DavidRayDavenport1977

What I like about Ghost of the Mujahideen from Bedford Grow is that it makes me feel things more intensely. Being a person typically in a good mood, this is a good thing.

Ghost of the Mujahideen is a cross between Blockhead, Ghost Dawg and Afghani. I’d finally caught on to legal cannabis enough to know that Afghani is one of the strains that suits me best. It’s vintage, exotic and some of the best hash is made from it. 

I’ve been hoarding Ghost of the Mujahideen from Bedford Grow since the week before Christmas. Always in concentrate … wax, crumble and finally live resin. 

A brief history lesson

Indica came from Aghanistan. And it’s likely Sativa did as well. And it’s been cultivated for centuries. Hash was a staple, as it’s easier to transport than flower. The U.S. started leaning on Afghanistan to ban the cannabis trade in the 1950s. The Afghans made a halfhearted attempt, but then came the hippies and Afghanistan became a stop on the Hippie Trail, and demand soared. So we gave Afghanistan about 50 million dollars to wipe out the trade and they did a bloody, but not altogether successful job of it. 

But by then, the seeds had spread throughout the world.

I like it because I like it

Ghost of the Mujahideen isn’t a pure Afghani, but I don’t care. I love the smell, I love the taste, and I love the buzz. It’s flowery, almost spicy. Woodsy.

But it’s nearly tragic, as today I’m finishing the Ghost of the Mujahideen crumble. I’ve held onto it for weeks now, and it’s time to let it go. 

Which leaves a bit of the live resin version. If you want to know if the live resin is worth the extra five bucks, then yeah, sure it is. There’s more flavor, more scent and for me, more of a buzz. Because Ghost of the Mujahideen from Bedford Grow is a full body buzz, and more important, it fills your head. 

You feel stoned, but not incapacitated. Those reviews where the people melt into the couch … that’s not my experience. I want to be moving, just not moving too fast. I want something to challenge my brain, because stimulation feels great. 

When I hear the words Ghost of the Mujahideen, it conjures up to me images of the middle east, the marketplaces, the casbah, the bazaar. 

We don’t have a bazaar, a marketplace filled with stalls where people hawk their wares, including fresh buds. 

Instead, we have Walmart. 

Approaching Mecca

You have to prepare yourself for Walmart, and Ghost of the Mujahideen from Bedford Grow does that. I call Rango, he answers. 

“What are you doing?”
“I’m at work.”
“I need a ride to Walmart.”
“Do I have to stick around?”
“No.”
“Uh. OK” he says and hangs up. 

He doesn’t even ask why any more. He just figures if I call it’s important. This is important, as I’m in the process of finishing the Ghost of the Mujahideen crumble. I have a hit mixed with an Orange Afghani flower. I had grown to love the taste, and that’s a distinct benefit of crumble. It crumbles well over buds. 

Then I finish the rest in a dab rig, without coughing even. It’s one thing I like about vintage strains – they hit hard enough you don’t feel the need to hit whatever you’re smoking all that hard. 

I walk out the front door as Rango is pulling up. He drives slower than any human I know, so I have plenty of time to cross the lawn and I’m waiting by the street as he creeps to a stop. I get in. 

“It’s almost dark,” he says. I lower my sunglasses, he looks at my eyes, winces and nods. 

It’s a five minute drive. He asks if I need a ride home. I tell him no, the wife is taking me home when she gets off work. That gives me an hour. I only have enough shopping for about fifteen minutes. He almost tags along, just to see how uncomfortable I get. Instead he drops me off at the door. 

Welcome Walmart Shoppers

I step through the outer doors. The grizzled older man counting heads looks me in the eye, then clicks his machine. One more. 

It’s weird with these masks, only seeing the eyes. You can see so much more that way. Then you realize they can see so much more in yours and you panic. The bastard knows I’m high. 

But it doesn’t matter. It’s legal now to go to Walmart with a hellacious buzz born in the mountains of Afghanistan. And besides, I’m wearing sunglasses, so he can’t see my eyes. 

