Once upon a time, on a farm far away, one tried to get labor for a day or two now and then by promoting the activity as therapy for people with problems. And, in the course of human events, a man once came to my door one day, and said, “I have aids, and I could sure use some farm therapy”.
Well I was tickled pink. Here was a person, with a citable problem or two, taking one of the shacks, at my disposal, with whom, if we could focus on the problem, may improve him. Because up to now we had already cured weight loss, alcoholism, laziness, heroin, learning disabledness, homelessness, and helped people new to America, and those on the run from the law..
However I got nervous about this man working in the fields transmitting aids to vegetables. But that was just as well because he really didn’t take to working in the fields with a straw hat. The sun would get to him and I’d find him passed out in the rows, or slightly delirious. And he was one of those people who give a shit, in that he is into plumbing and I had some longstanding plumbing issues and over a day or two he replaced some fixtures in an industrious and useful way. So this was good. I found more useful things to do and he ventured in the fields to mulch with hay or pick rocks out of the rows, and seemed to improve and stabilize, speaking highly of the agrarian lifestyle, amazed at its peace, grace and harmony, which he said he really needed at this juncture in his life especially. He also in very kindly fashion didn’t mix much with other participants, keeping to himself in his shack, happy to pass the time reading and being alone and napping when not busy..
After a week he moved on, and I felt quite right about my labor for people with problems as therapy, that I had made the world a better place, and this man was going to go on to greater things, and told him he was welcome back, and in 4 0r 5 weeks he returned, and set off in the same innocent pattern; yet after a few days he was joined by a less industrious friend in the other shack, who may have been more than his friend; because it is in the course of this sojourn, that he started snorting any farm powders he could find, and demonstrating the notorious varieties of chemicals, an organic farm that was conventional 4 years ago, might have around.
It got worse. High on vapours of chemical cans I was constantly running up and snatching them out of his hand, or sniffing them out of hiding in his shack; he would run to my poor old pick up truck and take into the fields at night trying to run over deer, for that year did have an amazing amount of deer. At some point these ruffians barricaded themselves in the shack, refusing to leave; and when I called emergency psychiatric services, on the advise of his counselor whose number he gave me, indeed, his counselor commended me on my efforts to work with these people, and said they might be able to send more aids patients out the following spring to benefit from my agrarian therapy program; but at the moment, the shack hold-outs beelined out with some gasoline and a match and torched these tall weeds and vines along an old stone wall to an old old building. When I was chasing them for that, and wondering if I wanted anymore aids patients from the counselor in the spring, and putting out the fire, they ran into the big barn and stole a huge vehicle, an uplifting dumpster like truck, and joyrided it on the dirt roads in the several acres of woods within the fields; this tall truck as I was corralling them back to the parking area, knocked over several slightly low power lines running between structures, upon which the electrician within the soul of this demon possessed aids patient, whose counselor I had been calling for advice along the way, suddenly felt very remorseful about the downed power lines, and calling a time out, repentantly setting about to see if he could fix them. Especially since I was very angry about the power lines, and I had already yanked his shoulder with his arm from the driver’s seat to the ground, which made him collapse with a shudder. And I of course, desperately needed those power lines fixed and there was work in the fields to do, so I went off to catch up on not having to babysit these children, and they with only one major shock, went about the cumbersome and makeshift process of reestablishing lights and whatever those power lines electrified. When that was done, after they had rebarricaded themselves in the shacks, doing heroin, I suspect, I flushed them out in the evening with rodent smoke bombs, one of which landed on this jailhouse hooch they were showing me how to make in an expanding plastic trash bag; and when they ran out of the shack, the sweet smell of hooch spilled everywhere sticky, I had some locals around shoo them straight into my pick up truck, not let them out, toss their stuff in the back and get them to the train in Gladstone by 8:15; and they had no choice but to comply as I gave them a twenty for the train, a pack of cigarettes we stopped in a Rite Aid for, and I allowed them to drink the 1.5 liter vodka bottle wrapped in the folds of blankets and sleeping bags these two sad specimens were draped in.
