the nearest stairs; pleasantly surprised at the cacophony of sound in my wake. I am standing on Musical Stairs by Remo Saraceni, creator of the famous piano from the Tom Hanks movie Big. I dance back and forth to Nicholas’ amusement and finally step on the landing. I look back at the carousel and its beauty is almost painful. It spins like a giant music box and I am left in wonder. Glancing around, I see Magowan’s Infinite Mirror Maze. How could I resist the opportunity to trip myself out on my birthday?

Red and green lights pulse and flicker and the maze teases us forward. We inch ourselves through, alternately emboldened by small gains, and then confused as we run into visages of ourselves, copied endlessly in the stark mirrors. People of all ages rush by us delighting in the happiness and shrieks of laughters. Eventually, we make our way through the maze and my high has dulled somewhat. However, my body still feels warm and the walk to the car is light-hearted and pleasant.

The next day, my right shoulder aches and I can barely concentrate. Nicholas, a former massage therapist, tries his best to help me, but the pain is making my eyes crossed. How could I have felt so good yesterday, admittedly blissfully unaware of everything that wasn’t infused with birthday-related elation, and yet feel so terrible today? I reach for the Platinum Girl Scout Cookies Hashish. The strain is known for it’s stress and pain relieving properties, so I decide to give it a try.

Being at home, I have the luxury of pre-pressing the Hashish. Even after being opened and closed in less than ideal conditions, the Platinum Girl Scout Cookies Hashish is practically sparkling with clarity. I scoop out a dab and squeeze between parchment paper. With this action, the Hashish is pressed already, but I seek to activate it, dropping the carboxyl group from the THC-A by providing a heat from the glass press. Snapping the paper back, I see a glorious piece of pale yellow stained glass in my hand. I pick up the entire dime sized dab and go for it; filling my banger with Hashish that drips like piping hot oil. The flavora are essentially the same as before; sweet, cakey, piney and lemon, but hit with an intensity not previously felt. The thick smoke is still manageable and I feel no inclination to cough. What I do feel is the desire to sink into way down into my couch, becoming one with it. I feel perfectly ensconced by the marshmallow softness of the furniture. My shoulder no longer aches. Truthfully, I cannot feel much of anything, but a thick, heavy-lidded cloud has lowered around my head and neck. I can stay here for hours and I do because though I am immobile, I feel like I am on top of the world.

Platinum status, so arbitrarily assigned these days, is appropriately conferred to this strain and its Hashish. Lovingly grown, meticulously selected, gently handled, methodically washed, and thoroughly dried, it merits its win at the Emerald Cup, place in your headstash and will surely climb to the top of the list for many cannabis enthusiasts.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 122
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 122 – Candyland

Processed by: Dry Sift Jedi and Jackie of Resin Ranch Extraction

Years ago, when I was a young girl living with parents who were adamant about healthy food choices and prescribed portions, my idea of culinary paradise was ‘Candyland’ – a fantasy world full of endless lollipops for trees, gumdrops for shrubs, and roads made out of sour belts of licorice. In my present reality, I am delighted that this Candyland Hashish creates a sense of wonder not unlike the wistful desires of my younger years. The farmer’s tireless efforts, along with the dedication of the Hashmakers from Resin Ranch Extraction, have resulted in capturing pure bliss in a jar. Once unleashed, a wild ride of unlimited positivity and unbounded creativity commences and the experience is truly out of this world.

While stationed at the Buds and Roses booth during the second weekend of the 2016 High Times Cannabis Cup in San Bernardino, Frenchy Cannoli and I are each gifted with this Candyland Dry Sift Hashish by Todd Franciskovic, aka Dry Sift Jedi, and his partner Jackie of Resin Ranch Extraction. Of late, dry sift Hashish has been gaining popularity due to the influences of Cuban Grower, Cuban Hash Queen, and Bubbleman; all of whom Dry Sift Jedi thanks for furthering the progress of the solventless movement. I express my gratitude profusely to Dry Sift Jedi and Jackie, appreciating how freely they want to share with me such a fine example of dry sifting prowess. This Candyland Hashish is a product of flowers grown by a small private farm in the Honey Dew area of Humboldt County, California. For the last three years, Dry Sift Jedi has been creating bubblehash and, over the last year and a half, dry sift as well, using organic, sun grown, pesticide-free material that has been curing for a minimum of 1 month. Using a system they have dubbed “JediTech” he and Jackie collect just the trichome heads; finishing their cleaning process on the 180 LPI screen. I had been following them on Instagram, drooling over their pictures that I now see did little justice to their actual offerings. Opting to enjoy the Candyland Hashish at home, I carefully pack the jar away.

Weeks later, I decide to finally indulge, and the Indica-dominant Candyland Hashish reeks as soon as I open it. The resin is beautiful and robust pearls of golden cannabinoid-filled goodness. Dry Sift Jedi says he is inspired by Frenchy’s “obvious deep love for the resin,” and this Candyland Hashish proves that he too carries on the tradition of top quality concentrates in the Emerald Triangle. Without having to bury my nose in Hashish, and keeping the jar at arm’s length, the terpenes announce their presence; sighing sweetly and enticing me to take a very large dab. I do not want to rush. I want to savor every bit and appreciate the sugary, musky notes of Grandaddy Purple and Platinum Girl Scout Cookies that make up the Candyland’s parentage. I inhale pungent berries and I smile. I swirl the resin using a dab tool and it crinkles softly like parting sugar. I scoop a half dime’s worth into my gloved hand and begin to knead it into a very small modern day temple ball. The resin melts under my insistent touch and before long, a tiny caramel ball is deftly rolled. Under the manipulation of my fingers, the aroma of flowers and sweet fruit is released and it is quite lovely. I have not yet taken a dab and I am already mesmerized. I can tell that a dank delirium awaits me, but I am patient.

I truly enjoy the ritual aspect of dabbing concentrates. This appreciation for the slow process is one of the reasons that vape pens do not appeal to me much. The little details of preparation add to the enjoyment of my experience. I take my time pouring a small amount of Hashish onto a square of parchment paper. After torching my glass hashpress briefly, in one flowing pass, I transform the grainy Hashish into the thinnest mini slab of grease. The ease in which the Hashish has pressed tells me the oil content is very high and I am in for a heady ride.

Since I have so many different types of Hashish at any given time, it is easy for experiences to become indistinguishable. Today I am taking advantage of Frenchy’s newly established scoring table for Hashish. I look over his considerations of smoothness, stability, taste, melt, and the like as I take my first dab. After waiting for my quartz banger to cool to the proper temperature, I ease the dab onto the hot surface and a golden trail streaks across the quartz as the Hashish melts like butter on a skillet. The smoke easily slides into my mouth, coats my throat thickly, and flows out quickly and smoothly. The taste is pleasant; at first sweet before transitioning into a puffed wheat flavor, followed by camphor, and finally rounded out with berries on the end. I feel a familiar tingle in my nose as the remnants of the Hashish smoke slither past my nasal passages. My mouth retains a memory of the cottony smoke and I suck on my tongue absently; already hankering for another taste of this unique and multi-layered combination of flavors. In my body, I feel a sensation of lightness, as if I could float away like an errant hot air balloon. At the same time, I am keenly aware of just about everything…and right now, everything is Tony the Tiger GREATTTTT!

I take a second dab, this time at a very low temp trying to discover the other flavors that burn so easily at higher degrees. The smoke that greets me is light, reminding me of citrus and cake flour at once. Though it is unassuming, it settles in my mouth and shows no signs of going anywhere. Just then, I am overcome with good cheer. With a personality fit for a bounding goat, I am naturally bubbly; almost ebullient. My immediate reaction after the second Candyland Hashish dab is to break out in song and dance about my lemon rinds and my kitty’s fat behind. My cheerful song, belted at increasingly high volume, goes on and on, wending through nonsensical sounds and short words easily rhymed with one another. I am brimming over the top with unabashed happiness and I look at the jar of sift in amazement. I take 2 more dabs and eye my tenor and double tenor steelpans in the middle of the living room. I have been obsessed with these melodic percussive instruments for the past 27 years and right now, I am itching to play.

For the past week, I have been tinkering around with a few classics and jazz standards and I have an overwhelming desire to express myself. The tenor and double tenor steelpans correlate roughly to the violin and viola of classical orchestras. Playing on the tenor steelpan is a showman’s position, but it is on the double tenor steelpan that I feel my best. Using my body to preserve my rhythm and inertia while moving from side to side to reach notes sometimes spread as far as my entire arm span, I am lost in the magic of the instrument. My skill on these instruments have largely been confined to being able to near flawlessly play music as instructed, but I have struggled over the years with creating music on the spot. In my head, I can spin intricate melodies and accompanying harmonies, but clam up when prompted for an impromptu demonstration. Right now, I feel my mind easily leaping over those creative boundaries and running with wild abandon into the unknown. The notes reverberate through my body and I feel the rest of the world receding. I am only concerned with C,D,E,F,G, A,B, and their derivations. A record plays in my head and I hear Sinatra croon, “…I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried,” and suddenly I just KNOW how to provide a rich complement to the melody of one of my favorite tunes, “My Way.”