So how did the bastard know?

I grab a cart and pull. Three carts come rolling out, so firmly slammed into each other that pulling them apart will be a two person job. Or a crowbar. I briefly consider going to hardware and grabbing one. I grab a cart from the next row instead, scan it quickly for baby puke, then pull out into traffic. 

Stoned in the produce section

The first thing you have to do in a small town is scan the faces. Is there anyone here I want to avoid? Anyone I need to avoid all costs? It looks clear so I step across the boundary and veer towards the greens. 

Every trip to Walmart starts in the produce section. I’m fairly safe here, as most of the people I know refuse to eat leaves. I scan the product. No kale, which is typical. Three bell peppers wrapped together. Do I go for two yellows and a red? Or two reds and an orange. I go for the latter, strictly on color and look for the broccoli. Score. 

Our lettuce is up in the garden, so I can pass on the Romaine, and there are the carrots. Baby carrots are the route to go, though I prefer the rustic experience of a full carrot. It makes the house feel more like home. 

Fuck I’m high. 

Celery … she likes a particular brand, they’re out. I substitute and pray once chopped up, she won’t notice the difference. Then it’s the bananas. I don’t eat bananas, but she does. I have to remember the song to remember how to choose ripe ones …

I’m Chiquita banana and I’ve come to say
Bananas have to ripen in a certain way
When they are fleck’d with brown and have a golden hue
Bananas taste the best and are best for you

There’s a dance that goes with it of course. I’m high, but not so high that I’m going to do it in Walmart. I settle for a few steps and keep my hands white knuckle tight on the shopping cart. 

Stoned Walmart Protocol

People say you shouldn’t go to the grocery store stoned, but that’s not true. A grocery store is a great place to be stoned, but you want to catch your buzz and proceed directly to the store, before the munchies have a chance to set in. 

I blew it a few weeks ago when we combined a trip to the Harrisburg Walmart and a run to ThriveIL Dispensary. I timed it so I was blowing out the last hit as we walked out the door of the house. She was driving obviously.

It’s a half hour or so to Harrisburg, and again that long again standing in line at Thrive and collecting my order. Then the drive to Walmart, parking, fetch a cart … before we got out of there, the munchies were starting. You’ve got the ride home to develop a full blown hunger. So you start planning ahead. Bizarre plans.

I brought home a duck. 

But today that’s not an issue. It’s a five minute drive to our local and I ate before I imbibed. That’s particularly good as all the things you need are fresh in your mind from cooking. 

Stoned Walmart Etiquette

When stoned, avoid eye contact. This is a no brainer for most of us who have done this for decades. But sometimes you forget. 

When you see a little old lady trying to reach something, get it for her. But make sure they know what you’re doing before you reach over their heads. If it’s an old man ask first. Sometimes they can get fierce, and you don’t want to be caned in Walmart by the elderly when stoned. 

Watch your gaze. I’m a reader. When I see words, I read them. When they’re on a shirt, I read them, and due to the proximity of the writing to women’s breasts, it’s led to some awkward moments. I forget this as I’m following a woman with more than ample buttocks, with writing across them. I’m starting to giggle when I notice certain letters disappear and reappear as she walks, when her husband turns around and catches me staring at her ass. I cut down the bread aisle and into clothing. 

I don’t need clothes, but I find myself fascinated by the fashion pants in women’s clothes. Essentially the bell bottomed tights. I haven’t had bell bottoms in years, and the wife bought me a pair of these. A vibrant floral print, because she thought it would look cool under black lights. It does. I now have two pairs. 

This time they’re black, with bizarre astrological signs in gold. The Jimmy Page Collection from Walmart. I can’t resist. The stoned mind has full control now. 

Back to the grocery

The grocery section is always the most dangerous. It’s where you run into people. Across the way is a red haired fellow that looks familiar. He’s staring. I’m thinking it’s a kid I went to school with, till I realize at our age he’d no longer have red hair, but grey. Fuck! He’s coming towards me …

Turns out it’s a guy who tried to buy my car last week. A quick encounter, and once finished I make the turn into the dairy aisle where I can whisk away to safety, my grocery list completed. 