Now I knew no conductor, especially at the toney Gladstone stop, was going to let these barbaric hoard like people onto a train, but I squealed the tires and pulled out, leaving them there, with the train conductors sternly approaching. Indeed, they called me later that night, waking me up with a story about how they failed to make that last train from Gladstone; but I really didn’t care; and was even glad, they deserved it; that’s their karma.
And this, my friend, is really just where the story starts. You see, these cretins did a really shoddy job on the electrical wires connecting a few structures the farm has around the parking area, and I had no recourse but to call an electrician, and being poor had to make several phone calls and get several estimates, till one very electrician came over and in the course of me running over the set-up of the job and saying a few spiritual things, electricians, being the religious sort, something about electricity and life, and so he started to show me how easy it was to do, and to hold a ladder here and there, and so he came over the next day and we spent an hour or two connecting wires into electrical boxes and making wires tight and not droop down lower to the ground, as they had been left, by those idiots I did not want to see again.
And this nice arab electrician said he’d do it for free, as if impressed by my spirituality, and in exchange I’d hook him with boxes of vegetables, which seemed fine, and I wondered about the superiority of Arabs to white men, in the electrician field. But then he ventured into the domain of me claiming to hire a step-son of his, from an arab country, 15hrs a week, but it would be a no show job. It would merely enable his step-son to live here, rather than the mid-east country. And that he would pay me 150 dollars a week just to fill out paperwork affirming the work happened, that would be turned into immigration officials overseeing visitors to our country. Now the problem with me, is I am first concerned with agriculture, and not these sorts of proposals, which could land me in trouble; and secondly, I am a bit of a politician, having run for local office on a peaceful assembly platform in 2003 in Princeton N.J. and currently popularizing organic agriculture as the natural direction of the people; and as a politician, I know, we can not have illegal skeletons in the closet such as providing no show jobs for visitors for other countries, because if the public one day saw that, they would realize my inept attempts at integrity, and I would feel I sold out the people; whereas truly entertaining stories such as the above adds color to my American character.
I told the electrician, who was Muslim, I’d think about it; yet several times over the next few weeks he would corral me in the hot afternoon, driving swiftly on the dirt driveway beside me as I’d walk back from the farm stand. “You know I helped you for free”, he’d remind me; and I didn’t have several hundred dollars for his work; and rued my efforts to help homosexuals; helpful to a fault I was. He was literally extorting the small organic grower, smiling like he guns in his white van, and generally giving the impression of not someone to be trifled with: That it was very important his step son come to live in America. Finally at one juncture I said come at such and such a time on such and such day and we will talk about it. For at this time a group of consumers of mine were going to come for an inspection of the farm and I would show all the organic practices, and they would fill out a questionaire and send it to CNG Certified Naturally Grown, an independent organic certifying agency out of upstate NY; for there are degrees of certification ranging from State official certification which costs hundreds and hundreds of dollars and takes 9 months; then this less official certification consumers or fellow farmers perform; and some organic growers just say, “The heck with you: If you think I’m lying about my organic practices, come here and look anytime, but I will not pay an agency because people think I’m lying when farmers are truth about farming. However, unless certified by state official, I can not use the term “organic”. It has been bought off, and is off the word market. Organic Growers have have to pay to advertise with that word. And you thought speech was free. To use the word organic in a sentence in your advertising is 600 bucks to be certified by the state easy. Watch out for other words they might take away and cost you to use. It’s the ultimate totalitarian government that makes words cost money, and what we live in today. Suppose every time someone used the word “like” they had to contribute a dime to the national debt? But I am straying from the story. Suffice to say The Long Valley Gardening Club was coming over, and there would be more than enough of them to fill out the necessary number of questionaires, and I’d promote the activity and enterprise, and if I got this beloved bedoiun electrician into the fields with the long valley garden club, I might have the leverage to explain in public what a bully he is being to me forcing money onto me in exchange for messing with the INS: That was the plan, and I didn’t have to worry a few days.
But now the third subplot, all doomed to come together one fateful moment like a really good episode of The Sopranos.
