Pubdate: Fri, 02 Dec 2011
Source: Los Angeles Times (CA)
Copyright: 2011 Los Angeles Times
Contact:  http://www.latimes.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/248
Author: Joe Mozingo

SNIPPING THE BUD: PREP WORK IS A PAYDAY IN THE MARIJUANA BUSINESS

An International, Countercultural Labor Force Prepares Pot on Its 
Path to Market. Trimmers Can Make $200 a Day Plus Lodging, Sometimes 
'With a Crazy Guy in the Middle of the Woods With an AK-47.'

Reporting from Sebastopol, Calif. -- In an old, shingled house not 
far from the center of town, the trim crew hunkered over trays in the 
living room, snipping away at the strain of the day, Blue Dream. Its 
pungency knifed the air, like a medley of French roasted coffee beans 
and roadkill skunk.

Sheets and a sleeping bag blocked the windows facing the neighbors. 
Panels of jury-rigged fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling. 
Johnny Cash sang "The Man Comes Around" from a laptop.

Jeremiah, from Oregon, presided at the head of the table, wearing 
plug earrings shaped like bolts, a bracelet with a beetle in resin, 
and a cap with an old brass lock and a keyhole he calls his third 
eye. He had been coming south to Northern California for the 
marijuana harvest for four years.

He was happy to find this particular job, making about $200 a day, 
with not much risk. "Much better than working with a crazy guy in the 
middle of the woods with an AK-47," he said.

This season his boss was Nicholas, an affable young man with a patchy 
beard, a wool cap and skinny jeans, who oversaw the operation as 
"trim manager." He wielded no weaponry; Nicholas was a bonsai 
enthusiast, and preferred audio books and NPR to keep minds engaged 
during the tedious work.

The members of his crew, ages 22 to 32, had never met before this job 
and came here to Sonoma County from as far as Michigan and Louisiana.

The rise of the medical marijuana industry has brought new growers, 
new techniques and higher visibility to the Northern California 
growing scene - both state-sanctioned and pure outlaw - and created a 
demand for more workers. The "trim circle," once a highly secretive, 
friends-and-family affair, now draws counterculture pilgrims from 
around the world.

When authorities busted a large grow in Humboldt County in late 
October, the arrests included trimmers from Spain, France, Ukraine, 
Australia and Canada.

"We're seeing a lot more of the foreign people coming in," Humboldt 
Dist. Atty. Paul Gallegos said. "It's sort of the new Gold Rush."

 From September through November, trimmers wander the streets of old 
logging towns with their dusty sleeping-bags and Fiskars pruning 
scissors, networking with locals and fellow travelers at music 
festivals, bars and coffee shops. Some of the bolder ones stand on 
the side of the road with cardboard signs scrawled in marijuanese: 
"Have Fiskars, Will Work."

In some cases, growers and trimmers openly seek each other out on 
Craigslist: "Need helping hand with trimming my 'rose bushes,'" read 
a posting on Oct. 21 from Arcata. "It's that time of the year, and I 
need a helping hand with the last bit of trimming. Females are 
preferred since I am in my 20s, so I like to keep it around my age. 
I'm a fun guy, and you'd have a great time."

Newcomers with few connections who answer such ads might find 
themselves tent-camping deep in the woods, hours from any town, under 
the paranoid watch of a heavily armed grower with a small fortune to 
gain or lose with one crop. Those better situated might get to flop 
out on the floor of a rented house - with hot showers, Internet and 
good company - working under a semblance of legality for a medical 
cannabis collective.

Employers span a spectrum of back-to-the-earth hippie, redneck local, 
hard-core urban criminal, middle-class professional, and socially 
minded entrepreneur enforcing yoga breaks and veganism.

"I've been on trims where it's a plush, upper-middle-class home, with 
great food and wine," said Jonah Raskin, author of "Marijuanaland" 
and a professor at Sonoma State University. "Other people might be 
taken off in the night. They don't know where they are, and they 
can't just leave."

State law allows collectives of patients to grow marijuana for 
doctor-recommended medical use. The federal government sees all 
marijuana use and production as illegal and, as part of a recent 
nationwide crackdown, raided the garden of a collective in Mendocino 
County that had even the sheriff's blessing.

Many in the business suspect the enforcement will drive many growers 
complying with the state law underground. But how many people fit 
this category is anybody's guess.

With no real state regulation, the line between the medical cannabis 
market and the plain-old illegal one has been murky. Growers can 
easily sell to both, trimmers work for both, and consumers can buy 
from both. During the holiday season, when there is a glut of cheap 
marijuana after the harvest, dispensaries in the Bay Area report a 
big drop in business as customers go to the black market.

On a recent night, six mostly dreadlocked trimmers from a grow in 
Calistoga dined at the upscale Sea Thai Bistro in Santa Rosa after a 
long day of work. They reeked of pot, but no one seemed to care.

Their circle came together mostly through the music scene and various 
peace-love-and-anarchy gatherings. At the world Rainbow Gathering in 
Argentina in March, Danielle, 21, of Israel met a German couple, 
Chris, 29, and Ginger, 32. Danielle traveled with her sister to 
Northern California, where she met a grower while listening to a band 
at a bar. She got a job and invited the Germans to come take part.

