Doctors G's Pot Tales, Henry.

:cool: Henry
with thanks to New Riders of the Purple Sage
â??Every year or so around this time it all goes dryâ?�

It was during the annual summer drought. Made worse by an upcoming
election. That awkward time around late August early September when there is
no weed, anywhere. You are getting calls from people you haven't seen for
months, and they all have the same question;
â??Is there any smoke around??â?�
No. There isn't. Not for sale anyway. Folks I know have been dipping into
the secret stash, buried in the back of the freezer. It was with some of those
same friends sharing a smoke one evening some one stated the obvious:
"Weed will get you through times of no money better than money will get
you through times of no weed"
We agreed emphatically and emptied our pockets collectively to see just
what kind of buying power we represented. Between us we pledged a little over
six thousand dollars.
"Hell" said Henry, " for that kind of money I can drive to Mexico and pick up
fifty pounds"
Perhaps you can Henry. We called him Henry because none of us could
properly pronounce his name. But then none of us grew up in the mountains west
of Chihuahua. So it came to pass on a Wednesday morning we bid farewell to
Henry and his mid sixties Rambler sedan. We had all pitched in and helped out.
There were two sealed compartments welded into the trunk, an oversized gas
tank, six ply tires, extra springs and other modifications to aid in an untroubled
return. There was six thousand two hundred and eleven dollars in the "kitty" when
we wished Henry "Happy Trails". He declined our offer of some herb for the road.
"Best to go down straight" he said.
So we had a tremendous send off party the night before and emptied
several freezers.
The first two days of the drive were on paved major roads and the miles
slipped by. By Friday night he he was outside Chihuahua and headed west into
the hill and canyon country beyond. The roads so far had been hot and straight
and very boring, he wondered if he should have accepted the offer of " a couple
for the road". As he grasped the wheel tight and pulled the sedan around the dirt
roads he was glad he had not. The byways had not improved since his last visit.
Narrow and rutted, with animals sleeping and busses barreling along the road.
There had been a couple of close calls in hairpin turns up 'till this point and there
was no reason to push his luck.
He daydreamed as he drove. His memories of his childhood in Mexico had
gradually faded. His family had moved to California and he had taken advantage
of the public education system. After college he had taken his folks for a vacation
in the home country. Everywhere they went were stories of the familia. An uncle
here a cousin here, there were as many new faces as needles on a cactus. One
afternoon during siesta a familiar aroma found him. A cousin, Arieulo, was
enjoying an afternoon smoke under a tree. During the next few weeks they
became fast friends. Henry visited Arieulios little farm several times during that
vacation. Before he left he gave him some seeds he had brought down from
California. He had visited again twice over the years and each time the little plots
of cannabis were bigger and finer than before. The buyers would visit Arieulio
twice a year and pay top dollar for his crop. As his expertise with the crop
increased so did the price. Eventually he was able to live a comfortable lifestyle at
the end of his little canyon. Despite exposure to all the modern conveniences he
preferred his donkeys, and a modest rural home. Other growers through out the
region would visit him for consultations or seeds. The farm was small enough to
miss the attentions of the federales on their occasional sweeps.
Henry almost missed the turn off. The canyons that wound away into the
hills were like knife wounds in the earth. Steep and sharp they sliced into the hills
with seeming ease. When the outflow from those canyons met the wash where
Henry was driving the trail would be torn up from the periodic floods. The trail he
was seeking had not improved over the years, it seemed fit only for donkeys or
foot traffic. And he wasn't sure the car could get across the dry riverbed. He was
pleasantly surprised at the ease of his crossing. Nevertheless it was not so many
more miles before he pulled the car over and started walking. The moon was full
so the trail was plain before him. The evening breeze was sweet and full of the
smell of thousands of different plants. As well as the very strong aroma of
flowering hemp. Arieulio was surprised and overjoyed to see him.
Henry had arrived at a most opportune time. The early crop had been
harvested, dried and was being prepared. The first results were most
encouraging. The buds were firm and the size of a baby's arm. Bright green leaf,
red hairs in profusion, the smell was overwhelming. The flavor was sweet with a
hint of pine or cinnamon. The effect was mind boggling. The first joint was far
from finished when Henry realized how long it had been since he had rested and
passed out.
The next morning it was either the coffee or the pastry, he couldn't decide
just which smell had woken him. He caught a glimpse of a door closing as he
began to focus on waking up. The thick local coffee had brought Henry back to
life as he consumed the sweet roll. His door opened to a veranda from which he
could see the fields and the hills beyond. Arieulio greeted him with a thumb sized
joint, and called for more coffee.
The plants swayed in the gentle breeze and glittered a vibrant green
against the brown hills. Three or four acres of magnificent pot stretched out in
front of them.
"All because of you" Arieulio told him." You suggested the possibility years
ago. A faster maturing, heavy producing plant. Each plant out there will give me
almost a kilo each. We keep the males down and get this," he handed over the
joint. Henry inhaled deeply and drifted off.
Packing the car was harder than we had thought. In gratitude Arieulio
halved the price and Henry was trying to pack one hundred pounds where fifty
was supposed to go. Eventually they sealed the trunk and Henry bade Arieulio
farewell. Saturday night found him on the road outside Hermosillo headed north.
It was a bullfight weekend and if he could get to Nogales about six o'clock on
Sunday the crowds would be tremendous.
It was just twenty after six in the evening when Henry rolled up to the
border post. The pavement was like an oven and there were several cars pulled
over with the hoods up. The line of cars stretched for miles in the heat. The
agents stood in the shade of the booths and waved traffic through. Occasionally
they walked out and talked to a driver or waved them over for further review.
When Henrys turn came the agents gave him a quick glance and waved him
through, headed north.
It wasn't until after Tucson that he pulled over and rolled a joint. Headed
north on Arizona 77 he would be in Gallup in the morning. No where to sleep
along the way, just keep cruising. There were places to sleep there and he could
sleep the day away. Monday night it was good by Gallup and headed north again.
By Tuesday night he could be home.
It was Wednesday night when we got the call.
"I'm home. Come on down and let's talk"
Henry insisted we smoke some of the herb before we talked about the run.
It was successful of course, but we didn't know how much he had brought back.
Once we started smoking the stuff we became blitzed immediately and
acknowledged it was a quality product the likes of which none of us had seen for
years. As quality did cost more we were prepared to hear the worst, as he walked
us into the garage to collect our shares. The size of the pile we first saw was
disappointing, until we realized there were five piles that size. There were ten
bricks in each pile and a few hundred dollar bills stuck under the top brick. A few
of the bricks had been cut open for samples but most were still wrapped in the
bright green cellophane that had been so popular. We were amazed and thanked
him profusely and rolled many more joints and had him tell us the tale again and
again.