Seemingly outside of my control, I begin composing music full of scales, arpeggios, and most of all, JOY! I feel so very alive, as if the musical notes are giving me sustenance to continue. The sentiments and sensations coursing through me are so exhilarating that for a moment, I briefly wonder if I am in the throes of a spontaneous manic episode. Feeling energized, but not at all racy, I brush that negative thought aside and continue to play. I have already secured the melody on my tenor steelpan and just about finished the arrangement for the double tenor steelpans and I can say this is one of the happiest experiences I have had playing music. From my wrists, chord progressions flow like water and, in a way, I feel possessed. I feel like a conduit for the heavenly music and I begin audio recording to ensure that I can recall my creations when this enlightening solo jam session is over. After a while, I notice that my arms feel slightly warm, as if I had been strolling in the late spring sun. I imagine that I must be glowing as bubbles of glee radiate from my skin.

More than two hours have passed and I am still buzzing off of the Hashish dabs. I am open to the world and letting it all in. I look out of the window and seeing the sun setting, I run up the stairs to the roof to soak in the last of the golden rays. I gaze after the departing light wondering if the sun, as brightly as it shone today, shone nearly as brightly as I did.

As complicated and sometimes exhausting as can be day to day life, we take comfort in those pleasures that can transform our mood and change our perspective. I had assumed all of these years that there was a limit to what I could on my beloved instrument and one long session with the Candyland Hashish banished me of such mental constraints. There may not really exist a world made of fondant and gummies, but this Candyland Hashish adds an overlay of unmitigated freedom and childlike wonder to everything and that may just mean the most wonderful dream come true.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 123
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 123 – Jah Goo

Grown by: Ladies Club Organics
Processed by: The Dank Duchess

From the beginning Frenchy Cannoli advised that by going to the source, I would get the best quality material.  As he put it, the real hashmaker goes as far up the mountain as he can to make the best Hashish possible.  My husband Nicholas and I undertook Frenchy’s challenge, traveled to the mountains of Mendocino County, and we returned with a quiet gem named Jah Goo; smoothly flavorful, with an intense and unforgiving punch. Years ago, while studying for my Masters in Landscape Architecture, I noticed that the showiest flowers, while absolutely beautiful, did not always have the most desired scents.  Or perhaps they were temperamental and lacked hardiness.  On the other hand, some of the sweetest and nuanced aromas came from flowers that were not extraordinarily pretty.  Jah Goo balances it all: short flowering time, large, hardy colas, and a unique taste that I have yet to say reminds me of any other strain.  She is in a league of her own.

Produced from a cross of a robust Afgoo female and Purple Jasmine male, the Jah Goo is a 50/50 hybrid which displays mentally bright Sativa characteristics at the beginning of the smoking experience and progresses to a heavier Indica-like physical high as one continues to smoke.  In 2015, the plants were grown by Ladies Club Organics in Round Valley, Mendocino, California.  After 8 weeks of flowering, with fat pink and purple colas covered in frosty trichomes, the Jah Goo was harvested in the late fall.

The harvested plants have been dried slowly and allowed to cure for over a month before being presented to me.

I have been washing Jah Goo for over a year and am familiar with her peculiarities; including the propensity to clog the machine as it spins.  In the end Jah Goo washes well, producing a very good yield of sticky resin.  The Hashish is dried in the freeze dryer which chills the resin far below freezing before drying it thoroughly over the course of hours.  Once dried, I pick up a patty from the tray, inspecting it before folding it half.  The resin gives slowly before cracking slightly to reveal a dark crystalline interior.  The Jah Goo Hashish puck is a geode of dank oil-filled trichomes.  Pressing this Hashish is going to be a dream.  Using Frenchy’s hot water bottle tech, I warm the Hashish puck with successive rolls across its surface until I am able to press the puck into a thin, soft, and moldable sheet.  Folding the sheet into half over and over, I create a cube, pressing it firmly with my palms while shaping adjacent side with my fingers. I continue doing this for a few minutes, creating a firm, pressed core. The warm resin reminds me of blackberry candy and it is hard to resist the urge to stop pressing and take an early dab.   Satisfied with the tight box I have made, I begin pressing in the corners before beginning the roll of the templeball.  A collected mass is ideal for preserving and aging  and modern day templeballs are nod to a beautiful and practical tradition.  After leaving the ball to sit for 2 days, I pack it into an airtight jar.

Two months pass and I believe it is an ideal time to dig into the tempting templeball.  I open the jar and the pent up terpenes announce themselves loudly.  I am used to the soft, berry like flavors of Jah Goo flower.  However, as a freshly opened concentrate, the intensity is multiplied. The dark, purple skin initially resists the prod of my dab tool, but soon relents.  Within the cracked ball, greasy resin, now coalesced into one massive resinous unit, glistens seductively. I pull the jar close and a savory, woody musk warms greets my nose.  I scoop a fat dab’s worth of Hashish onto my dab tool and fire up the torch.  By the way the Hashish looks in the jar, I know this dab will melt like water.  With high anticipation I bring the tip of the tool to the quartz banger and as predicted, she melts smoothly across the surface.  Golden bubbles paint the walls of the quartz and the Jah Goo Hashish disappears. I draw effortlessly on my rig and cool, thick smooth smoothly eases down my throat.  On the exhale, sweet, floral-flavored smoke slides out of my mouth, billowing around my face and hanging in the air. A moment passes and a pungent tropical spice spreads across my tongue and tingles sharply up my right nostril.  I have become used to this powerful afterthought of the Jah Goo Hashish. Each dabs reminds me of chewing on sweet cinnamon stick, followed by a green mango sprinkled with cayenne pepper.  My nostrils are instantly cleared every single time.

Behind my ears tingle like the sensation you get when eating a lemon that is too tart.  Fortunately, it is a rather pleasant feeling.  It signals a lovely cerebral experience awaiting me.  Little shocks tickle across the bridge of my nose and into my eyebrows.  I love this feeling.  Sativas provide a wide awake and aware feeling that brightens my day instantly.  Dabbing Sativa Hashish feels like a shot of enthusiasm has been added to the moment. I feel so good I could dance. If nothing else I have got to move around. I convince my husband Nicholas that we should go hiking RIGHT NOW!  Fortunately for us, living in the San Francisco Bay area, wooded and forested areas are always less than 30 minutes away.  We head along the highway toward Berkley; radio blasting and spirits high.  Nicholas is naturally ebullient most of the time, but he is sure to be even bubblier once we park and he can have a few dabs before our adventure.  As he pulls alongside Temescal Regional Park, I retrieve my 3-hole pipe and quartz rod.  Opening a small jar I scoop out more Hashish and tears apart like a thick wad of bubblegum.  With practiced ease, I heat the rod with the torch for a short while and then allow it to cool slightly.  With the pipe to his lips, I press the rod into the shallow depth of the pipe.  The small mass of Jah Goo Hashish immediately starts to bubble,, wisps of smoke dashing into each of the three holes.   He holds briefly before bowing out slowly.  Then…he winces.  I chuckle.   I also take a hit from the pipe and then I am ready to go.  I want to get my momentum going before the physical effects hit me.  Jah Goo never makes me feel couch-locked, but a hike, even a short one, can seem like an unending marathon when legs lack to will to continue moving.

Still savoring the thick sweetness of the Jah Goo hashish, we start along the Oak Bay Trail which immediately begins a steep incline 830 feet (230 m) into the clear California sky.  Within 5 minutes, we are surrounded by live oak, hazelnut, laurel, and redwood trees, to name a few.  At first we are full of animated conversation, remarking about all of the pretty flowers and the gorgeous views of the Temescal Lake below us. Our high spirits are unbothered by the chilly breeze that rustles the trees.  It is as if the Jah Goo Hashish has created a thin shell around us which buffets the cold air.  I am not numb, but merely unaffected by the possible discomfort of the coolth. As we continue to walk, a quiet comfort settles upon us and the only sounds are chattering birds, the soft crunch of pine needles beneath our feet, and our unhurried breathing.  Something like waves provides a steady background accompaniment, but that sound is the constant traffic of a nearby highway.  I frown when I notice it, but the irritation soon fades.  Careful not to step into the poison oak along the sides of the narrow trail, we walk hand in hand, giggling like silly teenagers at nothing at all.  After about ¾ of a mile, we stop to hit the pipe again.  It has been a damp spring, so the risk of fire is low, but we remain vigilant about our torch use.  The surest way to get Californians to hate you is to set something on fire and that would be a high blower indeed.  Thirty seconds after taking out last pull we spy another hiker coming around a nearby bend and we hurriedly put away our tools. The wood smells lovely with the thousands of wildflowers that abound, but smelling something entirely different and yet perhaps familiar, she looks at us quizzically.  Seeing no evidence of anything out of the ordinary, she silently continues on the path, and we break down laughing.  We compose ourselves and turn around.  The light is lessening and it is about time to get back.  Besides, I am getting hungry.

Once back home, I am still full of energy, though I can feel the toll the short hike has taken on my body.  Nicholas opts to take a nap on the couch, but I have other ideas – like taking a dab.  I am entranced as the banger begins to glow red. The whole ritual of heating the banger makes me focus on every step to get the most flavorful pull possible.  As I wait for the banger to cool, I stare at the glob of sticky Hashish on the end of my tool and I say a small affirmation of gratefulness.  I am so lucky to work with this particular and unique strain.  I think about all of the farmers involved in cultivating and improving the strain and I am thankful.  The living room suddenly feels confining and I decide to head outside.

Wrapped in a soft green fleece, I walk up the stairs to the roof.  Opening the door chilly air blasts my face, but just as before, the temperature is hardly noticed. Careful stepping down, I marvel for the hundredth time at the vast amount of sky visible from my roof. Twenty years after having grown up in New York with the majority of the cosmos blocked by towering buildings, I still delight at unobstructed views of stars. Tonight, thick brownish-purple fog blankets half of the sky, obscuring the gently rolling, yet impressively massive, Oakland Hills which usually dominate the view. Looking across the sky I see fat mauve clouds giving away to light wisps that eventually peter out over the dark San Francisco Bay.  I pause my reverie for a quick dab of Jah Goo Hashish.  The cool air chills my banger faster than I intended and I am rewarded with a very low temp dab that produces little vapor, but a mouthful of flavor.  A flood of mangoes rushes at me and I smile at the simple fabulousness of it all.