They joined three others from California and a brother and sister from Alaska.

The grow straddled the medical and illicit markets, selling to 
dispensaries and an illegal dealer in Kentucky, who paid much more. 
That didn't matter to them; the line seemed artificial. And while 
they supported full legalization, at least some suspected it would 
spell the end to this lifestyle.

"They would not pay us so good if it was legal," said Chris. "If it's 
legal, I won't come back, because it'll be $7 an hour."

It's not just that the price of marijuana will plummet, he said. It's 
that growers pay for trust as much as for labor.

"If it's legal, they don't need people to trust."

The Sebastopol trim operated under the aegis of medical cannabis 
laws, with the product going to a dispensary in the Bay Area. All the 
trimmers had joined the collective; they were technically patients.

Jeremiah removed a branch of cured marijuana from a black trash bag, 
cut off the wizened flower buds and gently placed them in his tray.

In the old days, the processing largely ended at this step - with an 
Army-green bud that looked like the knotted, disheveled hair of 
someone who had slept under a bridge for a month. But since weed 
became an industry, consumers have expected the scraggly "sugar 
leaves" to be removed and the dried flower cluster to be delicately 
manicured to preserve and present the glistening resin glands that 
hold much of the buds' potency.

The work requires a deft hand.

Jeremiah twirled a bud in his fingers and picked away at the sugar 
leaves with his ARS curve-tipped scissors. He wore blue nitrile 
rubber gloves to keep the resin from gumming up on his fingertips. 
(Rookies learn the hard way not to rub their eyes.)

He put the tight, smooth-shaved bud in a pile on the side of his tray 
and picked up the next. Every now and then, he peeled the resin off 
his gloves, balled up the "finger hash" and put it in a jelly bean 
jar to be cooked or smoked later. This was one of the perks of the job.

For all the romance and rebellion some instill in it, the trim circle 
had the rhythm of a sewing circle. People talked at a leisurely pace, 
without looking up. Silences were tapped out by a snip-snip metronome.

Paid by the pound, they were, in a sense, competing against each other.

"We all know Allie's the fastest," Jeremiah said. "We stopped 
complaining about it. But we know it's true."

Allie, with long blond hair pouring from her hoodie, also came from 
Oregon, where she grows indoor marijuana, in part to treat her 
epilepsy. Next to her was Cristal, one of the youngest. She was 
working at a sporting goods store in Michigan when she decided to 
follow her older sister here. "I had to get out of there and 
experience something new," she said. "Just meeting people out here 
has been life-changing."

Vaughn, from the Bay Area, last worked on a trim circle in Eureka, 
where he was not allowed to leave the house for two months. "They see 
anybody coming or going as a liability," he explained. One day, a man 
in a suit, whom the trimmers took to be a member of the Mexican 
Mafia, came and took half the crop. Vaughn had to fight to get his pay.

Devin, from Massachusetts originally, took leave from his job on a 
tugboat in Louisiana to go to the Burning Man festival in Nevada, met 
people who knew the trim scene, and ended up here. Andy was a 
drifter, working at restaurants and ski resorts and the marijuana harvest.

"Last year, I worked for some dude on the side of the mountain that 
was totally illegal," Andy said. "It rained a lot and everything 
started molding. We had some difference over pay come payday. I 
refused to leave until he paid me. Next time, I told myself, I was 
going to be legit."

"Legit" is a relative term. The windows were blocked off for a 
reason. They asked a visitor to be blindfolded for the final half a 
mile to the house. This caution was partially in fear of robberies, 
but just as much to avoid raids by federal law enforcement.

The trimmers slept in the two bedrooms and spent nearly every moment together.

They joked that they were living a season of "The Real World," the 
long-running reality show in which young adults from different 
backgrounds are thrust together in a house. On other trims, they 
worked with people from England, Japan, Germany, Mexico, New Zealand, 
Australia, Switzerland and Israel.

Of course, the origin of the trimmer didn't matter so much as the 
personality. "Most people who can't be social all of the time and be 
in people's faces, they can't handle it," said Jeremiah.

This circle knew each other's dramas, ticks and gaffes. The Michigan 
crew brought a bite of sarcasm to the more complaisant Oregon crowd, 
cracking the others up with trash talk. "Suddenly we're in the third 
grade again and sitting in the playground," Allie said.

They all made fun of Northern California expressions like "hella" and 
"yeah it is" and groaned over hearing each other's music for the 
"fifth time." At night, they traded massages, played card games, 
watched movies and sampled the medicine.

"The amount of camaraderie is kind of staggering because we all come 
from different backgrounds and different scenes," said Jeremiah. 
"We've been like a family."

Cristal added, "We've all made plans to meet up next summer."

By Thanksgiving, the marijuana would be delivered and the trimmers 
dispersed, back to their old lives - until next fall.

This is the first in a series of occasional articles about the 
business of marijuana.
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MAP posted-by: Jay Bergstrom