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Another Crappy Day in Paradise....Embracing the Suck.
- Thread starter oldhaole
- Start date
all my surfboard funds are going to HSU.
I said it before and I'll say it again. The weed my friend brought me from Hawaii was the best weed I ever smoked.
I'd move to the islands right now if I had a place to grow there and distribute product.
Whoa, Gloat With Me Now.....
Whoa, Gloat With Me Now.....
Oh Fuck..... Stop making excuses for me.
I'm pushing the gloat tonite. Pushing it hard. Fair warning.
It's either do this, or trim another half pound. Considering that's all I have been doing, both day and night, and getting damn sick of it, this seems like the easier of two unpleasant tasks....we shall see. This shouldn't be too hard, seeing that I have had LOTS of time to think about what I want to express.
Every year is different, but this one has been a damn crazy ratfuck. Started great, it's been the wettest year in a decade or more, but the rain came as events, pound for a day or two, then they got out of town. Most of the time it was perfect, just clear and sunny all day.
Then right after Labor Day it all went into the toilet. The trades just died, and the Lee Plume has formed early every afternoon and it dripped rain each and every day since. Even better this is the only place on the entire island that gets wet. The rest of the island is sweltering under 90+ degrees sunshine.
Remember what I said about being either lucky or damn good? I got lucky. This year I used the right strain for this place. My Scogi crosses, being more Indica than anything else finished early. By the time the rain fell, they were done. You also remember what I said about if I had half a brain, I'd plant nothing but Skunkdog clones.
Newsflash!!!
Contrary to popular belief.... and what everyone else says.... I do have half a brain. I will now disprove that statement.
The final count was like 7 Scogi's from seed, Fourteen Skunkdog clones, all of which yielded at very least 12 ozs. Three out of the bottom garden, planted in straight Dogshit compost, yielded a tiny tiny hair short of a pound. Each. Last year I was getting 10 - 12 and was perfectly ok with that. There were a couple of Gogi's, one of which did half rot in the rain, the Blurkle, which was nothing to write home about, but yielded well. A couple of Guerilla Glues, a couple of Cheesy Thai's, both of which did ok, they were pulled before the rain. And four of wifey's GG/Jack Herrer cross, which we call The Beast. Our friendly ghost took 17.5 off one of them recently. Not bad product either, far better than Blurkle. And we are not even talking about the deck. That was stuffed stupid too.
So here's the picture. Mother Nature was my bitch. Anything I want. ANYTHING.
"Bitch! Clean the toilet!" I'd scream.
"Yes dear, I already did it. Can I go out and turn the compost pile?" she'd purr.
"Bitch! I want rain!" and BANG! it'd rain. "Enough! Stop it!" and BANG it would stop. Betcha if I asked for the sun at midnight she woulda whipped it right out. But Hell, far be it from me to push stuff like that.
You get the idea. Kinda like wifey when we first met. Before I slapped the ball an chain on, then welded it in place.
Then Labor day came along. I have like fourty plants all ready to take, all spaced out, the perfect harvest scheduled. I can do this in a month, it will be hard, but doable. The day before the rain I was laughing at our friendly ghost, he was going nuts trying to schedule out the big take. "Poor fucker" I thought "I can relax because I have a schedule and a plan."
Then Mother nature goes and morphs into.... what? She goes and gets an attitude. She gets ugly. Mean. She goes and turns into wifey, like yesterday,
"Honey? May I pretty please have a tiny bit of sunshine? Please?" I beg.
"Fuck You pal! You Prick! I got your fuckin' sunshine! Too fuckin' bad it's all wet! You like that? I hope so! Your the only fuckin' place on this island I'm raining on. Eat shit you bastard.... All fuckin' week. Rain. Enjoy." she (mother nature, not wifey. wifey would never talk like that) says.
Weez? See? That's what we call a save.
Where was I? You think I forgot?
Come with me now,
I'm gonna show you how.
So Mother Nature, the bitch, rains on me for two weeks. She is still going to piss on me tomorrow. She pissed on me today. And my nice well planned harvest becomes a first class ratfuck. Everything needs to be taken, NOW. I took, ten Skunkdog clones in the first bite. The first day. The Scogi's went on day three, four, and five. A plant a day. Then once the rain set up shop, all the rest, except the last three. Two Skunkdogs, and a Beast. That's all that's left.
