My Cousin In A Farming Community In Vacaville

Raphael Singleton
Professor Strawn
English 300
2 May 2013
Know your neighbor How well do you know your neighbor? Visiting my cousin in a farming community in Vacaville, there is no telling who actually lives next to you. My cousin Albert, a tall slender goofy man who is very animated, offers me a job helping him take down and trim a neighbors crops. “Hey Raph! You wanna make some money?” Albert asks me knowing I hate it when he calls me “Raph”. “Doing what?” I respond in an irritated tone. “Miss Martha has a late crop ready to cut and she needs help, but there is over 10 plants bigger than me,” he proudly tells me, “and I can't do it alone.”. I hesitate, knowing that the crop is marijuana! Remembering this assignment, I decide this could
be the perfect opportunity to complete my profile. “Do you think Miss Martha will let me interview her for my English paper?” I ask Albert “You know how she is. She probably won't trip.” replies Albert, referring to the intoxicated state Miss Martha is usually in. “Well tell her I'm down to put in some work, if she lets me ask her a few questions.”. On the ride to Vacaville, I thought of the questions that I would ask Miss Martha. I wanted to know things like “when did she start growing her own Marijuana?” and “What was the most money she had ever made from Marijuana?” and “Has she ever been robbed or went to jail from being a participant in the production of an illegal substance?” but I wasn't too sure of how she would take question like these. Miss Martha is a very cautious women. I have heard stories she carries a shotgun everywhere she goes, and isn't afraid to use it. I think I will be cautious myself when I begin asking such questions. Albert has lived next door to Miss Martha for 15 years and I have never been in her house or asked her anything, until today. Pulling up to my cousins neighborhood at night is like a scary movie. There is not a single street lamp on the loose gravel road that leads to Albert's house. Trees, horses, cows, dogs and heaven knows what else, seem to be freely walking about the perimeter of each house I creep pass. The smell leaves you wishing you had nose plugs. Nothing but cow, pig, and horse droppings fill the air with a distinct odor. Finally getting to the entrance of Albert's property, and his dogs begin to bark with the ferocity of a mother wolf protecting her cubs. Reluctant to get out of the car with the wolf pack standing guard, I honk twice to signal for my cousin. With the window cracked I yell to albert “Man get yo crazy dogs!” Laughing as he comes out the garage of the beautiful freshly painted blue and white house with manicured rose bushes along the perimeter and a lawn to rival a golf course, he yells to me, “Come on cousin the dogs remember you, they won't bite you.” I bravely open my door and the barking stops. What a relief, the dogs backed off and began searching the ground for scraps from dinner earlier tonight. Albert was ready to take me over to Miss Martha's house so we headed next door. The walk over to Miss Martha's five acre property was bone chilling from the night air, the hundreds of animal eyes aimed at me and the symphony of ambient sounds that rang my ears. Crickets scream loudly, bull frogs belch a tune, and that smell of fresh feces is still stuck in my close. Albert and I walk through a rather sturdy bar fence up to what appears to be a run down crack house. Knock knock knock.... “Who the hell is it!?!” an old southern ladies voice shouts. “Its Me” says Albert. “Y'all c'mon in!” she replies. From the outside, the house looks as if the once white but now rusted brown and chipped paint was put on over 30 years ago. The garage door was clearly inoperable, it looks as if someone drove into it and then tried to push the dent out by hand. The front door has a mesh screen with holes throughout and is holding on by a tread. The screen door squeals in agony as it struggles to open and close. The shingles on the roof are in terrible condition, looking as if someone found the materials to build it lying around. The satellite dish on the deteriorating roof appears to be brand new. I doubted that the inside would be much more inviting. Upon entry of the dilapidated shanty house, the first sense to appreciate the new surroundings is smell. The aroma of the crop had been concealed by the smoke that stung my eyes and filled my lungs, coming from the burning incense and candles. The scent was much more refreshing than the manure filled air outside. Removing my glass to rid my eyes of the tears that had formed due to the excessive use of incense, I heard Miss Martha say “Y'all take yo shoes off! I just had this damn carpet cleaned!”