I nearly crash my cart into a friend of my dear departed mother. This lady must be in her eighties now, but she’s looking fit and her mind is as sharp as ever. She asks if I’m me. I assure her I am. We run into each other on occasion and she usually chastises me. But the last time I encountered her with a shopping cart full of healthy items, we swapped philosophies of healthy eating. Hers oddly matched mine, trying to eat the quality of food our ancestors ate, and with something like the same simplicity. 

I ask how she’s been. She tells me her husband died last year. I try to say something sympathetic, it comes out stoned. I’m sure she catches on. So I ask if she’s going to start dating. She asks if I’m joking. I assure her I am, then I flee before she gets the idea I’m hitting on her. 

Heading for fresh air in Lawn and Garden

I see Nick coming towards me. Everybody knows Nick. He’s greeting as he walks, almost like the Queen of England in a parade. He’s got a greeting for everyone, calls them by name. It’s not an act, he loves people. He lives off their energy. I catch my greeting like a blown kiss and wave him off. It’s a skill he has, making it seem like all is right with the world.

The wife works in the pharmacy. She has a look of panic when I pass, overworked and over stressed from being an essential employee during a pandemic. She was never a fan of weed. But she does like her Jagermeister. And since joining the pharmacy, it’s become a necessary tool for healing. 

The garden section is always a nice reprieve. Everyone drops their masks. We’re competing out here. We want to see the one plant everyone misses. I seldom do at Walmart, but I stroll the aisles, breathing fresh air and girding my loins for the dash to the checkout line. 

Where concentrates can be a burden

While in the garden center, I noticed I was alone. I could, and often have, easily snuck a hit. Easy enough with a pinch hitter and flower. But it’s a bit different with concentrates. 

Evolve makes a good pen for smoking concentrates. Actually they make a few, and they come in various sizes. So it’s easy to be inconspicuous. But I’ve never been a fan of the taste. It’s too clinical. And too harsh. The last thing you want to do at Walmart is launch into a coughing fit, reeking of afghani hash. 

Opting for self checkout and still pissed about it

I stop in the bird food section, as the wife’s put in a request. Otherwise, it’s a straight shot to the checkout lanes, and she’s on her way to clock out. But I have to wait till she gets to the front of the store with the employee discount card. 

I go for self check. It irks me as even as they’re pushing their employees to do more in less time and for the same amount of money, they’re pushing me as a customer to do more and not save anything in the process. 

But I like the way I bag better so I do it anyway. And things are going swimmingly. The wife joins me, employee discount card in hand. She lends a hand with the produce. She’s experienced at this, but sometimes she gets going too fast and we get the flashing light, and wait for attendant to notice. 

She shows up, smirks at me, I point to the wife, I didn’t do it. I memorize her Employee ID code and plan future revenge. I see the total and wonder if I can write off the cost of this trip as a business expense. She’s pushing me forward with the cart so I oblige and head towards the door. 

I breathe a sigh of relief. Ghost of the Mujahideen makes for a more interesting Walmart experience. Certainly more intense. An hour’s worth was enough to wear the sharp edges off the buzz, and make me think a bit of a nap might be coming my way. 

I look to the wife as we’re unloading the bags. I point out since she’s outside, she can take off her mask, having already shed mine. She points out since it’s night now, I can take off my sunglasses.

Cresco Mac #7 is a good, solid Sativa. With a fairly high THC level, it also carries a familiar Columbian taste for the vintage smoker. It’s sweetened with citrus and floral flavor courtesy of the Alien Cookies and Starfighter in its lineage. In its breeding its an improvement, as Columbian in the seventies in southern Illinois never packed this kind of a whallop.

Reviewing Cresco’s Mac #7 for me hinged on the vintage Columbian strain bred into this hybrid cannabis. The name MAC is actually an acronym for Miracle Alien Cookies, a cross between F2 Alien Cookies with a hybrid strain containing Starfighter and most important for the vintage crowd, a Columbian Landrace. 