Who says you cannot have it all?  The delectable flavors, heady aromas, and powerful presence of the Jah Goo Hashish combine for an unforgettable comprehensive effect.   A smooth operator, Jah Goo seduces thoroughly; at first delicately coy before bowling me over with her intensity. Jah Goo is the woman who walks into an all-white costume party wearing purple and still wins “Best Dressed.”  She is just special in that way.  She is dignified, distinctive, and definitely delicious.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 124
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 124 – MackTown Diesel

Grown by: Graham’s Brand
Processed by: Solventless Mind and She’s Bubbly

We are quick to lavish praise upon the star; the one unafraid to go it alone.  However, greater impact is often made when a mastermind of brain power is set upon a concept and pursued tirelessly.  Such is the case with MackTown Diesel, a collaboration between a dedicated farmer and a team of unstoppable resin collectors.  What has been produced is mind-bending Hashish of the most glorious flavor.

MackTown Diesel was bred by Graham of Graham’s Brand based out of Humboldt, CA.  An AK-47 and Sour Diesel cross, this high yielding Sativa produces lanky, but chunky buds with an impressive 28.6% THC content.  MackTown Diesel was grown indoor in a no-spray, hydroponic environment.  It was dried and cured for two and a half weeks before being carefully handed off to Thomas (IG: @solventlessmind) and Amber (IG:@shesbubbly) of Spirit Extracts.  The duo washes their high quality material by hand, assuring higher yield and better quality of the resulting resin.  Graham’s top choice flowers along with Spirit Extracts’ unique approach to hashmaking has been a positive collaboration which has accumulated a few plaudits including:

2015 San Jose 420 Hempcon Dab Cup – Best Nonsolvent – La Tabula Rasa Rosin

2016 Trim Scene Competition  – People’s Choice – MacTown Diesel

I would expect that such a high degree of skill, care, and talent would have been dicsovered and nutured by a dedicated mentor.  However, in the spirit of DIY learning, Thomas learned how to make bubblehash from watching on YouTube the videos of pioneer Marc “Bubbleman” Richardson.  An avid Butane Hash Oil maker for 11 years, Thomas made the switch to bubblehash when he came to the realization that he could make cleaner, better medicine that also had powerful and pleasurable effect.  Besides making bubblehash, Spirit Extracts produces rosin, isolated terpenes, capsules, and a line of edibles is forthcoming.  For months, I have visually appreciated their creations.  Honored with the opportunity to finally write about it, I looked forward an amazing adventure.

It is summer in the bay, and quite unusually, the weather is very hot.  I get a call from my beautiful model friend Sarah Jain (IG:@sarahjain420) and we arrange to hit the beach.   I am very eager as I have only enjoyed the sand a few times since moving from South Beach, Florida two years ago.  Besides, from her Instagram page, I can tell that Sarah Jain really knows how to enjoy fun in the sun.   Driving to the beach is a white knuckle ride as Highway 1 clings to the edge of the Marin Headlands and precariously dangles off of the west coast of California.  I have a vague notion of where I am headed, and without cell service, all I have is hope.  I am running late and nervous that I will miss the opportunity to sunbathe and enjoy the Hashish in this most anticipated environment. Somehow, like a lone fishing line in  pond, she manages to snag my attention jumping up and down on the side of the road.  She and her friend Juliette (IG:@juliettefaer) had gone down without me and now having come back to guide me, were antsy to get back to watching whales.

I hastly gather my things, making sure to pick up my rig, food, towels, and purse.  Totally encumbered by the multitude of bags and hindered by my flat soled sandals, I make my gingerly behind the two of them.  The small path winds along the cliff, crowded over by prickly and snaggy bushes, wildflowers, and loose gravel.  The Pacific Ocean pulls my eyes to stare into the distance, but the danger beneath my feet keeps me concentrated on not dying.

Climbing over sharp rocks and avoinding a treacherous ravine has been almost too much for me to handle and I am grumpy by the time we finish our half mile trek.  I am completely sober as the trip here was nervewracking and I really could use some THC. I can hear the water pounding into the sand and though I cannot yet see the water, the sound alone is beginning to lift my spirits.  Sarah Jain offers encouragement as she nimbly skirts the boulders standing in our way.  Squeezing through a narrow passage, we emerge on a strip of rocky sand about 200 feet long.  Bluish-black rocks standing 30 feet tall jut into the ocean in utter definance of the thundering waves.

As the sun blasts down upon us, we consider whether the blistering heat will dampen our good times as we have no protective canopy.  In any case, we are here, so we have to make the best of it.  And how bad could it be? South Beach,  my beach haunt for 13 years is top optional, but this secluded beach is a favorite of nudists.

So when in Rome…

We slide off our suits and bask in the loving glare of the sunlight.  Dabs in nature are great, but naked dabs on the beach will be insane.

We set up our blanket on the craggy rocks begin to take out our various concentrates and flowers.  Having been honered as a High Times Cannabis Cup Solvent Judge few weeks back, Sarah Jain has lots of delicious OGs that she wants to share.  Juliette has some flowers, and I have the MackTown Diesel.  We have all brought a variety of fruits to enjoy as well.  Taking out her Silika glass dab rig, Sarah Jain wastes no time firing it up.  I look around at the few other sun worshippers and they seem not to care that we have lit a butane torch out in the open.  Sarah Jain explains to me that she never goes to any beaches in California that are not 420 friendly.  That’s my kind of woman.  After taking a bite of a juicy strawberry, she scoops a hefty dab of OG cake batter and takes a long pull.  Her lips turn up at the corners and as exhales, she proclaims that the OG is so much sweeter with the flavor of strawberries lingering in her mouth.  I have not matched foods with concentrates before.  I had brought the cherries and blackberries to enjoy while we lounged on the sand, but Sarah Jain assures me my experience will be all the better for it.

I am dying to take a dab and I reach under my towel to retrieve the jars that I have kept hidden from the unrelenting sun.  In the split second that I turn away, I hear a roar of exclamation – a whale has been spotted blowing air out of his spout.  I quickly turn over, peering at the undulating blue sea.  Before long, a large, dark figure emerges from the water and in a grand gesture flops into the water.  This is my very first time seeing whales in the wild and I am mesmerized.  What follows is 15 straight minutes of oohs and ahs as the newbies like me, and the locals alike delight in the show of playful dolphins and whales  unfolding before us.

The whales take a breather (no pun intended) and we refocus on our dabs.  I would love to have some of her OGs, but I know the MackTown Diesel Hashish just might be even better.   As I wait for my turn to use the torch, the whales begin thir show again.  It is like they can feel our admiration and appreciation.  A man walks up to us asking for a light and he mentions that someone says we are smoking a bong.  He goes on to compliment us in a decidely uncreepy way and exclaims that the we are the beach’s good luck charm because they have never seen the whales behave in such a fashion.  I wonder if the whales can feel us coming into communion with everything around us.

I am still holding the jar of Hashish in my hand from 20 minutes before and I worry that excessive warmth may have ruined the look.  I glance down and the oily balls of resin wrench my attention from the spectacular scene out in the ocean.  Gazing into the small jar, I marvel at how the globes of the trichome heads look absolutely perfect.  It is not lost on me that in the presence of whales skyhopping and breaching, I hold in my hand what looks like the most precious caviar.

In the heat, the aroma of the the MackTown Diesel rolls out thickly.  A delicate sweetness is followed by fuel and the sharp pang of citrus.   My mouth waters recalling the particular bite of the MackTown Diesel Hashish. I have had dabs of this Hashish before and am curious about the flavor combination with a fruit.  Sarah Jain suggests eating a blackberry first.  I choose a plump, almost overripe berry and chew thoughtfully while Sarah Jain lights the trough.  I do not have any parchment paper at my disposal, so I simply dig the dab tool in to scoop.  Unlike the individually uncased resin on the top of the jar, the middle has fused together into a thick taffy that struggles to pull apart.  At this rate, I will only get two humongous dabs out of the jar.  I have the choice to try to chill it, or heat it further.  I opt to allow the sun to melt it more and Juliette takes my place sucking in the delectable concentrates that Sarah Jain has to offer.  Two or three minute later, the resin is very soft, like well chewed bubble gum.  I messily eat another blackberry, allowing the juice to run down my chin.  It’s my turn to dab and I am ready.  Touching the resin to the trough, it dissolves almost instantly.  Amber liquid dances all over the surface in a crazy jig.  Contrary to how I experienced the smell, the first flavor is get is sweet oranges followed by fuel.  It is like a creamsicle soaked in gasoline.  Finaly at the end, I can taste a hint of berry goodness.  I exhale and the sensation is all gas and my mouth tastes like the business end of a tailpipe.  Interestingly, it isn’t unpleasant at all.  The blackberry  juice which had coated my mouth provides a vey sweet aftertaste of which I was not expecting.  I look up at Sarah Jain and she says, “I told you so.”  Although the dab was fairly large and very intense, I am not coughing.  I am merely patiently waiting for my turn again.  I do have my own rig, but somehow it seems that i will be breaking the circle and the sacred cycle we have created.   We watch the whales, take dabs in turn, and allow the peace to overcome us.  Soon I am ready and I decide to try a fat, purplish cherry.  Playing with the pit in my mouth, I notice the softness of the pulp, the smoothness of the skin, and the soft clack of the pit against my teeth.    Taking another dab, my eyes water and warmth begins to radite from my core outwards.  The mouthfeel is thick and almost chewable.  Blowing out, the bluish smoke dances before me before rolling out to sea.  The cherry does add a delightful twist on the Hashish, but I think I prefer the blackberry.  The slight tartness is perfect to counteract the powerful diesel flavor.  I am not sure I can simply take dabs anymore.  It is all about the combination.

