The Buds Are Calling

by Coyne Davies, B.

  “Then hire some veterans for God’s sake!” Caldwell suggested. “They’re trained. We’d look better if we had a few.”

  PART FOUR

  Seedlings

  Young ones, let eagerness guide. A luscious fervor. A lift and a rooting. Resilience in the flex, unswerving to the Way. Direction in resolve. Deep and down, the dark summons. The stretching and the feeding. A web for perpetuity. And up. Reaching. Straight to brightness, to the shine. Oh feed on this brilliant heart. Feed as the planets revolve and spin to it. Let us all be new with wonder and astonished by the rain.

  from Cannto VI, Cannabidadas

  Chapter 15

  After the inspection report was somewhat digested at CannRose, Greg ran a onetime ad in the Hullbrooke Gazette and the Lyston Chronicle looking for horticulturalists or those with farming experience. This led to Cassie and Joe Milano, a couple who’d owned a nursery, recently sold it for a tidy profit and were looking around for a new challenge. Caldwell had sniffed at this move of course but he could tolerate them now he had his man from Colorado. He just offhandedly remarked, “They’ll have a hell of a lot to learn.” And so they did. After two and a half months at CannRose, they’d learned all sorts of things.

  “Joey, did you just see what happened?” Cassie was giggling.

  “I know! Sh-sh-sh.”

  Caldwell stormed by them, red-faced and grim. He was uncharacteristically silent until he saw Lazlo and Lydia standing by the production office. “Luther had no right!” he yelled at them.

  Lydia shrugged and shook her head. Lazlo said in an uncharacteristically raised voice, “You tried. It’s not your fault the rehab didn’t stick!”

  “Who was the snitch?” Caldwell screamed. “My boy deserves another chance.”

  “Caldwell, it was on the vault video . . .” Lazlo was shaking his head too now.

  Joe pulled Cassie into the hallway out of sight and earshot. “I didn’t know there was kief in the vault.”

  “What is it . . . like thirty percent THC?”

  “Forty to fifty, honey.”

  “And after stealing it he just leaves it sitting in the front seat of his DayGlo orange convertible?” Cassie erupted with a snort. Reflexively her hand shot up to cover her mouth and nose. Her gray eyes glistened and she squinted as she tried to control her giggles.

  “I am so glad to see the end of that arrogant little cokehead. How could they even think of making him a production manager? He couldn’t even schedule a lunch date let alone a production cycle.”

  “You can send your boy to rehab but you can’t fix rotten stupid,” Cassie said, calming down and clearing her throat.

  “I’ve never seen anybody get escorted out of a building like that.” Joe was laughing now.

  “Well, he couldn’t weigh very much. He’s mostly leather and gold jewelry.”

  “He was so fucked up, he thought they were taking him to a nightclub.”

  #

  That evening after they’d put the kids to bed, Cassie and Joe sat on the porch having a few beers.

  “I can’t believe they spent all that money and have all that equipment to recreate the outdoors,” Cassie said. “I’m sure the plants would be happier in a greenhouse.”

  “Well, honey, welcome to the new crazy! And it’s paying the bills!”

  “Seriously, Joe, everything works at cross purposes in that place!” Cassie swished her head back and forth. The bugs were starting to come out in force and her flying auburn curls deterred them somewhat.

  “On the bright side, at least they got rid of one problem today.” Joe, who had a buzz cut, merely swatted at the bugs from time to time.

  “I mean, why would they add peat to everything if they’re worried about fungus and mildew? I’ve told them the stuff breeds it. And why won’t they use the soil sterilizer?”

  “You’re preachin’ to the choir here.”

  “And why starve the plants for such a long time?” Cassie stared at the lilacs that bordered one side of the porch as if they might provide some answer.

  “Maybe, just ’cause they’re just so full of manure themselves, honey, they can’t imagine the plants might need some.”