Afraid to lose control,
And caught up in this world.
I've wasted time, I've wasted breath,
I think I've thought myself to death.
I'm not set up to pull a Summer harvest in Winter conditions. These two animals are miles apart. So I tore the shit out of wifey's master bathroom. Hung lines from the wall studs, set up the dehumidifier, which I had to buy (thankfully on sale) and started drying waves of untrimmed product. Take the water out, stop the mold, then move it out because more needs to take it's place.
Each morning, after the dog chores, trim until dark. I'm about two weeks over going to town, because I'm not gonna leave til this shit is done. After dark, when wifey goes to sleep, then more trimming. Wifey got sidetracked and has done about, well, nothing. Well that's not true. She has found the time to flip me shit all damn day long, because when I'm trimming I'm anchored and can't run away easily.
I was born without this fear.
Now only this seems clear.
I need to move, I need to fight,
I need to lose myself tonight.
In sixteen days I have about fourteen pounds done. I have no clue if that is good or not. The ten Skunkdogs? Done. Three of the Scogi's? Done. The four bigger ones will hang until wifey gets to them, or I finish everything else off then I do them last. There are still three growing that will be snatched up tomorrow. Looking at the somewhat smaller pile left to trim, it looks like I'm about halfway done. But the hard part is over, or at least will be over soon.
Keep in mind while all this rain is falling, we still have one more wave of everything leftover that is going out as everything ready is comming in.
And this year, for the first time, instead of dumping the sugar leaves, I did the longer two stage cut, gathered the good trim, then late at night before bed, I'd blast the trim from two days back that dried on the lights. By the time I'm done there should be close to.... a lot. And last year all that would have gone into the ground. Now it still goes into the dirt, minus all those pesky THC crystals. That will add 15% to the bottom line this year.
I think with my heart and I move with my head.
I open my mouth and it's something I've read.
I stood at this door before, I'm told.
But a part of me knows that I'm growing too old.
Well, Boys and girls, I give you year five. And it was a good one. And it wasn't because I'm a particularly good grower. I got lucky. Again. The hurricane missed us. Green Harvest saw it all, and didn't bother. The rain, while fustrating the plan, came too late to mess up the correct strain. Everything that came thru, and paid off, had Skunkdog bred into it. Should Mother Nature have gone into bitch mode two weeks earlier I'd be dead. Any of those things could have killed me. Should I have done things like I did last year I'd be dead. A late harvest is not gonna happen this year.
A few posts back I gave myself 80/20 I would not make it. Well guess what? I was fuckin' wrong. Today, with what is already hanging I hit goal. Everything still out there, and whatever I replant for one more last take.... That's all gravy. The wax? More gravy.
There will be family snapshots later, and there is still a lot more work left to do, but from this point it is managable. The worst has been thrown at me and eaten by me. A week ago I was looking at an endless string of Skunkdog branches, dry, waiting to be cleaned. I was thinking "Scrap the next wave, choke this down, and call it a year". But I kept my head down, the pile got smaller, then was gone.
IT CAN BE DONE. IT WILL BE DONE. NOW DO IT.
Confused what I thought with something I felt.
Confuse what I feel with something that's real.
I tried to sell my soul last night.
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite.
Whoa, Gloat With Me Now.....
Oh Fuck..... Stop making excuses for me.
I'm pushing the gloat tonite. Pushing it hard. Fair warning.
It's either do this, or trim another half pound. Considering that's all I have been doing, both day and night, and getting damn sick of it, this seems like the easier of two unpleasant tasks....we shall see. This shouldn't be too hard, seeing that I have had LOTS of time to think about what I want to express.
Every year is different, but this one has been a damn crazy ratfuck. Started great, it's been the wettest year in a decade or more, but the rain came as events, pound for a day or two, then they got out of town. Most of the time it was perfect, just clear and sunny all day.
Then right after Labor Day it all went into the toilet. The trades just died, and the Lee Plume has formed early every afternoon and it dripped rain each and every day since. Even better this is the only place on the entire island that gets wet. The rest of the island is sweltering under 90+ degrees sunshine.