Earlier in the summer I’d been to a friend’s birthday party several towns away, and because I arrived late, working late into the summer day, at mid nite, to an all day swimming pool affair, I was among the last to straggle out to the area the cars were parked on this large property and house they let him use for his party. And as I was leaning into leaving, I was talking with a person or two I hadn’t seen in a long time, and this fellow I didn’t know, who seemed interesting enough as it was just us, and the people who lived in the house walking around cleaning up wanting us to leave. And this new fellow was suspicious because he offered us a joint of pot; only eventually got it out, and it was the worst pot I ever had; not that I have had much bad pot though. And later we walked out in the dark to the cars underneath the tall trees in this parking lot grove; and he asked me if as an organic grower I ever grew pot; and I, wanting to sound like a big shot, said, “sure, just a few though“; Even though I didn’t, and organic growers of vegetables don’t grow a few pot plants on the side; this fellow made it sound so attractive, how could I admit myself to be some uncool fool who didn’t; towards which this fellow said he would come over and show me how to trim them if I needed help, as well as just see the farm and maybe help in the fields a bit. I remember asked him where he was from and he said North Hampton Mass. And I remember thinking, what kind of person comes from there; I having a bit of a prejudice against that particular town. In fact I didn’t even worry briefly about not having pot plants to show him, because once he got there he could help me in the fields.
So one late July afternoon, he came over, and it started to rain so we couldn’t work in the fields and we hid in the shack with the assorted crazies about. The gay couple, an alcoholic from the south I was trying to help; an interacial couple I was trying to help, and a mean sad construction worker I was trying to help; and these were just some of the strangest people east of the Mississippi, hiding in a shack with candles from the rain; with the sweet smell of hooch being made in a contractor bag from yeast, cans of fruit and sugar, as the man with aids had learned to this in county jail some winter ago and being on a farm trying to demonstrate its teaching.
By then I had strongly suspected this person who enquired about pot production was an undercover officer behind the recent bust of my friend whose birthday party it was; and for a variety of reasons; and thus I encouraged his coming over, in hopes of if not busting him, at least showing him the line of pressure, and the real deal. And I’d told my friends I think he was an undercover, so they acted especially scary and evil, because this was a clean cut dude, and these guys were curious too, if he was an undercover, how can you tell, do you ask. I mean, we were all curious as to the issue of could we smell out an undercover; but no one but me thought it to be like a sport.
And, uncomfortable with the lower lower class milieu, he did behave in some ways that gave it away. For one thing he claims to be in the alternative medical business and had just replaced my recently arrested friends former partner in the alternative medicine, massage business, with some plans for further machinery and wider menu of alternative healing arts. However, his website I later investigated looked thin and suspicious, and it seemed he just went the business partner route to investigate my friend.
Indeed, what happened and immediately compelled him to the farm or at least so seemed, was that my friend had arranged to buy 6 pounds of pot from him that my friend could move; and this went down at a nearby red bull motel; that cops raided the transaction and busted this new business partner of my friend; as my friend had been cooperating with the prosecutors at least regarding this deal, which was a set-up.
So the fellow I met at the party, was distressed over this, or so he said, and needed the peace and consel of the farm and me, as I knew so much, but really he was coming over to hopefully find pot growing on my operation; and had been absolved from being suspected as an undercover, by reports of his recent arrest. Yet it shows to you how messed up the mind of county prosecutors and sheriffs are regarding the essentially harmless and beneficial crime of pot; in that psychologically they played the plan and psychological turmoil of getting my friend to set-up his new business partner who offered to sell him 6 pounds of high grade pot. My friend later told me moving it to the hotel was a last second decision, too, and he had to lie to the undercover partner his house was flooded. My friend told me he had also shown his partner where a stash was, explaining how when the cops raided my friend they knew exactly where it was. The gay number they did on my friend was so disturbing that he refused to believe my allegations about who the undercover really was; and it shows you illegal practice by county sheriffs in Somerset County NJ, if they withhold the information of who the undercover was, by actually passing off his fake arrest as actual. I mean that’s just plain illegal. I don’t think you can not reveal the source of evidence and information; nor pretend to have him arrested so he may disappear and ply his undercover training elsewhere.