My eyes are still wet and everything looks a bit wavy, like the visage of an oasis in the distance.  I lay back and allow the dreaminess to overtake me.  I feel like I am definitely present, but somehow slightly removed, as if I am watching a movie of people on the beach.  I languily follow an Ultimate frisbee game as the geriatric players prance about and dart around like children.  I laugh out loud for no reason and Juliette gives me aknowing smile.

Hours pass and our conversation slows and we enjoy each other’s company without saying a word.  We feel completely in sync with our environment and even the cacophony of the  furious ocean dies down to a purr.  Sarah Jain breaks the quiet to comment that she always has a pleasurable time at the beach, but together, we have made it an absolute blast.  Plans are made to continue heading to this beach accompanied by more cannabis industry women.  As a group, we will have a mindblowing time.

On the way back, as if to put the final punctuation on the idyllic landscape, we spot an adventurous climber steadily making his way up and across the cliff face.  He pauses to turn his head to the left, spots us and smiles.  Then he turns to the right,  drinking in the endless expanse of the Pacific ocean and the golden glow of the afternoon sunshine.  We stand still watching him in his reverie and then we nod to eachother.  Walking ginglerly up the gravely and sandy terrain we make plans to visit this wonderland again very soon.

Though each element of a wonderful experience has its own merit, their combination can create something truly spectacular.  Just as enjoying the beach, the dabs, the exotic marine life, and new friends are much more charming together, so does the joint effort between Graham’s Brand and Spirit Extracts elicit Hashish that is greater than the sum of its parts and we are all the better for it.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 125
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 125 – Girl Scout Cookies

Grown and Processed by: Vishudda Express’d

Back in the 90s, a very popular Internet activity was to determine, using feature films, the smallest number of degrees of separation of any actor/actress from Kevin Bacon.  It was determined that he was a hub of extraordinary activity.  Interestingly enough, we find that daily, our own lives constantly intersect with seemingly unrelated players who affect us without any of us realizing it.  While carrying on our everyday tasks, our minds remain frenzied, blinding us to the unseen forces of push and pull between people who come into our circle for a short or long stay.  Girl Scout Cookies turns down the volume in our heads and prevents us from being tuned out by routine, making way for noticing the  little things we take for granted but all have in common.

I first met Suhki from Vishudda Express’d while at a cannabis event where I assumed I knew  every other notable hashmaker in attendance.  Walking by, he pressed a package into my palm and disappeared into the crowd.  I gave no thought of it until a few weeks later when searching through Instagram hashtags for “pressed Hashish”, I happened upon the account  of @vishuddi_express’d which featured several photos of greasy templeballs which caught my eye. Interested in his hashmaking style, I reached out and soon visited him at his home.

Stepping through the threshold of his house is like being transported from the bright, but emotionally cold outside world, into a fairy world of art and music.  Every wall and surface is adorned by colorful creations by his wife or his father-in-law.   Reggae music in the background adds to the easy-natured vibe and I think about how lucky I am to have crossed paths with him considering I had not noticed him before. My personal network is larger than I had previously believed.  Strolling through the cheery apartment I walk out of the back door and and over to his small greenhouse.  Glancing in I see organically grown Girl Scout Cookies plants clustered together and positively radiating.  Suhki beams with pride as he tells me how he lovingly babies the plants and relates his grand plans for making killer hash. He tells me how he has, with positive intention, aligned the plants along a crystal grid, channeling energy which revolves around the plants; constantly encouraging each plant to grow to its fullest potential and make the most beneficial medicine possible.

A hashmaker with 12 years of experience, Sukhi and his wife formally began offering their “Hashish and rosin for patients just a few months ago.  “Vishudda” refers to the throat chakra and “Express’d” refers to the flower rosin that he produces.  Sukhi believes he can best express his healing energy for others by infusing his plants and Hashish with love and intention to greater purpose.  Though not opposed to recreational use of cannabis, he makes spiritual connection with the divine his true focus.  Listening to inspiring music at 432 Hz and surrounding his plants with crystals creates a bubble of mindfulness and  positivity.  Since first meeting him, I have had the pleasure of enjoying both his open heart and his amazing concentrates made with the greatest care.  The bubble hash I have in my hands is no exception.  Nicknamed “Trixx” for its fruity smell reminiscent of sugary breakfast cereal, this 73 – 159 micron Hashish is a hand washed and air dried product of the plants I was privileged to see growing months before.  I have saved tasting the Hashish for a special time.  Now that I am in New York visiting my parents and getting ready for the most anticipated steelband competition in the United States, I am ready.

It has been a while since I have visited the grand museums of the City, and I plan a trip to the Museum of Modern Art.  According to my transit app, the train I need is not stopping close to my mother’s house, which necessitates me to travel almost a mile away to the next station.  I do not mind much.  The walk will allow me to partake in the beauty of Brooklyn.  Standing outside in the light breeze, I pull apart the parchment paper and stare at the soft, light brown mass of resin.  Vaguely reminiscent of Mary Jane (no pun intended) peanut butter chews,  the Hashish gleams in the sunlight.  I bring it closer to my face and the ambient aroma is like artificial sweetener.  I see why Sukhi and his wife call this Hashish “Trixx.”  I pull it up right under my nose and a sharp, metallic smell rises thickly.  I look around and seeing no one on the block, bend down to surreptitiously pack the generic vape pen.  Being in California, one gets used to packing bowls and pens with little care.  This is New York, however, and though penalties for cannabis use have lessened significantly, I am still wary.  Screwing the top of the vape pen back on, I pull on the pen and begin walking while listening to steelpan music in my ears.  I smile as the “dry hit” is just as expected.  I taste a mild flavor of cereal and grain.  Pulling again, the Hashish finally makes contact with the coil and the first wisps of vapor slip between my lips.  I am almost never satisfied with the mouthfeel of a vapor pen, so I do not judge the light, barely perceptible nature of the pull.  Rather I keep pulling steadily, filling my mouth and then my lungs with sweet, fruity, air. I exhale through my nose, revelling in the slight bite of the vapor.  I walk past large three storied homes, tucked away behind the frenetic atmosphere of Flatbush Avenue; hidden from view but no less glorious than the fancy penthouse apartments of Manhattan.  I walk steadily, and pull on the vape pen on what seems to be an eternal stroll.  Perhaps this is further than I thought, but then again it is not so bad.  I begin to notice the intricacies of the musical arrangement and marvel that the Hashish must be working.  I am enveloped in my own personal symphony of steelpan instruments both playing their own melodies and yet working in tandem to create a multi-layered tapestry of harmony.  The beauty of the music lifts my already lofty spirits and I swear I am listening to the angels in the heavens.  I feel like life is truly grand, as the leaves seem even more verdant and the air even sweeter.

Soon I get to my destination and descend onto the open air station.  New York’s subway system is a 24 hour sociological experiment; forcing interactions of the most diverse groups of people, many of whom do not take too kindly to being probed my eyes.  Quickly the Q train approaches and I step on.  It is midday, so the throngs of people I’d usually expect on the train are absent.  About 30 people sit and stand as the train smoothly travels through the densely intertwined tunnels that connect the boroughs.  A few people are on their mobile devices, but for the most part, people seem lost in thought.  Everyone appears so unique, but are we really so different?  I chance looking into their faces and imagine how many are thinking of their families, their jobs, their secret desires, and their quiet failures.

As the train rumbles on, I feel a warmth spread from my chest outwards as a body high settles upon me.  The hard seat of the train feels as comfortable as my couch at home and I close my eyes as I have a few minutes before my stop at 49th Street.  In my ears the arrangement continues to pull at my heart strings and I feel myself swaying imperceptibly.  As a native New Yorker I almost instinctively know when I have reached my stop and I open my eyes.  To my surprise, there is a man leaning against the door watching me and smiling knowingly.  Had he see me moving to and from to the lovely sounds, or had he connected to me on a different level and agreed that the melodies were indeed lovely?  I nod, stand, and leave the train.

I ascend and make my entrance into the hustle and bustle at Radio Music Hall.  The heat slaps my face and I remember how sweltering is New York in August.  When I lived in Miami Beach, I was always close enough to the ocean for a quick dip at any moment. Rather, I find myself practically trapped in a scorching valley of soaring glass and steel with the concrete cooking beneath my feet.   Small beads of perspiration quickly begin to form on my brow, and my clothes cling uncomfortably to my frame, but I am actually feeling pretty good.  My sense of lightness has just slightly begun to wane and  but decide to repack my vape pen.  I stand with my back pressed against the side of the towering Radio City Music Hall and take out my small parchment paper.  With a quick snap I pull the paper apart to reveal that  I think again about how lucky I am.  Hashish is typically kept in a cool environment, protected from the elements, but squeezed into my purse, the Girl Scout Cookie has melted into morsel sized peaks of sweet, smelling caramel creamy goodness. Unceremoniously I scoop a lentil sized dab and smear it onto the coil.  As dozens of people are passing me by, not one person is giving the slightest acknowledgement of me stuffing high grade bubblehash into this vape pen.  New Yorkers have singular focus to get where they are going and as usual, people do not notice what they do not expect to see.  I pull on the pen and take out a long, slow drag.  Sweet, smooth smoke slowly rolls into my mouth and down my throat.