Remember what I said about being either lucky or damn good? I got lucky. This year I used the right strain for this place. My Scogi crosses, being more Indica than anything else finished early. By the time the rain fell, they were done. You also remember what I said about if I had half a brain, I'd plant nothing but Skunkdog clones.
Newsflash!!!
Contrary to popular belief.... and what everyone else says.... I do have half a brain. I will now disprove that statement.
The final count was like 7 Scogi's from seed, Fourteen Skunkdog clones, all of which yielded at very least 12 ozs. Three out of the bottom garden, planted in straight Dogshit compost, yielded a tiny tiny hair short of a pound. Each. Last year I was getting 10 - 12 and was perfectly ok with that. There were a couple of Gogi's, one of which did half rot in the rain, the Blurkle, which was nothing to write home about, but yielded well. A couple of Guerilla Glues, a couple of Cheesy Thai's, both of which did ok, they were pulled before the rain. And four of wifey's GG/Jack Herrer cross, which we call The Beast. Our friendly ghost took 17.5 off one of them recently. Not bad product either, far better than Blurkle. And we are not even talking about the deck. That was stuffed stupid too.
So here's the picture. Mother Nature was my bitch. Anything I want. ANYTHING.
"Bitch! Clean the toilet!" I'd scream.
"Yes dear, I already did it. Can I go out and turn the compost pile?" she'd purr.
"Bitch! I want rain!" and BANG! it'd rain. "Enough! Stop it!" and BANG it would stop. Betcha if I asked for the sun at midnight she woulda whipped it right out. But Hell, far be it from me to push stuff like that.
You get the idea. Kinda like wifey when we first met. Before I slapped the ball an chain on, then welded it in place.
Then Labor day came along. I have like fourty plants all ready to take, all spaced out, the perfect harvest scheduled. I can do this in a month, it will be hard, but doable. The day before the rain I was laughing at our friendly ghost, he was going nuts trying to schedule out the big take. "Poor fucker" I thought "I can relax because I have a schedule and a plan."
Then Mother nature goes and morphs into.... what? She goes and gets an attitude. She gets ugly. Mean. She goes and turns into wifey, like yesterday,
"Honey? May I pretty please have a tiny bit of sunshine? Please?" I beg.
"Fuck You pal! You Prick! I got your fuckin' sunshine! Too fuckin' bad it's all wet! You like that? I hope so! Your the only fuckin' place on this island I'm raining on. Eat shit you bastard.... All fuckin' week. Rain. Enjoy." she (mother nature, not wifey. wifey would never talk like that) says.
Weez? See? That's what we call a save.
Where was I? You think I forgot?
Come with me now,
I'm gonna show you how.
So Mother Nature, the bitch, rains on me for two weeks. She is still going to piss on me tomorrow. She pissed on me today. And my nice well planned harvest becomes a first class ratfuck. Everything needs to be taken, NOW. I took, ten Skunkdog clones in the first bite. The first day. The Scogi's went on day three, four, and five. A plant a day. Then once the rain set up shop, all the rest, except the last three. Two Skunkdogs, and a Beast. That's all that's left.
Afraid to lose control,
And caught up in this world.
I've wasted time, I've wasted breath,
I think I've thought myself to death.
I'm not set up to pull a Summer harvest in Winter conditions. These two animals are miles apart. So I tore the shit out of wifey's master bathroom. Hung lines from the wall studs, set up the dehumidifier, which I had to buy (thankfully on sale) and started drying waves of untrimmed product. Take the water out, stop the mold, then move it out because more needs to take it's place.
Each morning, after the dog chores, trim until dark. I'm about two weeks over going to town, because I'm not gonna leave til this shit is done. After dark, when wifey goes to sleep, then more trimming. Wifey got sidetracked and has done about, well, nothing. Well that's not true. She has found the time to flip me shit all damn day long, because when I'm trimming I'm anchored and can't run away easily.
I was born without this fear.
Now only this seems clear.
I need to move, I need to fight,
I need to lose myself tonight.