  Cassie and Joe didn’t meet until college though they had both grown up in the area. Joe had even been to the garden center Cassie’s dad owned, Caldor’s Nursery, on the outskirts of Lyston, but he didn’t remember ever seeing her there. She told him he wouldn’t have noticed her — she was a late bloomer. Given their experience and previous success running a greenhouse and gardening center for twelve years, they assumed they would play a pivotal role in the marijuana production at CannRose-Medi. They just hadn’t bargained on Damian, the master grower, aka Goldilocks.

  “Goldilocks looks like a skeleton. No wonder he starves the plants. You know what I’m going to do?” Cassie shook her curls again.

  “Wouldn’t want to guess . . .”

  “I’m going to talk to folks in Colorado myself. And California, Oregon and Washington and up in Canada, all those BC Bud people. I bet some of them would be more than happy to share their growing tips and recipes. And all their pot lore.”

  “I bet some would, Cas. Guys you showed me on YouTube looked real friendly.”

  “Not like Mr. Fort Knox Goldilocks. It’s like he’s some undercover agent or something. Everything’s such a big secret.” Cassie’s eyes followed a mosquito that was buzzing around Joe’s leg.

  “Wonder how much illegal shit he did? Must be a habit he picked up. You know, back in the day. Had to keep quiet about everything.”

  “Seriously? I think he’s just a dork. Plain and simple.” Cassie leaned over and caught the mosquito that was just about to land on Joe’s knee.

  Joe laughed. “He doesn’t like us, you know.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.” She leaned back against the porch railing. “You know what? I bet the agricultural colleges are going to get in on this too.”

  “Probably.”

  “We could get ourselves so schooled in this situation we’ll be indispensable any way you look at it. We’ll beat this weed game.”

  “I like your ambition, honey.”

  “Let’s start with seeds.”

  “Your Goldilocks’s latest seed crop looks like shit, by the way.”

  “The ones he put in the West Pod when he could have used the spare nursery?” Cassie took a swallow of beer.

  “Everything in that pod looks half dead.”

  “Everything everywhere looks like crap. Have we even had a harvest yet?”

  “Two. But one had to be tossed.”

  “I can’t remember. We’ve thrown so much out.”

  “You know Lazlo showed me the plans for the waste-management facility?” A knowing smile spread over Joe’s face. “Talk about overkill. He’s putting in a rotator.”

  “Well the state won’t allow windrows with weed, Joey. Can’t do anything outside.”

  “It’s amazing though how Lazlo sells Caldwell on all the junk. I mean I’m no contractor but it’s pretty clear he’s overbuilding on the incidentals and cutting corners on crucial stuff. You can buy industrial composters already put together. Get a guarantee, regular servicing. Lazlo’s gonna have one built from scratch. Says it’s cheaper and I’m betting on a scam. I’m betting he’s skimming big time on that one.”

  “You think? I have to say he does kind of creep me out.”

  “It’s the voice, honey.” Joe sized up the mosquito feeding on his arm. “He’s got court cases you know. A couple of big lawsuits against him. But at CannRose he’s untouchable,” he said, squashing the bug. Cassie grimaced as he brushed the blood and insect parts away. “It’s all in the family,” Joe said, looking up at her. “Come to think of it, maybe our friend Caldwell is in on the scam too. Who knows what deals they’ve made.”

  Cassie sat back and stared at her bottle of beer for a while. Then she looked up at Joe, and with the sound of defeat seeping into her voice, said, “We’re being undermined every step of
the way. You know that. Goldilocks and Caldwell come and do stuff when we’re not around. Including screwing with the nutrients.”

  “I heard Caldwell referring to us as newbies again.”

  “Why bother calling us horticulture specialists then? God! I can’t stand Caldwell either.”

  “If they want to shoot themselves in the foot, honey, that’s not our problem.”

  “But we’re the experts, Joey! And we’re responsible, aren’t we?”

  “They haven’t complained about us so far. Besides they can’t. Everything’s on video.”

  “God bless surveillance!”

  Joe guffawed. “Wonder how much the surveillance system cost? Double what it should, you reckon?”

  “I think Greg was likely in charge of that purchase.”