Anyone who has experienced New York City in the summertime is aware of the melange of odors that drift by at any time.  Aromas of food from far flung parts of the world mix together in a jumble while being blanketed by the horrific smell of rotting garbage. I am completely unfazed.  The warm air brushes over me like feathers dancing over my skin.  Car horns blare insistently, but somehow, the sounds seem so far away.  I have a short walk to the MOMA and I plan on enjoying every moment.  With a bounce in my step, I stride toward the museum, passing along the way determined businessmen and women, hopeful street performers, awe-struck tourists, clueless amblers, and overconident teeneagers and I make a point to smile at every person who meets my eye.  People often think New Yorkers are rude and mean, but they are just self-involved.  My conscious decision to bring some cheer is rewarded with sheepish grins as if I am reminding them that there is much for which we can express our contentment.  After all, it is a beautiful day in the greatest city in the world.

I enter the cool Museum bein walking around.  My high is at full effect, but I walk assuredly as if I visit every day.  To my dismay, but not surprise, I am not very taken with most of the art on display.  Modern art has never been my particular taste and I wonder why I made the trip over here in the first place.  After wandering around the building aimlessly, I start to make my way outside when my interest is piqued by a video installation of Lovers byTeiji Furuhashi.  I stand in a darkened room for 20 minutes watching projected images of nude figures moving along the black walls, appearing to interact, but rather just moving past each other obliviously.  Are we New Yorkers like that?  Can we not see how we influence each other all the time?  I tire of the seeming lack of connection and leave the Museum to take another toke and remind myself that though I may be a solo entity, I am an integral part of the fabric of society.

Contrary to what seems to be a world of 7 billion individuals, our lives are intertwined through small and large moments of shared experience. Through art, sports, or a simple train ride, our innate desires for connection and understanding is revealed. Partaking of the Girl Scout Cookies Hashish clears a space for introspection that sheds light on our complex web of interdependence for our continued happiness and fulfilment. Indeed, we all are one.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 126
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 126 – Royal Sour

Grown by: Swami Select
Processed by: Frenchy Cannoli

Every so often we are lucky to experience a collaboration between people whose deep understanding of our unique connection to the plant produces an extraordinary creation.  Reverence for the terroir (the soil, water, micro climate, natural soil composition) infuses the cannabis with a special quality inherent to its place of growth.  Royal Sour Hashish is of pedigree stock, grown in expert conditions, and processed with the utmost care.  When given the opportunity to smoke eye popping combination of factors, I expect this experience is going to be practically holy.

Royal Sour (Sour Diesel x Purple Kush x Highland Afghani) is a Indica dominant Hybrid Cultivar bred by Aficionado Estates (IG:@aficionadoestates).  This crop of the 2013 4th Place Emerald Cup finisher was grown by Swami Select (IG: @swamiselect) in 2015 at Turtle Creek Ranch in Mendocino County, California.  Dedicated to outstanding, organic, outdoor cannabis, Swami and his partner Nikki Lastreto, who have both lived in India for many years, are the co-directors of the Ganja Ma Gardens Collective.  They take extraordinary care to give their seeds the very best start, beginning with mantras and  dripping the water of the Ganges River in India on them before planting them.  The cannabis plants on there farm delight in the bountiful sun and mindful attention they receive at this sacred, spiritual place.  Gently guiding the plants along their journey, Swami listens to the needs of each plant, and harvests only when the plant says she is ready.  Cutting down the entire plant at the peak of its ripeness, Swami captures the resin at its most viable level.  The plants are dried slowly, but thoroughly.  Preferring dried, and cured material, Hash Master Frenchy Cannoli (IG: @frenchycannoli), who  in India learned how to make Charas, the oldest concentrate, was very pleased to receive the Royal Sour which had been well preserved over the last year.  Washing entire buds, Frenchy produced absolutely beautiful resin; high in quality and at 22% yield, which is almost twice average, very forthcoming. Believing in the intrinsic value of whole plant medicine, Frenchy collects a full spectrum of the resin for pressing.  Frenchy aims to age some of the Hashish he produces and he stores palm sized temple balls in organic cellophane, which is in turn housed in an airtight Jyarz container.

Three months after storing, the temple ball has matured enough for me to taste it.  The cellophane paper is transparent and I can see the shiny brown mass sealed tight within.  I begin to untwist the wrapping and the barest aroma of perfume wafts out. Being very partial to floral flavors, my mouth starts to water.  Opening the paper fully, I am greeted with the full bodied presence of deep, dark muscadine grapes.  The surface of the Royal Sour Hashish is shiny and slick, bouncing the light from the overhead lamp.   The trichome heads, pressed with heat to create a cohesive mass, glisten.  A deep inhale reveals notes of pine, camphor, and dark chocolate.  I do not favor chocolaty flavors, but Swami’s cannabis flowers are always a joy to smoke and I love everything Frenchy makes, so I am justifiably excited.  After staring at the gorgeous ball of Hashish for a little while longer, I gouge a dab out of the surface.  The texture is smooth like cream cheese. Taking a low temp dab, I glance into the banger to watch with glee as the Hashish bubbles wildly as it coats the quartz surface.  Eventually the sizzle fizzles to nothing and a little puddle has been left behind.

Waste it to taste it and boy is it worth it!

Sweet, bulbous grapes burst into my mouth and I savor the juicy flavor.  I am unprepared for the fuel that rumbles into my mouth afterwards and just as I feel the tickle of a cough beginning, smooth chocolate evens out the inhale and the urge is quelled.  Exhaling, a complex mix of berries and spice rolls out, like drinking a chai tea while eating maraschino cherries.  I grasp the firm mass and dig in again; this time with even more gusto.  I am willing to overindulge just about anything that I really like, and with a dank chunk like this, I can afford to be greedy.  The full-bodied taste and sensation of full spectrum, full melt Hashish is incomparable.   I scoop out a larger dab and slide it onto the banger.  This time I notice the pine aroma coming off the banger, followed by warmed cocoa butter.  The warm vapor slides easily up and down my throat; exiting robustly, but with ease. Almost immediately, my body is awash with thousands of mini fireworks like when your leg wakes up after having gone numb, but not unpleasantly so.  Pleasant sparks dance along my skin and I am ready to walk.

Packing away my travel rig, I step outside of my car to the site of my latest adventure: Golden Gate Park in San Francisco.  Conceived while the construction of New York’s similarly Central Park was underway, Golden Gate Park is a large urban park that was completed in 1870 as a place of respite among urban sprawl.  My husband, Nicholas, and I have our own precious memories of growing up in urban forests.  I learned the ways of the natural world in Prospect Park in Brooklyn, and he, a Vermont native, fostered a great love for the outdoors both in the forests of the green mountain state and in the well tended confines of Rock Creek Park in Washington, DC.   We are here to de-stress, find some peace, and leave feeling more energized than when we came.  I have a vague notion of a mile long walk until I reach Huntington Falls, one of the two artificial waterfalls in the park.

Walking jauntily past the Conservatory of Flowers gleaming in the bright sunlight on this cold and damp day, I alternately take puffs from my vape pen and suck on my lollipop.  Along the way I see, huddled together for warmth, nervous and giggly teen aged girls sporting high school track team shirts, defiant and oblivious young men skateboarding, and health conscious moms jogging by; tirelessly pushing baby carriages made for this punishing activity.  Barely stifling a smile, I skip forward with a  light heart, buoyed by the effects of the Sour Diesel portion of the plant.  With what feels like rocket ships on my ankles, we will be over at the falls in no time.

In the blink of an eye, we are at the base of Strawberry Hill, an island in the middle of Stow Lake.  The 404 foot (123 m) hill angles up to the sky steeply, much like the mountains that surround the city.  Not one to be deterred by a slight effort, I make my way up the first step of stairs that wind around the hill.  Raspberry bushes, stripped bare of their delicious fruit, cover the hillside, overshadowed only by coastal ivy, an invasive vine slowly strangling the native species like the wood strawberry for which the Hill was named.  Nevertheless, on close inspection, I see the little red jewels dotting the landscape; reminding me that all is not lost, just merely muted for a moment.

As the top of the hill beckons me from Narnia, the Indica effects begin to hit me and the hill seems as insurmountable as a mountain.  I take a few deep breaths and continue to walk up the stairs. Just as I feel I may pass out, we reach the apex.  I am relieved when I see that there are several benches at the top of the hill as I need to recharge and possibly think about getting fit with an dedicated exercize program.  As I make note of my less than ideal physical condition, my eyes land upon a large crumbling chimney-like structure standing before me.  I slowly walk around into the clearing and realize I am in what is left of a hall of some sort.  Using Google search, I find out I am standing in the remains of the Sweeney Observatory.  Touching an uneven surface, I close my eyes, and I try to envision the stately building that once stood here.  Constructed as a beautiful vista point, the observatory afforded views of western San Francisco before it, and 80% of the city, was decimated in the devastating 1906 earthquake.  Now the ruins of the foundation is all that is left, obviously destroyed, and yet still retaining the majesty of the aforementioned building.  Thoughts in my head are swirling and suddenly this quiet, shaded hilltop is re-imagined as a castle.  The large pine trees tower above my head and I cannot help but feel like I am in in a pine tree cathedral.  An eerie calm settles over me and turning around in a circle, I see glimpses of the Golden Gate Bridge, the Marin Headlands, Mt. Tamalpais, downtown San Francisco, and San Bruno Mountain, and I feel like a queen especially dialed into her domain and perfectly in the flow.  I try to express how I feel to Nicholas, but a barely audible grunt is all I can manage. A multitude of thoughts are dancing around my mind and, not being able to verbalize really anything coherently, I keep quiet.  Nicholas makes one mention of my introspection, but getting no response, lets the issue die.  The wind is picking up and the temperatures have dipped into the 50s.  I am thankful of my purple leather jacket, but the exposed parts of my body feel no discomfort, in any case.  The sky is now overcast and a dull, grey-brown blanket cloaks the city.  However, somehow, on top of Strawberry Hill, everything is still glowing in afternoon light from an unknown source.  Perhaps I alone see this golden light.  The soft, pine needle covered ground is gently springy beneath my feet, comforting me with every step.  Though the chill factor is growing by the minute, I feel like I am engulfed in a warm embrace of quiet gratitude.  I feel positively alive, and yet at ease and reserved.

