Baby buds

The great thing about growing your own produce is the priceless experience of enjoying the fruits of your labor when the growing season hits its stride.  Word:  “Weed”.  My crop went into an unexpected flowering this summer, due to lack of light when I went away one weekend, and forgot to reset the light timer.  And I have been harvesting fresh, sticky, whole-body-high (indica?) baby buds every couple of days like clockwork for the last two weeks.  I want the plant exhausted of it, and so I pick them as they appear ready, and, well, I’m so, well, baked as I write this evening.  Two plants, every two-three days.  Plenty for me, not enough for a friend.  My prediction:  there will be bras, stilleto heels, short dresses, and probably some leg shearing this fine night somewhere in central Carolina.  Baby buds, manna from our mother.




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