. To my surprise, the inside of this house is spectacular. It is far bigger and well decorated than I imagined from the outside. The first room by the door we came in through was a pristine living room that looked as if no one ever used the room. Next was an amazing kitchen with brand new tiled floors, counter tops that look like marble or granite, and a huge refrigerator looked new as well. Thinking to myself you can't judge a book by its cover when Miss Martha struts in the kitchen. “Hello boys, y'all hungry? Its some gumbo in that pot in the fridge and some rice in the bowl.” . Miss Martha is an attractive older woman with youthful hazel eyes and the 65 years of her life defined in her face, short but commanding stature as her slim waist and large hips switch with attitude as she walks, wearing a blouse that accents her rather large breasts and a silk scarf with weed leaf patters around her long well maintained dreadlocks. “I'm fine but thanks.” I reply. “You should eat boy you skinny.” Miss Martha jokingly suggests. “What you need done?” asks Albert “Its all down stairs already. I just need y'all to trim up a pound for The Club tomorrow.” replies Miss Martha. I was unaware this building had multiple floors. Miss Martha explained to me that her house was built over an underground shelter that she had rebuilt into an indoor grow house. The door to the grow room is hidden in the back of a well kept walk-in closet. Miss Martha did not show us how to open the wall covered with posters of Bob Marley that hid a tiny staircase. Once we got down the narrow staircase, lit by Christmas lights along the floor boards, I asked Miss Martha if she wouldn't mind doing a short interview for me. She agreed but only if we get a pound of marijuana trimmed for her tonight. Trimming marijuana is not an easy task. First we had to set up the trimming area. The basement floor was covered in a beautiful purple carpet, with ventilation, a brand new 42 inch LCD television with satellite cable, a cozy green leather couch, a refrigerator stocked full of munchies, and one of my favorites a Judge Dredd pinball machine. There was plenty of space for us to set up a trim station. When you trim marijuana, it tends to make quite a mess. A big picnic table placed on a large blue tarp was used to keep the mess to a minimum. Then we had to get the containers for each type of trimming. You see, Miss Martha uses all the trimmings for something, she makes Hash, Wax, and Butter out of the trimmings of the marijuana plant. Now all we need, is two of the biggest weed plants I ever seen, some gloves, and some pruning tools. The next half an hour would be spent cutting the branches from the main stalk. Miss Martha made her way back up stairs while Albert and I kept hard at work in the surprisingly comfortable custom basement. After the first stage of trimming was completed, Miss Martha joined us in the basement and I began to interview her. “Your home is beautiful on the inside.
Why is so run down on the outside?” I asked Miss Martha. She replied “Thank you I try to keep it up. The outside is a front to keep nosy neighbors out my business. No one expects to find $25,000 dollars worth of ganja in a place like mine.”. I asked Miss Martha how long had she lived in this house, she told me she had been living there by herself for 20 years. She explained to me her children lived in New Orleans and she had not seen them since she came to California in 1982. “How long have you been growing weed here?” I asked. Miss Martha told me she had been growing marijuana for 18 years. She met a man that she fell in love with. He lived in clear Lake and he taught her to grow over 25 years ago. She had been growing weed since 1989. I asked about this man she fell in love with. She told me he is her husband and he is in jail. Miss Martha refused to talk more about him, so I moved on. I wonder if she ever had went to jail from growing. She told me she has come close several times but she had not ever been caught for growing and now she is legit. She has what is known in California as a 99 plant growers license, meaning she can't be arrested by state officials for growing as long as she follows the guidelines and regulation required by the state. “Having so much weed and no one here with you, have you ever been robbed?” I reluctantly asked. “Yes and I made those thieving SOBs pay for it!” Miss Martha shouts “Yeah cousin, she shot one of them in the back with her shoty over there!” Albert says pointing to the shotgun resting on the wall. I asked her what was the most money she ever made selling weed. Miss Martha told me when she was 37 she sold ten pounds to a cruise ship owner in Los Angeles for $35,000 dollars. She told me she can grow up to 40 pounds every 3 to 6 months and she can get $1200 to $4000 dollars a pound depending on quality and who buys it. After about 4 hours of trimming we weighed out what we had trimmed.
We reached our goal. Hands sticky and fingers sore from the hours of trimming, it was time to go. “It was a pleasure interviewing you and I love your home.” I announce on the way out of the door. “Bye sweetie thanks for all the work.” says Miss Martha as she close the squealing screen door behind us. Albert has been living in his house next door to Miss Martha for 15 years and until today I never knew anything I learned about her. She has an incredible house with hidden doors and rooms, although you couldn't tell from the outside. She is a grower for Cannabis Clubs all over California. She has shot at least one person, that is a little scary. Next time you see your neighbor get to know him or her a little better. They may have an interesting life story or an amazing home.