Dozer, the bulldog

Dozer, the bulldog
Dozer: He was the best dog on the planet.

Bonding

Bonding
The author of Mark's Work with Ellie Mae

Guess who's coming for dinner

Guess who's coming for dinner
Blue heron, sitting on the dock of our pond

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.

HappyDay Farms bees are happy bees.
Air-borne bees

BFF's forever

BFF's forever
Margie and Ellie Mae

Tomatoes and peppers are us.

Tomatoes and peppers are us.
Spicy salsa with roasted peppers, here at HappyDay Farms

Much love, John-Bryan

Much love, John-Bryan
Eric at 26 on the left, and John-Bryan in January of 1973.

Halloween fun

Halloween fun
SmallBoy and Dancing Girl

Our house

Our house
The snow season approaches...

Mahlon Masling Blue

Mahlon Masling Blue
My friend and brother.

Mark's E-mail address

bellspringsmark@gmail.com

Saturday, April 15, 2017

Coffee, Cannabis and 1942

Coffee, Cannabis and 1942

Whatever it takes to keep going on all cylinders, is pretty much what drives most of us to continue pressing onward. I have never been a boozer, simply because I have a strong aversion to the unpleasantness that follows; the price is too steep to pay for the alcoholic buzz.

My drug of choice is cannabis; that’s no secret. What might surprise some, is that as powerful as the various strains are these days, and considering how often I hammer the bong, I do not go through life high as a kite. Not quite, anyway.

With the exception of the initial head rush as I take my rip, my tolerance is such that all I am doing is maintaining a certain level of THC in my system, and I am good to go. Take working the soil, for instance, pausing every so often to take a couple of pokes off a roach, conveniently accompanying me everywhere I go, in an Altoids box.

The work is arduous, requiring the entire body to labor rhythmically, in order to be able to sustain the pace over any length of time. Were I to genuinely get high, my ability to continue would be severely limited. My level of concern that I might impale a sandaled foot with the pitchfork, would most likely paralyze forward progress.

Stoners do tend to get paranoid.

Rather, think of it as physical therapy, as well as salve for the psyche. The Ogre Berry crossed with the AC/DC is high in cannabinoids, but ends up at varying points on the scale when it comes to THC. We have some with about a 7% level; others might range as high as 18%. In either case the benefit of smoking this strain, is that the wear and tear on the body becomes easier to bear, because of the relief from pain that the cannabis delivers.

So even 64-year-old dudes can get out there for four or five hours a day, and work bent over at the waist, hoisting the still-pretty-much-saturated soil up on the fork, and flipping it over to break up the clods. I can then remove any rocks and shake the dirt out of the root structures, of the weeds being pulled.

Don't forget the magic-wand!
In addition to the devil’s lettuce, I also drink coffee, but I am careful to balance my intake of the black death, with water. So if I have quaffed two mugs of Cafe Domingo goodness of a morning, before it is even four o’clock, rest assured I have also guzzled two mugs of cold, clear spring water.

I ain’t bragging-just filling you in on what may seem a slightly unorthodox approach to one’s morning. Water for me is the elixir upon which I depend to make everything right. It keeps me headache-free, it keeps my toes warm when the temperature outside is freezing and it keeps my joints lubricated so that I rarely stiffen up after exertion.

Yes, eliminating the six to eight liters of water I consume every day is an inconvenience, but when I think about how miserable I was when I taught, I don’t mind the inconvenience. As a teacher, I simply did not drink water: coffee, tomato juice, V-8 juice, Diet Snapple, Diet Dr. Pepper (shudder), light sports drinks, et al, but not water.

I ate hardly any beef for sixteen years, complaining that I just didn’t seem to be able to digest it properly. Duh. When one consumes almost no water, the digestive tract is going to register various complaints, and none of them can be ignored.

Now I drink coffee and I drink water, but I drink three times as much water as coffee. And yes, I take my meds in the form of cannabis, as need requires. I don’t keep track; all I do is keep my bong reasonably clean. Not only does it allow me to enjoy the taste far more effectively, a clean, filtered bong, allows one to draw with almost no discomfort.

I clean it with salt and isopropyl every day, rinsing it multiple times in between each cleaning. The analogy I always use is the guy who has just brought home a bottle of 1942, and wants to sample his prize. He reaches under the kitchen sink and pulls out a dirty peanut butter jar that has been kicking around amidst the detritus beneath the sink, since forever.

The little jar is dirty, it stinks and yet he pours a shot of this nectar of the gods into it and lifts it to the heavens before imbibing. Right? Wrong. A clean-nay, polished-shotglass is provided with due ceremony, and then the beverage is downed.

It’s the same when switching from maybe some Lemon Ogre to The Great Success, for example. One could never properly make this transition, without a thorough cleaning of the vehicle in which The Great Success would be consumed.

Says so in the manual: page 12, Paragraph 4, Subsection C.

I remain convinced that a regimen of organic food, most of it from the farm, together with plenty of water and cannabis, is what is going to keep me mobile for a spell yet to come. 

I do consider myself fortunate to be in these circumstances in the autumn of my life, because I live on a ridge-top where I can do as I please. That includes sampling some of the Lemon Ogre #6, which I grew myself out back, and which I just finished trimming.

Just let me give the bong a quick rinse first.


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