Starfighter is itself a slight chemmy, somewhat dawgish hybrid, leaning towards Indica. I’ve always dug it. Alien Cookies is also a hybrid leaning towards Indica as well. So I wondered, would the Columbian, a Sativa, stand out enough to bring back memories of the old days?

The short answer is yes, it does. I catch it in the smell before lighting, after burning, the taste and the buzz. It was spending an afternoon with an old flame. 

The trouble is, after hanging out for a while, you began to realize why you broke up to begin with. 

Back in the day, you could hardly beat Columbian. It was the parent of the infamous Skunk #1, which eventually pushed its parent aside in popularity. 

When skunk started coming around, people chose that over the Columbian strains we’d been getting. Some said it was the novelty, as it also had a corresponding price increase attached to it. People were paying more for the smell. 

But it was the buzz as well. After smoking good skunk, Columbian seemed rather generic. 

After going through pretty much an eighth of flower and a gram of concentrate, I realized that same characteristic applies to Cresco Mac #7 

Not that there’s anything wrong with it. It gives a nice Sativa buzz, it energizes you. I don’t get too high, and if a person likes smoking a lot without getting overly high, Mac 7 is good bet. I don’t get sleepy, despite carrying quite a few Indica lines in its convoluted gene pool.

I could taste that familiar Columbian flavor, and it was welcome. It brought a stoned smile after a few hits, but like rekindling lost love, once the rush of familiarity passes you remember the contempt familiarity brings. 

It’s an exaggeration, but I found myself wanting more of the flavor of Starfighter. The Sativa from the Columbian brings on a thrumming of energy, but lacks the euphoria of some of the other vintage Sativa floating around now. 

It gets you close, but in the end the jar got set aside after a bit, with at least a gram left over. There’s nothing wrong with it, in fact, it’s damned enjoyable. It just doesn’t stand out, so if there’s something more interesting in the house, and there usually is, I turn to it first. 

The live resin of Mac #7 packs more of a punch, more of a Sativa lift and yes, at times euphoria. But that’s due to concentrate being stronger than flower. What the live resin lacked was perhaps the Columbian taste and smell. Which in the end, I didn’t really miss. 

The jar will eventually get emptied, and it’s even possible I’d buy it again. It’s a solid, reliable buzz. Something akin to what I get off Kimbo Kush, but with a lift. 

One of the thrills of legal cannabis in Illinois is in the variety. Sometimes pulling a strain from the past, like Maui or Thai brings unexpected and surprisingly good results. Those two were so rare as to never have extinguished the novelty factor. 

If there’s a flaw in Cresco Mac 7, it’s in what drew me to it to begin with. The vintage line. Sometimes the object of your affection looks better in the rear view mirror, than on the seat beside you. 

Cresco Mac #7
Hybrid of F2 Alien Cookies, Starfighter and Columbian, leans to the Sativa
THC: 21.07%

Ghost of the Muhajadeen adds a touch of middle eastern spice to your buzz. Whether combined in a concentrate form with another flower, or taken on its own, it gives you a remarkably clear headed buzz, which you feel all the way down to your toes. And by the time your toes begin to tingle, your body isn’t that far from a trance.

It was January, late in the afternoon and the wife and I had laid down for a nap. I woke up first, and the tickle in my throat was now an itch. I had chills, and the makings of a headache. Pretty bad chills, worse than you’d expect even on a frigid January day. 

The next day I didn’t feel much better. The wife came home from work with a cough. The next day we’re having lunch, I feel better but she realizes she can’t taste it. Nor can she smell it. 

Covid. Fuck.

We were tested that afternoon, but our results wouldn’t be back for four or five days. For her it wasn’t a question. When you lose taste and scent it’s pretty much certain. 

It occurred to me, that if I did have Covid, with my nasty lungs I’d be in for a tough time. Cutting out weed might help, but then again at this point, it’s likely too late. Besides, if I was going to face Covid, I wanted to be high. 