And, really what the other side, the government coming over, and this whole episode giving me a chance to do, but make my basic case regarding the appropriateness of pot, which goes like this: The basic right of people to come together to discuss how they spend their time and life, has been forgotten. The subjugation of local discourse by local officials, abridges the more primary form of such discussion in peaceful assembly; and violates the reservation of powers to the state or the people. So we live in an illegal society. And by doing something illegal and harmless in return, we get a high enabling us to overcome the illegal bent in society, and this high is functionalizing and increasing in competency. Pot is not the final solution. Community self-determination and discussion in Peaceful Assemblies, should make the need for pot obsolete; end the high; but till that is attained, measures need be taken; and as the government never helps me in this, despite numerous solicitations, entreaties, and legal actions; so I was very eager to work with this youthful looking law enforcement official to see if he could not understand the above; and particularly, apply this to his case, as he complained to me about his charges.
But he was not proactive on this. And he acted nothing like people who move pot pounds at a time do; and I wrote several letters to my arrested friend on how his new business partner was the undercover, and how this undercover was a complete loser at being an undercover giving himself away in this way and that; a complete incompetent, if you study the situation. And I knew fulwell these letters would be read by the prosecutors and law enforcement on my friends case as he was forced to work with him, which was messing him up mentally, and reading his emails to his new email address.
Anyway, long story short; I was leading the Arab and the Long Valley garden club through the fields, explaining to the Arab as he had already gotten a box or 2 of vegetables it was appropriate to add to the number of questionnaires inspecting the operation; when two black scary unmarked choppers with those box like devices on the wing that blink and detect pot plants through ultra red glare or something, started flying over the whole 80 acre farm with 35 acres of woods on it, and nearby boundaries to other large properties, just flying back and forth, and not stopping after one pass or two, as we all nervously and awkwardly continued my showing them the potatoes I mulched with hay to not use chemicals to keep down the weeds and how big the plants were and how beautiful it looked, and I tried to show them the barn with all the natural organic fertilizers and packaging to seeds I kept none of which had chemicals listed on their packaging. I didn’t use much of the 80 acre farm, so the choppers seemed centered on the long grassed back fields and woods. But it was obviously unnerving to the long valley garden club, and my potential Arab partner, as well as to the elementary school next door that had just built on 40 acres land that used to be the farm’s; as that had just got out, and the teachers still around were looking out their windows perplexed at what the heck the farm next door was up to now. Trying to promote the fall crop, and explaining the questionaire grew harder and harder with the unnerving special black choppers hovering around.
Anyway the group of 15 people listening to my stories and insights, started to thin out, particularly as the choppers grew nearer, investigating the fields we were out; till more and more of the garden club didn’t feel it and either dropped their questionnaire and just went in the other direction back to the car; or mumbled some meager response about turning it in later and confident everything was organic; till only I and the Arab were left; and then when one of the choppers dropped a rope ladder and started climbing down nearby with a gun strapped to his back, the Arab and Muslim I might add took off running to his car, and I never saw him again.
Basically, because the state runs away from the issue of towns making decisions in local peaceful assemblies, I called them cowards and hypocrits for picking on pot movement without dealing with the causes for its necessity. Of course the question remains is this warrantless and unannounced and intrusive search in violation of search and seizure laws? I mean it is obviously a search they failed to show a warrant for. Especially since they could have asked me to search the property and to clear my good name I would have instantly assented. Which is why this search may have more been payback than an actual search this illegal search and seizure. Or could they have a survelliance of me encompassing a knowledge of my fearful situation with the electrician and knew that by doing this they were secretly there to scare off the threatening; and in now was this a coincidence and in now way can I complain and even must thank them in their tacit aid.