  “You’re probably right. Maybe only a twenty-five-percent markup.”

  “Maybe no markup. He seems okay.”

  “For an ex-cop.”

  Cassie yawned and stretched before reaching for her beer again. “So what’s his connection with those three new kids?”

  “I don’t know. One’s his nephew I think.”

  “Where’d they come from though? I barely understand what they’re saying and I swear they’re high all the time.”

  “Honey, I don’t think they’re high — well sometimes they are — but mostly I think they just got their own little club there. They’re still in their last co-op, you know. All registered users too. Chronic pain.”

  “Really.”

  “Yeah. Sports injuries. Skateboard accidents.”

  “That’s perfect.” Cassie took a final swig of her beer and threw the bottle across the yard so it spun end over end and landed among the tulips. She turned to Joe with a grin. “So you think they ever get a full day’s work out of them?”

  Joe smiled. He liked when she did unruly things like that. “They’ll do anything you ask, you know. They’re really good banana hunters too.” Bananas were the undesirable male flowers that popped up from time to time on rogue, actually rather stressed plants that went hermie. Plants riddled with them usually got destroyed altogether. “You know they took the fast-track hort certificate program just so they could work here.”

  “Seriously? That’s not easy.”

  “There you go. See, there’s focus, commitment and hidden brains.”

  “Really hidden.”

  Chapter 16

  Petra’s mother was alternately irritated and saddened by her daughter’s life. Petra hadn’t flourished. As a little girl, she showed so much promise. Now she was divorced and childless, her career abandoned. She’d be hitting menopause any day and she was living with her mother, for crying out loud.

  When Doreen heard through a friend that CannRose-Medi, only a fifteen-minute drive away, was looking for someone with some real plant science, she immediately began pestering her daughter about it. It had led to a great deal of bickering, but ultimately Doreen had prevailed. Petra promised to get in touch with the company.

  When Petra did finally make the call, the CannRose-Medi executives and Caldwell could hardly believe their luck. Seemingly out of nowhere came a real plant scientist with a PhD — and credibility. She’d been faculty or something at an Ivy League university, she’d had a job with an equally respectable global company and she’d published dozens of research articles, even if she was never the main author. What did that matter? The research was over their heads anyway.

  Caldwell, Lazlo and Greg sat across the table beaming at her during the interview. Luther was on the conference phone. She was hired on the spot in the space of about fifteen minutes. She could have made up everything and they’d be none the wiser. As it was she tried pointing out to them that her training and background did not really include much about cultivation or anything directly connected to plant production. And similarly her work history regarding plants was some time ago, had focused on lipids rather than secondary metabolites. It might take a little time to get up to speed. They didn’t seem to care. In fact Petra wondered if they even knew what she was talking about. But they would build a lab they said, to her specifications. And to speed things up, they could bring in something modular and just make the necessary alterations. So Petra found herself nodding at them, more wide-eyed than she’d imagined she could be.

  “I had such a good feeling about her, right from the start,” Caldwell would later tell prospective investors as he waltzed them into her lab. As if he was privy to some otherworldly appraisal that trumped her resumé.

  Petra drove back home very slowly after the interview and noticed anxiety creeping into her belly that she hadn’t felt in a while. Who were these people? As she came in the door and met up with her mother, who’d gotten out of bed for the occasion and was hovering and smiling expectantly, she sighed. “Mom, I have no idea what I’ve just gotten myself into.”

  Her mother clapped her hands delightedly and gave her a hug. Doreen had taken to hugging everyone whenever she could. “Wonderful! I’m sure it will be fine!” She hung on to Petra for a good while.

  “You do realize this is pot we’re talking about? As is in dope, drugs?”

  Her mother shrugged. “Pot, schmot. Who cares? They need you. Besides things are changing.”

  Petra stared at her mother. “I’m a card-carrying alcoholic, Mom. Nothing changes about that.”

  “Oh, honey. You’re no alcoholic. You just had a rough time.”

  “Mother. Let’s not start up again.”