A stupidly stoned idea takes form … let’s get Covid high

I knew a lot of the effects of Covid were in the head. My theory was that if I kept my head stoned, I couldn’t really say whether I had a symptom or not. That cough might be getting worse, or it could have been that last bong hit. I might have a headache. But it could be throbbing from a head rush. 

The worst thing I could do is be certain I had it, and proceed to freak out. Instead the idea was to become very mellow. Shut down all but the most necessary processes and sleep.  

I had two weeks left in isolation whether positive or not, and had just went to the dispensary a week before. So I was pretty well stocked. 

My main allies would be an eighth of Justice Grown Kimbo Kush and a gram of Bedford Grow Ghost of the Muhajadeen Crumble. 

Kimbo Kush … not so heavy on THC, but it packs a sedating punch

Justice Grown Kimbo Kush is a heady little flower, made by crossing Blackberry Kush and Starfighter. I’ve always been of the opinion that the Starfighter in a strain leads to a certain cerebral high. Cosmic even, like the name says. The Blackberry Kush is for the body high, which can be intense with Kimbo Kush. And just what I was looking for.

Justice Grown’s Kimbo Kush isn’t particularly outrageous on THC, topping out just shy of 18% But for many the Starfighter/Kush combo is a 1-2 knockout punch, and so the strain is named after the famed Bahamian Fighter Kimbo Slice. If I was to be sick, I preferred to be knocked out for as long as possible. After all, sleep is nature’s balm, and often times the best way to fight an illness. 

The problem with Covid is you never know what will happen, which ups the anxiety. Not a good time for a potent Sativa weed, which also made the  Indica dominant Kimbo Kush a good choice.  

Bedford Grow Ghost of the Mujahideen is perfect for adding spice to Kimbo Kush fed dreams

To hedge my bets I would from time to time, add a bit of Bedford Grow Ghost of the Mujahideen crumble in the bowl of the bong with the Kimbo Kush. The result was potent, and best of all, greatly resembled the taste of Hashish. More important the combination replicated the effects of hash, with a burst of euphoria followed by a narcotic body high, which settled in deeply. 

You take a couple hits, get a couple things done while you have the burst of energy, then curl up and let the Kush do its thing. If I had Covid, I didn’t particularly care. I slept so much I started to feel … pretty.

Ghost of the Mujahideen from Bedford Grow is a hybrid of Kundunz Afghani, I95 and Stardawg. It’s recommended for people with chronic pain or insomnia. As the wife got sicker, I felt better, with only fatigue and body aches hanging on, as well as a bit of a headache. So if the medical marijuana folks are to be believed, I had a good Cannabis treatment plan cobbled together. 

Okay, obviously smoking dope while trying to fight an often fatal respiratory disease isn’t a wise strategy. But it sure beat panicking. 

And the results of Kimbo Kush, Ghost of the Mujahideen and Covid?

I slept a lot. When I wasn’t sleeping, I took care of the wife. She was sicker than a dog the first couple days, and the covid made her nuttier than a fruitcake on the third. Starting on the fourth she began to improve. That was the day I got the call from doctor’s clinic. I had tested negative, but they said I might have been tested too soon, and to get tested again. 

So I did, twice with the second test being the deeper test. Both were negative, and by this time I’d been in very close proximity for extended periods with someone who had it and was contagious. 

I figured if it worked, I’d keep at it, and so I did. Often it would just be a couple hits of Kimbo Kush. That kept me pleasantly mellow, which is important when stuck inside a house with one other person who isn’t feeling particularly great and no other face to face encounters. 

The magic of fire and weed and Ghost of the Muhajadeen

When she was finally asleep, I’d bring out the Ghost of the Muhajadeen Crumble and mix the two. I have a tendency to snore, and she needed all the sleep she could get, so I took to sleeping on the couch in front of the fireplace. 