In sixteen days I have about fourteen pounds done. I have no clue if that is good or not. The ten Skunkdogs? Done. Three of the Scogi's? Done. The four bigger ones will hang until wifey gets to them, or I finish everything else off then I do them last. There are still three growing that will be snatched up tomorrow. Looking at the somewhat smaller pile left to trim, it looks like I'm about halfway done. But the hard part is over, or at least will be over soon.
Keep in mind while all this rain is falling, we still have one more wave of everything leftover that is going out as everything ready is comming in.
And this year, for the first time, instead of dumping the sugar leaves, I did the longer two stage cut, gathered the good trim, then late at night before bed, I'd blast the trim from two days back that dried on the lights. By the time I'm done there should be close to.... a lot. And last year all that would have gone into the ground. Now it still goes into the dirt, minus all those pesky THC crystals. That will add 15% to the bottom line this year.
I think with my heart and I move with my head.
I open my mouth and it's something I've read.
I stood at this door before, I'm told.
But a part of me knows that I'm growing too old.
Well, Boys and girls, I give you year five. And it was a good one. And it wasn't because I'm a particularly good grower. I got lucky. Again. The hurricane missed us. Green Harvest saw it all, and didn't bother. The rain, while fustrating the plan, came too late to mess up the correct strain. Everything that came thru, and paid off, had Skunkdog bred into it. Should Mother Nature have gone into bitch mode two weeks earlier I'd be dead. Any of those things could have killed me. Should I have done things like I did last year I'd be dead. A late harvest is not gonna happen this year.
A few posts back I gave myself 80/20 I would not make it. Well guess what? I was fuckin' wrong. Today, with what is already hanging I hit goal. Everything still out there, and whatever I replant for one more last take.... That's all gravy. The wax? More gravy.
There will be family snapshots later, and there is still a lot more work left to do, but from this point it is managable. The worst has been thrown at me and eaten by me. A week ago I was looking at an endless string of Skunkdog branches, dry, waiting to be cleaned. I was thinking "Scrap the next wave, choke this down, and call it a year". But I kept my head down, the pile got smaller, then was gone.
IT CAN BE DONE. IT WILL BE DONE. NOW DO IT.
Confused what I thought with something I felt.
Confuse what I feel with something that's real.
I tried to sell my soul last night.
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite.
Last edited:
Way to go OH We have been so dry like the perfect finishing weather in a long time. Just wish I had more finishing. Looking forward to the Skunk girl. No GH over here lava may have something to do with that. Aloha DB
Sounds like ya killed it.
Whew
Glad the coin landed on your side this year bro
Props
Hard work pays off
Glad the coin landed on your side this year bro
Props
Hard work pays off
It could wipe out Burger King in less then 3 weeks. Mean smoke in the air now. No trades. Aloha DB
https://www.icmag.com/ic/album.php?albumid=56570&pictureid=1320109
https://www.icmag.com/ic/album.php?albumid=56570&pictureid=1320109
Nah gettin close db..hope everyone safe.visited with greyskull he's cruisin em.aloha to all ..almost pau ovah hea fo dis round..supah tastee wands of magic stanky fruit fuel..cheeeee
Big ups Hawaii nei let's hook up a smoke sesh ..dis yea ovah hea.next ovah dea.what uguys tink?
Big ups Hawaii nei let's hook up a smoke sesh ..dis yea ovah hea.next ovah dea.what uguys tink?
L
Luther Burbank
I keep trying to accept that casper is putting on an act making fun of locals, but god it hurts my head to translate. Then it makes me think how unacceptable that act would be if it was a grower from the deep south talking like a black person from a minstrel show, which is the equivalent of what casper's doing for Hawaiians. "I's do declare, dis here reefer sho be da best iz evah smoked. Nawhutimsayin?"
He live in paradise. Fuck proppa spelling.
Reads fine to me. Doesn't hurt I'm multilingual bruddah.
Love the 808 slang.
Reads fine to me. Doesn't hurt I'm multilingual bruddah.
Love the 808 slang.
Easier to understand once ya live here an hear it daily. It's addictin an my wife already says I'm pickin up a bitta it. It's hard notta, comes wit da relax vibe.