  “Fine. You’re an alcoholic. But I don’t see what it has to do with the job.”

  Petra rolled her eyes.

  “Well you don’t drink around me,” Doreen said. “Certainly not to any state of drunkenness. I don’t see why you’d suddenly start drinking around them.”

  Petra looked at her mother with a mixture of frustration and amusement. “The nature of an addicted personality, Mother, one more time, is you tend to switch one activity or substance for another.”

  “So?”

  “So what if I develop an addiction to pot?”

  “Well, from what I hear, it won’t take out your liver.” Her mother smiled.

  “Right.” Petra went to the kitchen to make some tea.

  “You know,” her mother called after her, “maybe medical pot could do something for me too! I hear it’s gaining popularity among the brittle and moderately senile.”

  Chapter 17

  In Flower Room II, which still needed some finish, the coconut coir and peaty amendment were being unpacked and mixed in troughs to wait. The three young men worked slowly but diligently along the rows of tables, measuring out quantities and stirring with care. In a day or two, the seedlings in their delicate biodegradable three-inch pots would be spaced perfectly in rows and lowered into the mixture, giving the troughs order and great purpose.

  “Bro, this is the best job ever.”

  “How would you know? It’s the only job you ever had. And we’re still on co-op.”

  “What’s with you?”

  “Yeah. Salty boy.”

  “Dad’s pissed.”

  “Your dad’s always pissed.”

  “This time he’s really pissed.”

  “Why?”

  “He says I tricked him into signing the waiver.”

  “What waiver?”

  “The liability waiver.”

  “Bro, so what? He signed it. He can’t unsign it!”

  “Yeah. Who cares? You’re gonna be eighteen next month anyway.”

  “He’s taking the car. So how will we get here?”

  “Maybe there’s a bus.”

  “Greg can give us rides.”

  “And Lazlo’s son.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Gus.”

  “Yeah. Gus. He could bring us.”

  “Hey. Did you just see that!”

  “What?”

  “I didn’t see anything.”

  “Something just jumped in that tray.”

  “What tra
y?”

  “That one.”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Over there. Something jumped again. There’s another one.”

  “We should get a jar.”

  “They’re thrips!”

  “Dude, there’s no plants yet. They’re springtails.”

  “I think they’re thrips.”

  “They’re springtails.”

  “We should tell Damian.”

  “He’s in Colorado.”

  “No, he’s been here all week. I saw him this morning.”

  “Where?”

  “Lydia’s office, with Caldwell.”

  “What were you doing in the front?”

  “They have granola bars.”

  “My grampy eats granola bars.”

  “Brobes. There’s like a lot of bugs in this tray. It’s like . . . active.”

  “I’m getting a jar.”

  “Maybe we should tell Cassie. She’s next door.”

  “Don’t tell Cassie.”

  “Yeah, bro. You’ll upset her again.”

  “You think she likes us?”

  Chapter 18

  Alice checked the time. Almost ten minutes past three. Caldwell had wanted to see the dispensary in the city and now he was late. It was very clear to Alice that he didn’t trust her or Luther to set things up to have customer appeal. Alice figured the clientele would want the usual displays you’d see in any store, but mostly they’d need to talk to somebody who could help them go through the trial-and-error process. Finding the appropriate product could take time.

  Alice had looked up a couple of her old school friends who were now living in California. They had experience with medical marijuana. They said there was certainly a long way to go and a lot of research needed, but many things about cannabis were promising. Spectacular even, especially with seizures in children. Very few undesirable side effects, and if there were some they tended to be ones the sufferer might not mind. Like euphoria. Alice had always found the listing of euphoria as an adverse reaction rather amusing. Lord knows the FDA wouldn’t want people to be too happy now would they? One of her friends also brought up the problem of obesity. Everybody knows pot can give you the munchies. And an already obese person could actually add to their problems by gaining weight. On the other hand, tetrahydrocannabivarin, a naturally occurring analog of the almighty THC and found significantly in some marijuana strains, was an appetite suppressant and showed promise in obesity treatments.