I take two long drags on my vape pen and let out the smoke.  As expected the flavor profile is weak compared to when using my rig, but some of the berry sweetness still comes through.  I can hear the rushing water of the Huntington Falls though I cannot see it in its glory.  Following the sound, we arrive at the top of the waterfall, and stop to read the informational plaque.  I turn away as the words and their meaning fail to capture my interest.  I want to try to touch that water.  I head to the stairs along the side of the flowing water and note to myself that  curiously, just as I am getting higher, I am simultaneously taking myself lower; walking down the tiers of the waterfall.  I remember when I first started smoking cannabis, Nicholas stressed the importance of allowing my high to plateau before taking in my cannabis to get to the next level.  Now I find myself getting lost in thought at each landing; absorbing the spellbinding view of the rushing waters caressing each moss-laden rock before hurdling downwards to the man-made like.  Always fascinated by the concept of finding place, I sink into the reverie of decades past, when women in tight corsets and parasols stood in these same nooks and admired the same wonder of gravity.  Were they as intrigued as I by the human drive to create, manipulate, and arrangement the environment?  Did they feel transported as do I, to a tropical paradise, entirely out of place in the urban mecca of San Francisco?

I take another puff and descend until I am at the very bottom of the cascade. At this time, I can hear nothing except the symphony of the water, the singing birds, the rustling trees, and the soft thuds of my footsteps.  Right here at the base of the waterfall is a small slice of heaven. Artificial rocks have been fashioned in such a way that the water from the gushing waterfall collects in a small pool and then “seeps” through cracked earth to eventually spill into Stow Lake.  One the surface of the pool, two mallard ducks bob lazily without a care in the world.  I feel like those ducks.  I am coasting on the sea of life right now.  I feel badly that I am not being an overly cheery partner right now, but I actually feel quite fabulous. My skin is buzzing with electricity and I feel like all of my hairs are standing at attention.  I am in perfect communion with everything and here where I am is where I will always need to be.

Sanctity can be created in any place we choose as we can feel blessed and spiritually connected no matter the circumstance.  Strolling through the lungs of San Francisco while puffing on the Royal Sour Hashish, I am able to appreciate the wonder of every moment and enjoy the banal and the mundane just a bit more.  High spirits, an open mind, and boundless energy are quite th recipe for bliss and may we all have any more occasions to experience it.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 127
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 127 – Grease Monkey

Grown by: Mendo Dope
Processed by: Mr. Bond420

Going big is not always the key to long lasting success, but sometimes, it is the perfect expression of long years of dedication, sacrifice, and faith. At the Emerald Cup, California’s premier outdoor cannabis cup, hundreds of the finest growers and processors vie for a few coveted spots indicating they are at the top of their game. Competition is fierce and unyielding. This year, with determination and innovation, Mendo Dope and Mr. Bond 420 accepted the challenge and created a winning larger-than-life specimen called Grease Monkey Bubble Hash and it is truly awesome. Believing less is more, Mendo Dope (IG:@mendodope) grows massive plants without the use of pesticides and bottled nutrients. Known for their larger than life cannabis plants, the Mendo Dope siblings, Old E and Bleezy, are true growers of the big trees. Besides their obvious cannabis growing prowess, they package their earnest cannabis activism in a deep and expansive sound that represents the growers, processors, and patients of the cannabis movement. They make Cannabis Culture music; blending hip hop, rock and reggae to communicate their unique message of cannabis edutainment. Their music boasts a bombastic sound just as enormous as the plants they love to cultivate. Listening to Mendo Dope, I am immersed in their canna-reality. Cannabis is integral to the brothers’ existence; as evident from the track lists of their 20+ albums.

For 10 years, they’ve been “growing and flowing.”

“My passion is ganja
This is a weed dedication
For those who struggle to cope
And who really need medication”
– Old E, Follow Me, “Live in the Garden”

Mendo Dope has amassed a massive following of growers who aspire to grow huge yielding plants in an organic and sustainable fashion. Through videos, Mendo Dope has solidified their reputation as dedicated farmers who want nothing more than to advance cannabis for the benefit of all people. Along their journey, the brothers have accumulated several firsts including producing the world’s first studio album recorded entirely in a homegrown outdoor cannabis garden. In 2016, they scored another first; achieving 3rd place along with Mr. Bond 420 (IG:@mrbond420) for Grease Monkey Bubble Hash at The Emerald Cup. Mr. Bond 420, who lives in Rhode Island, has been a dedicated member of the group’s street team and over the course of a few years, has developed a close relationship with the grower-musicians. With more than 10 years of experience cultivating and processing cannabis, Mr. Bond 420 has been on the podium several times including:

2015 Dab-a-Doo Barcelona Spain 1st place Nonsolvent
2015 Cannabis Allstars 1st place Best Nonsolvent
2016 Maine Secret Cup Best Nonsolvent
2016 Cannabis Allstars 1st place Best Nonsolvent

I have smoked fantastic herb grown by Mendo Dope and I am a huge fan of their music, so I am honored when Mendo Dope and Mr. Bond 420 accept my offer to write about their award-winning bubble hash.

Bred by Exotic Genetix (IG:@exotic_genetix_mike), Grease Monkey is a Gorilla Glue #4 x Cookies-n-Cream cross which grew to 14 feet in diameter and 9.5 feet tall in Mendo Dope’s lush garden. Grown in the glorious full sun blanketing Mendocino County and in the midst of the booming non-stop music, Grease Monkey was a heavy yielding Indica with light bright green leaves, and chunky, tight buds. One of the last plants to finish, the Grease Monkey plant was happy and easy to grow, exhibiting strong, and vigorous growth.

At the peak of resin production, buds were hand-picked and immediately fresh frozen. After washing the nugs with love and care, Mr. Bond 420 microplaned the sticky resin. Though freeze dryers are becoming quite the rage in the hashmaking community, but Mr. Bond 420 took an old school approach; opting to air dry it in Mendo Dope’s perfectly climate and humidity controlled Crystal Cave. After thoroughly drying, the Hashish was cold cured in the freezer for a month.

On a pouring afternoon, right before leaving to go back east, Mr. Bond 420 along with Mendo Dope, meet me outside the airport to deliver their precious cargo and to tell me about the Hashish. Once safely in the dry confines of my home, I am eager to test it out, but I do not have much and I my upcoming trip to New York seems like a better environment to experience this lusciousness. Two weeks later, I am standing on 49th Street in the midst of the Times Square frenzy. Before I can become too overwhelmed, I head inside a nondescript building and head up to the Penthouse Floor and into a very quiet and plush world.

I am in Quad Studios, a legendary music studio with more than 30 years of recording hits and famous for clients such as Tupac, Rihanna, Coldplay, Whitney Houston, Jay-Z, Bob Dylan and many others. Stepping into the beautiful wood paneled room, I feel a sense of awe thinking of my favorite rapper, Biggie Smalls, and all of the other musicians who have blessed the space with their inspired creations.

Speaking of inspiration, I am ready for a few serious dabs. Our hosts, Always Goody (IG: @alwaysgoody), behind the scenes photographer, and Droopy Morales, music industry veteran, and friend Doc-G (IG:@nycconnoisseur87), his fiancee Marissa (IG:@greenervibes27) and I are joined by my friend Billy of Golden State Labs (IG: @golden_state_labs) and we are keen to smoke some LOUD. I pull out copious amounts of hash rosin and live resin processed by Billy using flowers from my personal rooftop garden. I pull out the Hashish last. Billy grins appreciatively when I tell him what is in store for us. I slowly open the small container and peer at the small, amber colored beads of resin; gleaming like champagne diamonds. The aroma of vanilla and peanut butter elicit memories of sweet wafers and cookies I used to steal from my grandmother’s pantry. The Hashish is darker than I expect; probably due to the Mendo Dope boys taking the plant to its full potential, rather than cutting early to get the lightest Hashish possible. I appreciate their patience as I prefer Hashish from fully mature plants. Sniffing deeply, the soft, cake like smell gives way to fuel and wet earth. These oily morsels are begging to be smoked.

I torch the quartz banger and swivel around marveling at my well appointed surroundings. It’s like being in a chill 90s video, but instead of unending bottles of bubbly, we have many jars of dank concentrates unseen in these parts. The Grease Monkey Bubble Hash scoops easily, sitting patiently on my dabber while I wait for the banger to cool. In the past I have scoffed at people being too attached to their preferred texture of concentrate. However, I love these sleek and smooth little grease balls; cannabis roe not made for just anyone. As the rig cools, I drop the sacs of goodness on the quartz and instantly the bubble action is followed by berry sweetness and then pure gas. The mouthfeel is full and satisfying. Painting my mouth softly with the flavor of cherry cheesecake, the Hashish bubbles to near nothing and I let out a smooth and easy breath. I take a few cool breaths to clear my palate, but the flavor of berries returns and lingers. Simply delicious. I love when dabbing makes me feel like I am eating.