There’s something mesmerizing about fire, as anyone who has sat in front of a campfire, stoned or not, can to attest to. For me there’s something incredibly cozy about curling up in front of a fire with a blanket. 

I’ve always believed your buzz takes on some of the characteristics of the place from where the weed came from. Afghani and other middle eastern Cannabis strains tickles an exotic thread in my imagination that feels almost spiritual. Which is appropriate, as in that part of the world, in ancient times Cannabis was often used in religious rituals. 

And so there on the couch, like a sick dog under a porch, I stared into the fire, drifting in and out of sleep for several days, healing myself. 

By the second week we both felt better, felt damned good actually. For her it was a paid vacation, and by the second week of quarantine it had became almost a second honeymoon. 

On surviving Covid in the house and the changes it brought

As I said, fighting a respiratory illness with smoke is a stupid idea. It’s careless and flies in the face of logic and scientific recommendations. But I didn’t get Covid, and by all rights should have. To steal a phrase attributed to Hunter S .Thompson, “In my case, you know, I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me” 

Not being a total idiot, afterwards I made some changes in my life. Respiratory health is big deal for someone my age, particularly someone well down the path towards C.O.P.D. 

I’ve learned to smoke less frequently, and when I do, I smoke less. I smoke concentrate more often, as it gets you same buzz while a consuming a lot less. 

And I learned how to get high properly. Turns out I’d been doing it wrong for over forty years. My lungs felt better almost immediately.

And yes, I’ve had my vaccine, and booster. I worried about it, then I realized I was worrying about taking a drug which might have weird side effects. I’ve spent most of my life doing that for fun, so why not take a chance on something that could save mine, or someone else’s life?

Kimbo Kush is a weed I almost always have on hand lately. It’s readily available because it’s so popular. It’s so popular because it’s a great go-to Cannabis. If you’re not looking to be energetic, it could be the perfect buzz. 

 Ghost of the Muhajadeen adds a touch of middle eastern spice to your buzz. Whether combined in a concentrate form with another flower, or taken on its own, it gives you a remarkably clear headed buzz, which you feel all the way down to your toes. And by the time your toes begin to tingle, your body isn’t that far from a trance.

In the end, all I can guess is Covid invaded my body and found itself stoned and too confused to do its job. It hung out a while and went on its way. 

And that’s how I spent my Covid vacation.

The Particulars

Justice Grown Kimbo Kush
THC: 18%

Bedford Grow Ghost of the Muhajadeen Crumble
THC: 72-75%

Bedford Grow’s Chem De La Chem is a fairly potent Sativa, topping 20% THC. The gassy taste makes itself known, but doesn’t overpower the base flavor. And it’s surprisingly smooth. Breeding I95 with Chemdog produces a heavy high, with enough drive behind it to get you up and on your feet. It’s a great social buzz, makes you chatty and love each other, befitting its hippie roots. If you’re inclined to such things, you’ll get the munchies.

They say the sixties ended at the Rolling Stones free concert at Altamont in 1969. But there was always one place that the spirit stayed alive, and that was wherever the Grateful Dead was playing. 

When Jerry Garcia’s family came out with a line of cannabis bearing his name, Chemdog was an obvious choice. Their marketing material reads “One of the original strains to have a name, Chemdog is believed to have hailed straight from a 1991 Grateful Dead parking lot in Deer Creek, Indiana. ‘It was originally called the Dog, or the Chem. It rang all the bells, you know, as far as smell, flavor, effect. It was the weed for anybody who loved weed,” a Garcia family friend shared with us.‘”

“Much like Jerry himself, Chemdog is one of the originals, having spawned multiple legendary strains since its inception.”

One of those strains is Bedford Grow Chem De La Chem. 

First taste of Chem de la Chem leaves me high, but strangely disappointed

 The warnings on this one were ominous. Stupidly stoned is how one reviewer put it. 

The first bong hit washed over me with waves of woodsy notes, then came the riptide of a strong, gassy notes -chemical. You’d think that would be unpleasant, and it was jarring. But by the third hit I was waiting for it. 

