ISSUE #1
Dusk falls on one of several hundred greenhouses that dot the northern California landscape. As the long, hot summer continues marijuana farmers anxiously await the harvest season.
“For man, autumn is a time of harvest, of gathering together� - Edwin Teale
Summertime is here, bags of soil are loaded, water is being pumped, nutrients are mixing, and the hot sun is shining on Mendocino, Humboldt, and Trinity counties. These three areas make up what is called the emerald triangle. A vast area in northern California where the best marijuana in the world is grown. Growing up in southern humboldt I always wondered why we didn’t have our own magazine. Well here it is, I present to you the very first issue of Humboldt County Grow Magazine. For better or for worse, marijuana has permeated the American culture. Ever since California voters decided that it was a legitimate form of medicine, the number of backyard marijuana gardens has blown up. Humboldt County Grow Magazine publishes only the finest and most outrageous photographs from the emerald triangle. Inside this magazine you won’t find any stories or photos about B.C. or Amsterdam, just pure northern California. Enjoy the show.
Contributing Photographers Joe Hefe, Jacob Dillion, and dozens of anonymous contributors
John Lipscum Editor-In-Chief
HUMBOLDT 420 GROW SHOW GROW GIRLS FIRST TIMES VEG ROOM CONTACT
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Humboldt County Grow Magazine assumes no responsibility for any claims or representations contained in this magazine or in any advertisement nor do they encourage the illegal use of any of the products advertised within. No portion of this magazine may be reproduced without the written consent of the publisher. Please adress all correspondence electronically to: humboldtcountygrowmagazine@gmail.com
420 The 420 celebration at Redwood Park was an enormous gathering this year. Attendance estimates range from several hundred to several thousand. The police presence was very strong. At least a dozen officers from HSU, Humboldt Co. Sheriff, and Arcata P.D. were regulating the situation. Numerous citations were issued for open alcohol containers, not having a 215 card, as well as sharing herb with participants without 215 cards.
REDWOOD PARK ARCATA - CA
Look Ma, no hands!
This is how Brian gets high..
The Vegan Viking
Been in the game for a while... So fresh and so clean
Welcome to the grow show. These photographs represent some of the very best in the Emerald Triangle.
Greenhouse Maui
The best clone we have ever seen
L.A. Kush
300 site coliseum running goo and purple
100’x30’ Greenhouse filled with Maui, O.G. , and L.A. Kush
Smokin’ Joe Hefe
Jacob Dillion’
Battlecat in a bag of Erkle
’s indoor nears perfection
We’ll have some great grow tips from J. Dillion in next month’s issue
Livin’ la vida loca
Goo cultivated aeroponically Maui kola closeup
Lavender G-13
70 lb greenhouse in Willow Creek, Humboldt County, Ca.
Maui at the end of the season, ready to cut...
Clockwise from upper left: Shipwreck, Jack Herer, and the 10’x30’ greenhouse that was used to grow these buds with the light deprivation method (also known as “depo”). Using the Depo technique allows growers to harvest as early as July.
Sweet Island Skunk
FIRST TIMES The first time I smoked, I was a freshman in High School. It was 2nd period P.E. and my buddy from wrestling (B.J. Landford) was in the same class as me. He told me to take a walk with him behind the baseball dugout towards the front of the campus. When we had arrived in the structure, me and the classmate had taken a seat on the bleachers. I had figured it was a clean break from P.E. class. Once this thought crossed my mind, the scent of burnt paraphernalia filled the area in which bench warmers and ambitious little sluggers wait to be next up to swing a stick at a ball. After the smell had captured my attention, I had focused in on a dirty plastic sandwich bag with some stinky shit rolled up into it. As he unveiled the package, I thought to myself “ B.J.’s gonna pop my cherry…”. When the filthy plastic bag had been opened, he reached in it revealing a hollow miniature maglight with a camouflage finish on the outside. A large screen in which the bulb should be was obviously from a bathroom sink. B.J. flung some weed from the filthy-dirty bag into the homely pipe. He began to light the bowl with his colored butane lighter. He took a huge puff of fumes – from my point of view. Then he had passed the camo mag-light packed full of marijuana to me, understanding “This is it Brian, Shit’s gonna change… on you!” I clutched the smoking device in my left hand like I was grabbing a hotdog. I snatched the lighter and raised it to the head of the flashlight. I felt a sudden urge to shake uncontrollably, yet found the endurance to hold my nerves together- “Don’t lose your cool man…” I told myself, “… don’t be a fool, act like you’ve done this before.” The lighter ignited, it burned the pot, I inhaled the smoke, I held it in, I released it out. Waited for an appropriate moment, then passed the uten-
...” THIS IS IT BRIAN, SHIT’S GONNA CHANGE... ON YOU!”
sils back to my right. I felt nothing. He smoked, I still felt nothing. Finally B.J stood up. He packed another bowl. “This ones for you…” he said as he handed me the filthy-dirty plastic bag, lighter and pipe. “You, you want me to hold on to this for you?” I almost insisted. “You keep it, I’m outta here!” B.J. Left me to smoke one more bowl of smoke to myself. I waited until he left my sight, then I had continued to consume the rest of the herb. Still I felt nothing. No euphoric feeling. No Specific high to speak of. I sat for only for a few moments when I stood from the field and proceeded back to Physical Education. I was disillusioned with the idea of getting high or being high. As I was half fold towards my morning class, I had been stopped by a group of mentally challenged students near the back end of the Football stadium. At this certain moment, the concept of being stoned immaculate had risen upon me like a sudden thunderstorm in the middle of a summer blaze. Mumbled words where exchanged when the three retarded kids started to shove their fingers into my chest. A smile had risen across my face as it was a great mushroom cloud against a purple starlit morning in the desert wasteland. I did not under stand why they were brutalizing me, I thought perhaps they saw a sign of opportunity in my eyes, and they took it. The tables had been turned, my friend. “Now you are the retard!” I had thought without hesitation. This singular event of me being pushed around, having fingers poked at me, and having my backpack kicked, lasted for a period in which I
could not say. The next notion of consciousness, I found myself under the football bleachers with a group of blacklisted students playing craps by the closed concession stand. I fell back to the ground, then into the conundrum of reality, or as far as I knew it to be. The shift of this heartbeats alluring attraction towards a street game of craps, lasted for longer than I am proud to mention. After the game, we separated into our different directions. I was left by my self, pondering what to do next. My feet moved one in front of the other and on down to the track field. The immense open space of the track left me feeling vulnerable, even though no one was in sight. “What the fuck am I going to do with this fucking pipe and weed?!” It’s not clear rather I said that out loud or not. I walked straight into a trash container. I thought “What if I simply hid the stash under the trash bag in the can? I’ll simply tell B.J. where it’s at later.” The paranoia had been introverted into ease. I of course stashed the gears of conception into the bottom of the trash barrel, where it was never to be seen again. I can not remember what went on for the rest of the day after that. I probably went to my next class, then the one after that, hiding my face in some text book, laughing at some unmentionable joke. I suppose I simply enjoyed myself.
BRIAN GOLDSTEIN 2007
Tom Gr Mr Green and company have set a new standard of excellence in Humboldt County.
During the last eight years he has worked tirelessly to master the art of growing fine can nabis both indoors and out. In every issue Humboldt grow magazine will feature stories, photos, and growing advice from Green
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