I take another dab and all of the stresses of being back home with my parents begin to fade away. Billy takes a few dabs and agrees that the Grease Monkey is indeed phenomenal. I have found that each processor usually holds a strong preference for his/her type of concentrate. Therefore I am especially pleased that Billy, a staunch BHO processor, especially enjoys this icewax. Fifteen minutes later, I feel a surge of joy shoot through me and I somehow know intuitively that our success is but an inevitability for all of us. Mendo Dope and their message of ganja love will be perfect for this world famous studio. I am suddenly very confident. I feel naturally in sync with the flow of life and just as the rose doesn’t strain to become a beautiful flower, neither do I feel a strain to be exceptionally gregarious or exemplary. Anxiety is usually my unwelcome shadow, but I feel not trace of that. I literally feel on top of the world. I chatter animatedly about the cannabis wonders of the West Coast while I lament the inevitable change of my beloved, and now uber popular, Brooklyn here on the East Coast. Billy and I keep the room laughing as we trade stories and keep dabbing everyone out. I am brimming with near euphoria and my eyes shine brightly even after a few dabs. Upon hearing about a wrap around balcony, I step outside to chilly temps, and a blinding scene. It is Christmastime and the lights of 42nd Street, customarily garish, blare even more insanely as huge advertisements slam into my face. Initially taken aback, I catch my breath and watch with interest as Time Square pulses beneath me like one of Bleezy’s original bass lines. This cacophony is the sound of New York and it is found nowhere else. As the flurry of activity continues, I stand up on a large crate, affording myself an even better view and feel compelled to shout out my name. The sound is quickly lost in the wind, but in my ears, it rings over and over.

A few days later, at the turn of the year, I am entertaining at a posh rooftop Midtown restaurant on 5th Avenue. It’s my yearly birthday brunch and having enjoyed several deep and flavorful vape pulls of the assuring and encouraging Grease Monkey Bubble Hash, I have been sashaying around the chic venue like I own the place. I remark to Nicholas that though I do not usually buy Hashish, I may have to buy this Hashish for my headstash. Self-doubt seems the farthest from my mind as I relish in the birthday attention and adoration. After a long and luxurious meal of sumptuous fare, I step out onto the patio to digest, and wince at the brisk wind that slides by. At this moment, the sky is crystal clear and the air is crisp. Before me stands the majestic Empire State Building; it’s silhouette bisecting the landscape. Pulling slowly on my vapor pen, I turn to take in the rest of the swanky rooftop. Large geodesic plastic spheres dominate the space. I walk into one and am enveloped in perfectly warmed air. Able to seat 11 comfortably, the dome literally has me in a fat bubble and I am about to take advantage of it. Save for my husband, no one else is up here and the stillness is eerie. This high up, we are far removed from the hustle and bustle of the New York City streets and it feels like we are sitting on top of the world; perched above the ‘trees’ of the concrete jungle. I repack my vape pen and pull steadily, smiling at the huge cloud of smoke of sweetness that billows out; and I imagine I am a candy dragon. Instead of dissipating, the smoke collects at the top of the dome like a heavy nimbus cloud. Another drag and my mouth is filled with the delicious taste of fresh baked muffins and the acrid aftertaste of diesel. Nicholas takes a puff and remarks how much the flavor of OG Kush comes through as the smokes slithers down his throat. The shared parentage of Chemdawg is probably to blame for that flavor crossover. Turning on my phone, the mellow first verses of Smoke One from their “Live in the Garden” DVD breaks the quiet atmosphere.

“Let the smoke fill up the room…Let the smoke fill up the room…”

The once clear dome is now opaque as hash vapor has filled up the room. The blue smoke makes the clear blue sky appear as a hazy periwinkle as the sun struggles to shine through. Nicholas and I trade puffs, making the air thick and heavy. The music continues languidly, but my body feels electrified; a steady buzz washes over me in waves and I swear I hear my cells vibrating.

I stand in the middle of the chairs and as the song changes, the throbbing bassline of Phenohunter vibrates my organs mightily and I bop my head and shrug my shoulders in time to the music. I must make quite a picture, dolled up like a princess while illegally hotboxing a VIP pod high above the NYC streets. My only concern, though, is staying in the flow and sync of this groove. Mendo Dope’s ambitious vibe has wound its way into the growth of this Grease Monkey plant. Mr. Bond has distilled the essence of phenomenal funk into this Hashish. Consequently I am flying high and I am feeling myself.

It is a New Year and it’s my Birthday!

The sensation of charging up creeps over my slowly, but steadily. I felt this way at the studio before, when I held court talking about East Coast versus West Coast, but now, with the overlay of my birthday, the magnificence of the view, and feeling of being higher than any Goddess on Olympus, I am ready to take on Superman. I am living my own fantasy, it is incredible, and I hope it can last forever.

In a city where performing above expectations is the only path to epic level endeavors, making a distinct impression on my birthday is truly a feat. Surrounded by the largess of New York City, Grease Monkey Hashish elevates my sense of self-worth and is the perfect component to expressing esteem and self-belief. In the midst of giants, the Grease Monkey Bubble Hash proves to be as tall, shiny, and unique as the best of them.

previously published in WEED WORLD, Issue 132
Download PDF: WEED WORLD, Issue 132 – GSSV

Grown by: La Kalada
Processed by: La Kalada

A popular song reminds us that all we need is love.  I venture that we need love and courage to give and receive that love.  Far too often we stay in our self-imposed bubbles of isolation; unwilling and incapable of creating bridges between each other.  Often set, setting, and shared experiences, like smoking cannabis, can make us more amenable to softening our hard, outer shells to those around us.  Sometimes, like with the GSSV Iceolator from La Kalada, we can be convinced to open up to complete strangers as well.

I have been travelling to Spain for the last couple of years and I have fallen in love with the land, the culture, and the people. I am especially impressed by the social scene that is unrivaled anywhere.  Taking a cue from the Basque community which have successfully married tobacco and eating clubs, Spanish cannabis connoisseurs circumvent oppressive cannabis laws by creating associations which allow members to consume cannabis privately and without fear.  The social club scene trumps anything we have conceived over here in the states.  Rather than operating as a direct storefront, impersonally doling out cannabis, these associations warmly invite members to relax, get comfortable, and enjoy cannabis with like minded individuals.  Each association is uniquely designed and caters to a particular crowd.  Everyone is always welcome, but some clubs like Nectar obviously cater to the young and trendy crowd, while NPK Barcelona, with its lush outdoor patio and serene spaces, woos a decidedly more laid-back clique.  Our cannabis communities and language may differ, but cannabis enthusiasts from both Spain and the US have supreme standards for exceptional product, expecting and accepting only the best in flavor, effect, and experience. 

It surprises no one that my harvest from my rooftop garden has barely been hung before I journey over to Spain to experience Spannabis Madrid.  After an exciting and party filled week in the capital city, I travel over to Barcelona to finish my trip with some of my favorite people.  Walking through the lobby doors and into the familiar space of the Asociación La Kalada (IG: @lakalada), a smile immediately creeps across my face.  I walk forward and allow my eyes to dance upon the walls and the coordinated, yet not matching, furniture. La Kalada is always one of my favorite clubs.  I feel at-once at home surrounded by the garishly, yet tastefully, painted walls.  Reggae throbs from the impressive speakers.  Paintings and photographs cover the already colorful walls.  Several glass cabinets display trophies and intricate and beautiful pieces of functional glass rigs and bongs.  As I study the columns plastered with stickers of dozens of visitors who, like me, felt compelled to leave their mark on the club in the 21st Century version of “I was here,”  La Kalada’s “President” Alesandro (IG: @jahkirevi) approaches and gives me a big hug.  I grin and we walk over to a large table where my friends Edu (IG: @blueice_tech) and Alex are already sitting.  I tell him that I am looking for the finest solventless I can find.  His eyes light up and he leaves briefly, returning with three cold glass jars.  Opening all of them, I am faced with two jars of bright white hash and one filled with golden resin.  Based on the color, I can tell one was air dried and the other two were freeze dried.  I expect that his favorite will be one of the sand-filled jars. Everyone, including myself, adores the pristine beauty of freeze dried product. Instead, with reverence, he hands me the jar filled with light amber crystals. 

Even before the jar gets to my nose, I can smell the pungent sweetness.  Getting closer, the jar exudes the aroma of sharp citrus, warm earth, and sugary berries.  I cock my eyes at Alesandro prompting him to tell me about the loveliness I now hold.

Washing four distinctive flavors, Girl Scout Cookies, Sunset Sherbet, Starbud, and VCDC, produced the sweetly scented Iceolator hash in my hand.  Holding the jar up to the light, I see the heads piled upon each other like heaps of glimmering topazes.  The wide leaf dominant concentrate creation was processed from cured lower buds of plants that were grown indoors by Bobby and Charlton Kalada between May and August 2017. These two men pursue the highest excellence in both the cultivation and processing of the plant.  They aim to use the best extraction techniques so that the members can enjoy a product free of impurities and treated in the best possible way from the crop to the dispensary.  They believe that it is of the absolute importance that patients be able to enjoy the product in a clean space specifically created for the comfortable enjoyment of their member-donated flowers, concentrates, and edibles. Such meticulous dedication has garnered the social club more than 20 awards in prestigious competitions such as Legends of Hashish, Elite Cup, and Dabado.  There is not a lot of hash on hand, so I put it away for safe keeping for when I return to California.