I mean for a short time there was a spike in local sales simply from the notoriety of a black chopper or two criss crossing the property for almost two hours. Of course some of the long valley garden club were curious about what was going on, as were elementary school teachers next door, expecting something to come out in the papers in recent days. But there was nothing, they found nothing, and nothing came out in the papers; which actually seemed to gain me great sympathy from the school which respected my work. There was one bus driver, a husband along with the tour, who totally expected some charges to result, calling me a hippy bringing down demise, when I have short hair and a collar specifically to avoid being confused with a hippy. And I tried to explain to him and others, over the choppers, that they wouldn’t find anything, this was just a mistake, shows you how dumb law enforcement could be, for I reminded them anyone is and has been welcome to enjoy the property, and picnic by the pond, if they buy boxes of vegetables. But it was like my arguments were being purposely drowned out by the choppers
The person I thought was the undercover continued to deny it, and soon dropped out of sight, as I expected. My friend whose birthday it was, did not time, but paid considerable costs to a local law firm. The aids patient and anyone he knows were banished three years. That guy, who was scary looking with a black beard and taut physique, hated the southern alcoholic, who in the shed and often took to singing word songs he had made up and memorized, all of which are very rude regarding women and life, and he doesn’t stop singing them, hogging the stage in that alcoholic way, so the bearded person hates him and threatens him, at one point taking a swing and hitting the youthful looking undercover guy, so that may be why they were mad enough to go to this extreme, when if they really worried about the subject could have just shown up and searched, I would have let them. Anyway I am glad to let go of my side of the story. And emphasize you must see how I saw the opportunity to extort and get assistance from the government, even as opposed by the government, in hopes of just getting some dialogue on a cause that would make millions of people and towns happy.
And I really want to reiterate how nothing was found, people visit and walk around and hunt the farm all the time, including a cop or two, and that pot would have been discovered that if I had pot growing in stands in trees, to keep above deer or hydroponicly with grow lights in some closet, or hidden one plant per row of potatoes; because while I know one plant of pot can make more than a 200 foot row of potatoes; I was trying to master a hard trade; and no way could have time to master and detract and distract with illegal growing as well; and always encouraged the customers of my boxes of vegetables to roam the property and picnic by the pond, work in the fields where they wanted, and locals often fished at the back pond as well, as they had a long standing tradition of. So this search was either out of malice, unprofessional, or to help me with a difficult situation. With the government, the answers are open ended.
But my point it, unbeknownst to me, with the 180 dollars I’d paid him for a few weeks work, he had gone to wal-mart to buy a lo-grade shot gun, which he now ran out of the shack with, which was below the fields I’d planted, and was shooting up at the remaining chopper from the wall of the his shack. And I yelled at him to stop, running away from the remaining, and those heading to their cars; because the chopper beaded down on him and strafed the area near him with machine gun fire, towards which tommy crawled under the shack, which is a fairly gross place, and I made him swear not to shoot anymore.
But it seems the chopper didn’t want to land and capture Tommy, because they had no warrants, or legal authority, if this was just based in picking on me for picking on them for picking on a friend. But still this gave no cause for anyone to want to stick around. The people already in the cars driving off fast down the road all too glad they left when they did. Because the irony is that though they ret\urned fire they didn’t swoop down or bust doc holliday, because they would have revealed themselves as the vengeful malevolent messed up monsters their vice operations are, with this stupid mission of theirs; unless it was about scaring off the follower of mohamed, which it certainly did, in which case I take it all back and am so glad the government and I are common interests we can’t admit to the public. Maybe it was a real automatic anti-terrorist concern, but being scared of me, the government could, like the lord himself, fight only with beauty.
But what did we do, really, to the undercover detective at the shack/ Not think anything he said was cool? Being slightly threatening? All laughing together in that scary way sort of at him? Keeping him outside the circle around the candles in the shack? Not thinking much of him? None of it really was that bad, though when Tommy sang about a big dick and undercover cops, and the gay guy freaked out and started to attack him, I can see how that might be a little scary; but otherwise, everyone in the community knows me, they see me work in the fields everyday, that is the bottome line.
Change climbed down to fire fight with tommy
Psychologically what caused the difference in behavior and temperment between the second week and the first, was the threat of what may await him should such seem true, would startle him into a state of excitement desiring immediate distraction from the present so; and this molded him into an elaborate succession of rowdy behaviors.
Everyone has one problem, as a manager, you get that problem recognized and focused on through the work process, so they are not only working, but aware and working on their
one problem, till that is gone, and smaller ones remain, or they are challenging and take on new and great challenges.
You low life undercover investigating the harmless doing good, whose trade acknowledges not the ignorance of naturally making community decisions together in peaceful assembly. You are the lowest form of life, scum so intermized with itself it is not psychologically functioning anymore”
Of course he kept his cool, and one guy said, what if he’s not an undercover, Shut up, sorry mike