Where the Grass is Greener

Snow still caps the fir-covered mountains of southwest Oregon despite the warm spring sun that has lured burly loggers from their hibernation and drawn orchardmen back to their pear trees. In this lovely, sparsely populated land, dark green trees provide jobs and profits. But among the budding fruit boughs of the Rogue River Valley and in isolated clearings hacked deep in the quiet cedar and pine forests, new patches of a distinctly lighter green are flourishing this spring. Like pears and firs, this crop is a moneymaker, yielding an estimated $70 million a year. But, unlike the other natural products of the valley, it is illegal. The plant is sinsemillas (Spanish for seedless), a highly cultivated strain of marijuana that has recently found favor with U.S. pot smokers. It thrives in the fertile soil and relaxed legal atmosphere of southern Oregon.

The heady plunge into the pot agribusiness began in 1973, when Oregon's legislature reduced the penalty for possession of less than an ounce of the weed to no jail sentence and a maximum $100 fine. Bookstores soon reported a brisk trade in manuals like The Complete Guide to Growing Marijuana. Cultivation still remains a crime punishable by a maximum ten years in jail and a $2,500 fine, but the more tolerant law on possession seemed to wilt the ardor of anti-dope investigators. "The police just don't care as much since the state decriminalized possession of less than an ounce," says one grower. Soon after the legislature's action, police stumbled upon more than an acre of pot near a shed stocked with drying racks, bags and labels with the brand name American Dream printed in purple. Then a logger was nearly killed when he tripped a dynamite trap around a well-tended marijuana patch. "That's when we began to think that this was serious business," recalls Oregon Narcotics Agent Garold Assmus.

Last year Assmus flew over the state's backwoods to check out reports of clandestine pot farms. "We saw a whole lot more than we ever suspected," he recalls, flipping through color photos of half-acre patches that pock the hillsides. "It's all over the place." To escape detection, many weed farmers raise their plants on terrain owned by the government or the lumber companies. Rural police say they do not have the time or the money to chase after all the tiny plots in remote areas. Residents sympathize with the lawmen's plight and pay little heed to the modern-day bootleggers. Sighs former State Senator Lynn Newbry: "I suppose it's a similar situation to when alcohol was prohibited. You just can't get all the stills."

Equally adept at agronomy and foiling the police, Oregon's pot farmers turned home-grown weed into a profitable racket by developing their unique sinsemillas hybrid. The robust, waste-free strain attracts buyers willing to pay $1,600 a pound, the yield from just one well-cultivated plant. Studies show that sinsemillas weed contains five times more tetrahydrocannabinol (pot's narcotic ingredient) than the common Mexican variety. Even federal drug experts are impressed. "A good deal of expertise goes into producing that kind of plant," notes Dr. Carlton Turner, director of marijuana research for the National Institute of Drug Abuse at the University of Mississippi.

The sinsemillas craze has crossed the border into northern California, where Humboldt County police claim that pot cultivation jumped this year by 500%. In small towns like Garberville, marijuana has assumed an influential role in local business. Says Ted Kogon, owner of the Evergreen Natural Foods and Access Store: "Every shop along Main Street is underwritten with dope money." Hyperbole perhaps, but many local citizens are convinced that the weed has boosted prosperity. "If it's ever legalized, it will be a great industry for this county," asserts Rick Nelson, managing editor of the regional daily Times-Standard.

Mellowed by their hefty profits, pot farmers in the Northwest have evolved into a genuine subculture of the farming community. Many of them were urban hippies who migrated to the region seeking a pastoral lifestyle. These days, they look like the "straight" native farmers of the back country and follow similar seasonal rituals.

After the October harvest, reports TIME'S Doug Brew, elite growers are invited to the annual Doper's Fair in Oregon's Josephine County. They bring along prime crop samples and judge each other, by secret ballot, for taste, fragrance and strength.

"For the best-tasting grass," says one participant, "you might win a bottle of wine; for the best-smelling grass, a snort of cocaine. It's a lot of fun and everybody's relieved that they made it through the season."

Completing the harvest is no easy task. Windfall loot has spawned violent crime. Crop thefts and armed robberies now loom as more ominous threats than police busts. "The paranoia gets so thick around here in October that you could cut it with a knife," says an Oregon grower.

"Some guys sleep in their patches to make sure that nobody rips them off." Across the line in Humboldt County, killings and gunfights have occurred over pot. "We're not used to having any kind of crime," explains County Detective Chris Thiei. Adds Bill Brown, president of the local Chamber of Commerce: "A few of us even feel that it might be better to legalize pot so we can get the crime out of here."

That day may not be too far off. Both California and Oregon have considered legislation to allow cultivation of two or three marijuana plants for personal use, and some observers think the bills might be approved next year. If so, backyard gardeners might replace big-time growers in the booming pot trade. Until then, pot farmers in the Northwest stand to reap a bundle this fall from bumper crops--if they don't get bumped off first.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.