A few weeks later, on a clear, but chilly Sunday, I hear of an event called a Crochet Jam, and being obsessed with that hobby, I am eager to check it out.  Sitting in the backseat of my car, I take out my portable rig.  I could use my vape pen, but for my first taste of this GSSV Iceolator, I need to take full dabs.  Scooping one third of the crystals into the palm of my hand, I press hard with my thumb.  The warmth and the pressure melt the resin together forming a kidney bean sized dab.  When the temperature is just right, I ease the resin to the edge of the banger and lay it along the side.  With a swift sizzle, the golden dab slides down the banger and I inhale the thick smoke in a slow and steady pull. After the first exhale, I am in love.  I am expecting a mishmash of flavors, so I am pleasantly surprised when I can quickly distinguish the sweet earthy notes of the Girls Scout Cookies and the Sunset Sherbet.  The soft, berry flavors must come from one of the other two.  Altogether, the GSSV reminds me of my grandmother’s Black rum cake; fruity, heavy, and with a slight tang at the end.  I use cotton swab to clean the banger and very little residue remains.  That’s the beauty of the low temp dab – good flavor, and no char.  Half of the dab still remains on the tip of my dab tool, and after heating the banger again, I take another satisfying dab and put away my rig.  The event has started 2 hours ago and I hope I can still get in on the fun.

I leave my car and button my jacket.  It seems like it was just summer, but the persistent nip in the air tells me otherwise.  I walk into the Berkeley Art Center which is hosting an extensive fiber arts installation. I continue into the main area where three large felted deer standing 10 feet high look down at visitors startled by their largesse.  Mounted on the walls around the room are large and small artistic expressions of crochet, knitting, embroidery, needlepoint, sewing, and much more.  The materials range from feathers for to fine wire. Seated at a long table in the middle of the room are 15 ladies and a few children. Heaped on the tables are strips of fabric of all different colors. I am amused to see the children holding crochet needles that look like they were built for giant I scan the room and notice that everyone seems to be talking to somebody. I walk over to the organizer Ramekon and I explain that I am ready to participate but I do not want to step on anyone’s toes so I’m more than fine to find a little corner and to start working on my own. I ask him what is the purpose of this Crochet Jam. He tells me that the purpose is literally to be there allowing the fabric to express itself and in a completely non-judgmental way allowing our creativity to just flow. My control freak self has a hard time accepting this. I frown slightly, look around, take a crochet needle from him, and sit across from a woman who is crocheting what appears to be copper wire and yarn. I love to crochet and despite what has been gently suggested about letting go, I determine that I’m going to make some sort of potholder only using blue strips of fabric.  I begin to work the strips together and soon I am in my own world.

After about 15 minutes, my potholder is larger than my hand and I look up to stretch my neck.  I gaze around the room at all of the people having conversations and think about being in the midst of so many, and yet still being alone.  The woman across from me glances down and seeing my Barcelona tote, asks me if I have ever been there.  I nod and as she continues to crochet she tells me about how much she loved Barcelona, and her global treks visiting Japan and Portugal and several other other destinations on my quickly growing list of must-have adventures.  The majority of her trips were taken alone.  I listen intently and I am impressed by her courage and temperament.  When she momentarily pauses her story, I awkwardly ask if I can get her advice.  When she assents, I talk to her about an argument I had just had with my mother. I am frank about personal struggles, I am amazed at the words tumbling from my mouth.  I normally keep my emotions to myself, but I feel so comfortable.  She smiles knowingly and gives me her perspective.  I am grateful for her listening to me and sharing her honest opinion.  She leaves and for a short time, no one is sitting around me.

I am just settling into a rhythm of double crochet when the chair beside me is pulled back swiftly.  Turning to see who has disturbed my quiet zone, I look up into the face of a woman in her late 70s, with grim, tight lips, closely cropped white hair, and a slight air of annoyance.  She gives me a short, blank stare and plops down with a huff.  Her energy feels very off-putting.  Immediately, I feel my invisible walls fly up around me.  Why could she not have sit with the middle-aged ladies at the end of the table.  Those chatty Cathys would be delighted to have her.  I stand up and walk down the length of the table, ostensibly to get more blue fabric, but actually, I need to give myself some space.  I briefly consider making a fast track outside to take another puff, or at least take some CBD tincture.  I glance over at my purse and I see the woman, still bundled in her jacket, holding a piece of fabric in one hand and looking quizzically at the crochet hook in her other.  She is holding the hook upside down and it is clear she has no clue what she is supposed to do.  Ramekon, who has been walking around giving instruction, is talking earnestly to a little girl and I make a decision.  I walk back to my chair and ask, “Do you need some help?”  Staring at her hands she seems to be in a trance and with a shake of her head, in a softer voice that I expect, says, “I have no idea what I am even doing here.” I am not sure if she referring to doing the project, or being at the event altogether. I chuckle and tell her I will show her.  Taking the needle and the fabric, I deftly create a slip knot and begin to create chain stitches.  She watches and nods and reaches out to do one herself.  With her left hand, she clumsily wraps the fabric around the hook and somewhat hesitantly pulls the hook through the previous chain.  I let out a brief shout of “Yes!” at her accomplishment and her mouth involuntarily cracks into a smile and I see that she looks much younger and friendlier than a mere five minutes ago when I was silently wishing that she sit somewhere else. With each properly formed chain and my consequent clapping, her smile broadens even more.  I can see that she is steadily getting the hang of the chaining and I return to my own project.  Ramekon finally gets around to our table and seeing her progress asks if she would like instruction on how to make another row.  She looks to me, and I nod and flash her a smile.  She accepts his assistance and I lower my gaze and continue to weave blue strips of tattered fabric into other strips now fortified by their knotted connections to each other.  In my mind, I replay the last 10 minutes and appreciate that though my interaction with the second woman was fairly short, it was no less sweet than my previous conversation.

Still feeling extra friendly, I reach out to another woman wearing an intricate lace pattern and I tell her she looks beautiful.  She blushes and says she made it herself from a pattern.  I am not good at patterns and so far, I  have been unable to understand them, nor have I ventured to ask anyone.  On a whim I ask her if she would explain a pattern to me.  This level of vulnerability, attempting, in public, to learn something that has challenged me, is usually unheard of for me, but my heart is open.  Ten minutes later, using yarn I always keep in my purse, I demonstrate that I have indeed picked up her tutelage and I promise her to keep in touch.

The event is drawing to a close and I finish my project and hand it to Ramekon.  I tell him that rather than take my work home, I want it to be interwoven with the other creations of the class.  It feels good knowing I will be symbolically tied to the other people with whom I shared this simple, yet heartwarming experience.  

Deciding to take a different route back to my car, I trudge uphill toward the Berkeley Rose Garden. I had intended to go on hike earlier that day but just making it over to the Garden is giving my legs workout enough. I get to the top of the ridge and turning around, I am blessed with a spectacular view of the Golden Sun over San Francisco Bay. I pause and allow the sun to warm my face; caressing my features with warm kisses. This is a perfect spot for replenishing my endocannabinoid system. Looking from left to right, I reach in my bag and retrieve the jar containing the very last bit of the GSSV Iceolator.  Pressing my finger into the jar I smooth the remainder of the hash against my finger and expertly deposit the hash into the top of my vape pen.  At this moment I am thankful for the efficiency of using a vape pen. Mindful of the usually thin mouthfeel, I inhale deeply and trap the vapor in my mouth. Using my tongue, I swish the flavor from side to side before swallowing it down and then allowing it to easily flip back up my throat and out my mouth with no discomfort whatsoever. All credit to the farmer and the processor because the GSSV hash flavor, even diminished by a middle of the road vape pen, is DANK.

I realize that I don’t have much time and walk toward the entrance of the Rose Garden. I am greeted by an amphitheatre with roses on every level. I had been concerned that the roses would all be gone this late into the season but I need not have worried. A beautiful painting of manicured nature, the myriad of pinks, yellows, reds, purples, and whites roll out in front of me like the lushest carpet. I walk down to the nearest flower and thrust my nose into it inhaling deeply. The aroma is heavenly and I feel my eyes roll back in my head.

Over the course of 45 minutes, as the sun continues to bless visitors with its last golden rays I enjoy the sight and smells of many of the flowers standing defiantly against the encroaching winter.  As I delight in the floral bounty I also offer to take pictures of two couples, dance with a toddler to imaginary music, help a woman corral her wayward dog, and catch the last of the sunset with about a dozen people, murmuring my contentment at the glorious display over the Bay.

Travelling alone can be terrifying, but also wildly exhilarating and liberating.  On my recent solo trip to Spain, I experienced both loneliness and the unexpected joy of shared experiences with people I had just met.  Sheer willpower and sadness forced me to reach out and I was pleasantly surprised by how warmly was received.  Having now smoked GSSV Iceolafrom La Kalada, I can only imagine how much more fun my time could have been had those effects been coursing through my body.  Ordinarily I yearn to connect, but I am so afraid of rejection that though I am almost always friendly and personable to lots of people, I purposely remain fairly superficial.  GSSV’s gentle prodding to open up and trust is ideal for encouraging a controlling personality like mine to be still and let go.  In our perpetually disconnected world, such intermediaries are crucial for increased kinship, which in turn allows compassion and love to blossom and flow freely.  How beautiful is that.  

Check out http://bit.ly/DD-GSSV for video coverage of my GSSV experience.