The buzz raced up my spine and snapped me to my feet, looking for any quick busy work, as this was office hours. The burst of energy was more powerful than euphoric. 

I take a couple more hits. By now I have a taste for the shit. As I inhaled it tasted not dissimilar to incense, before the chemical taste washed over it again. On exhale the woodsy notes took once more. 

I got the first stoned smile of the day. 

But that was it. I smoked a bit more, got quite a bit higher, but still nothing to set it apart from any number of Sativa dominant weeds I’ve smoked. High, but not legendary high, as befits a legendary strain.

That said, Chem De La Chem gets you up and moving. The trouble is, you’re really too stoned to do much of anything. The next day I tried it again, and the results were about the same. I was higher than fuck, but nothing happened worthy of writing about.

I promptly forgot I still had a small bud left. 

Bedford Grow Chem De La Chem got me stoned, just not Deadhead stoned

If you’re a Deadhead, you likely spend much of your time stoned. Really stoned. The Grateful Dead knew how to play for stoned people. They could pick you up, blow your mind, toss you into outer space, take a ride down river into the jungle and just when you thought your brains were about to melt and run out your ears, they’d take you home  with your foot tapping and a smile on your face.

Then by the end of the eighties it stopped working for me.  Being a Deadhead meant going with the flow, which when it works is amazing. Coincidences pile up, easily spotted in alternate states. It’s said that when your life starts to be filled with what seems like coincidences, you’re on the path to enlightenment. 

For me, that feeling of synchronicity faded away, and I disconnected from the Dead. For  a about thirty years now. 

I decided to research Chem de la Chem, learned about the Grateful Dead connection and thought I’d figured it out. I was looking for that sense of idiot glee you get when stoned and listening to the Dead by yourself. This was party weed, amazingly strong but very social.  

When it comes to drugs, Deadheads know their shit. You always wanted to try to have your own acid when going to a show, but if you didn’t, what you’d buy there from a total stranger was always better than what you’d have brought. 

And the same for weed. These folk were talking terpenes back when pot came in baggies that didn’t even seal without licking them, and had seeds and stems. 

In the intervening couple of weeks, I noticed I was listening to the Dead again. Likely because I’d read about them and Chem de la Chem, and it jogged that hallucinogenic memory.  And then I remember the remaining bud I had stashed back. 

It finally clicks

Dead shows were often outside in the heat. Since it was a hot day, and I’d just finished off the last bud of the Bedford Grow Chem de la Chem, and wasn’t expecting much, I decided to mow. 

Inside I’d been playing the Dead, and it was still running through my head. I mowed for about a half hour, then ran out of gas. Clouds were rolling in, the wind was picking up … there’s a storm coming Dorothy … so I put the mower away. 

I stand there watching the clouds, remembering my first Dead show. Storm clouds piled up behind the stage as the sun started to set. Lightning lit the sky, then came the wind and rain with the night. Best concert I’ve ever been to.

I push the mower into the barn before the rain hits and start for the house.

The phone rings, the screen says Los Angeles, and going against the grain I answer. It could be Hollywood calling you know?

It’s a photographer, wanting a website, in a hurry. He just sent me an email and he wants me to go read it right away so we can get started. 

I go into the house, still pretty fucking high. The Dead is playing upstairs, I could hear it outside even once the mower shut off.  I’m actually enjoying this buzz. The wind is really picking up now, and things just feel in synch. 

I check out his website, he’s also a fiddler/violinist. He was in a band called Old and In The Way before their first album. I’ve got that album. The banjo player is singing on the stereo as I read this. 

Jerry Garcia, of the Grateful Dead. 

And with that I realized I was missing something in my experiment with Chem de la Chem. The right tunes. 

So there you go. With Beford Grow Chem de la Chem, and a little Blues From Allah, you get a monster buzz, and another step on the road to enlightenment. And if that’s not your thing, well you get damned high all the same.

The Particulars

Bedford Grow Chem de la Chem
THC 22.68%