â??Every year or so around this time it all goes dry
Nothing â??round for love nor money that will get you high
Henryâ??s got in touch and said heâ??d go to Mexico
Hopinâ?? he can come back holdinâ?? twenty keys of goldâ?�
â??Henry â??
New Riders of the Purple Sage
ASCAP Music

Has it been a month already ? Sorry kids, I've been sick. This one won an award on another site now defunct. Take care love to all
The Doctor

nice story G

Nice read.

cool story

Very nice, keep 'em coming.

NIce story, how long did all that weed last? That could keep me goin for a damn long time. Every day roll a foot long joint, ah that would be the life.

great story

DoctorG, you're the coolest stoner Grandpa I know.

Wait.. you're the only stoner grandpa I know. But you're still cool as hell. Good story, keep 'em coming.

another good story man

I like the Clash Quote. My motto has always been "They can have my gun, when they pry my cold dead fingers off the hand grips" Perhaps because the old Eagles song was so true: Smugglers Blues, "You got to carry weapons, 'cause you always carry cash"
How long did it last? well it was a business for me, that was a week to ten days supply. And yes I have rolled a few foot long joints in my time. Glad to hear these tales are enjoyed. I only tell the ones my children love. And when my Grandchildren hit 18 I'll stone the ones that are interested. And love all of them. Have a great day
Doctor G

My god, you are indeed THE doctor!

What a cool grandpa forreal

henry. what a name.