Man the memories. The stories. The cause. The tragedy that befell the proprietors of this farm indeed was unnecessary and the violators with which were never outed let alone brought to justice. The ego and hard-leg of one asshole D.A. determined to never give Michigan the freedoms they are afforded today started it all. Though calling him as such publicly and skipping out a court hearing didn't help, though neither should lead to a multiple day standoff on your OWN PROPERTY and end with the sadistic execution of two citizens.
The events in New York did indeed snuff this 'story' from history , though if you are interested, Dean Kuipers book 'Burning Rainbow Farm' might be more insightful and reflect on the life that brought it to this point. There is also this Playboy article which is quite well done as well and is archived at GC...
http://forum.grasscity.com/general/25729-siege-rainbow-farm-playboy-article.html
My part in this tale is unimportant, though I will say that I did my part at the time to bring medical cannabis to Michigan despite living across the border, and that if things looked a little sunnier a little earlier, I would be there and not in California like I am now.
I was there for the love. The love of music. The love of the counterculture. For the love of one plant species. See these guys attempted to make a loving place on earth where one could explore themselves and the community we live in. The only rules were no hard drugs, and leave the bs and hate at the door.
It was a great place to be and I was fortunate to spend several summers at their property. Whether a casual day-to-day drop-in to say hello over a few bowls, or to spend 5 hard days enjoying the festivals, it was always a treat to go to the Farm. Yes, before this 'the Farm', that WAS the Farm!
I met everyone from Elvy Musika to Steve Hagar and Steve Wishnia as well as Tommy Chong there. None of them gave a rats ass about me, but the shit in the baggie was potent and always crushed the ice at the front gate :)
Hell, here's a tale. Though the festivals did not officially begin until fridays, the people with more to lose so to speak, arrived on wednesdays to avoid road blocks and particular increased traffic presence. It was those Wednesday and Thursdays that the big boys broke out the truly special wares. It was on one of these Wednesday evenings, a lifelong friend and myself were wrapping up building the campsite just as the sun hid on down behind the horizon for the evening. We meandered on over to the stage to enjoy a little fruits after our labors. It was this large wooden stage that looked best equipped for a fiddle fueled bluegrass hoedown than any liberationist speech and rocking rockers to perform.
I had copped a beautiful sidecar piece earlier in the day in a trade with a glass peddler and was itchin to try it out. A gram of this gorgeous Bubbleberry specimen fit in it perfectly. There was already a large circle forming on the far rear end of the stage and had a hearty 30 heddz in it by the time we found a secluded spot on a hay bail on the front edge caddy corner the crowd to our rear. All it took was a single puff for each of us and you could see the intrigue light up in the noses of our compatriots further away. It wasn't to horde or be a dick or anything, we were just really low key and both kind of shy to meet so many new people at once.
A interested party walked over our way before I could finish taking my second toke off the bowl. He had on a black t-shirt and jeans with earth shoes on. Gray hair and a calm but determined intent in his eyes and voice. His hand shot out as he introduced himself. "Hi. I couldn't help but smell you from over there. I am Steve Wishnia of High Times Magazine." I was pretty stoned as I tended to usually be, but knew the name, just couldn't think of where in the publication it came up. "I am here with Steven Hagar and he is actually looking to take some photos while he is here." Now granted, I've never been propositioned a HT photo shoot before this point, and subsequently since :(, but I had assumed they'd want to know who you are a bit and at least SEE the pot first. I didn't know what to say. I shot out the hand with the bowl in it and said "How about a taste?" He found a nice green spot and indulged a lucious thick delicious green-hit from my sidecar. We made chit-chat from there for probably another half an hour. I know one item we discussed was the 'Stoner Smart, Stoner Stupid' article that just came out about a year prior. Exactly how the rest of the conversation went, I would have to engage my buddy on before I continue further and misquote anything, but it ended with us agreeing to meet at the same bat-spot the next day at 4:20pm to engage a photo shoot in my tent.
I arrived at the stage relatively clear headed. I wanted to enjoy this opportunity, and the goodies prepared back at my campsite with the HT guys as much as possible.
Of course being a younger guy, my 4:24 show up was not inline with the professionalism of a journalist like Steven Hagar. These guys were there 15 minutes early waiting and seemed a bit perpurbed by my tardiness. I told them the buds were a bid denser and stickier than usual and hard to break up and get ready but that it would all be worth the wait. See I had procured a dozen new glass pieces in the time since meeting Steve W the evening prior, and had filled all to capacity with the best nugs I could. I had also gone to my growers place and informed him of the shoot and he responded by breaking out 3 pounds of his most premium buds. I had all the herb and the bowls placed out and ready inside the 3rd bedroom of my tent structure. Before we even got to my campsite Steve W pointed out he could smell that familiar odor from the night before and we must be getting close.
We spent several hours in my small tent getting some phenom photos. Hagars camera was top of the line and we are talking 1999. He was very happy to see this kind of smoke coming out of the midwest and said he would be back to the farm most def as he was not sure if he'd see anything but mexi regs. He decided to keep the photos for himself, and out of respect for my insane paranoia level, make sure I knew I was mentioned in the article without divulging any of our time together. If you read that article, he specifically states he was smoking on "Afghani, Michigan basement dank and Bubbleberry."
That same Bubbleberry opened a few other doors for me like when I ran up to the backstage after Tommy Chong and sons finished their performance and .....any interest? Is anyone still reading this?
