My pot movie

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browndirtwarrior

New Member
Garden Knowm said:
nice to see you way out here in no mans land.... this really is not a place for young ladies. on page 211 of a thread that has gone to the deep and then back...

i wonder if it changes peoples perception of you.. to see you so deep and engaged in the community here at riu...

as for me....

iloveyou

we should go skinny dipping some time.... i like the deep end too...

ZEK can lifegaurd for us..
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buddy you be drowning in the gutter.
 
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browndirtwarrior

New Member
Garden Knowm said:
please make a list of things that you don't think "it" should be turned into?

how about not making it a thread that tells people what to post?

how about a thread about dog farting, dog pissing, complaining and super heroes that really were GAY.... like superman and spiderman and iron man...

but not the incredible hulk


speaking of gay... a 75 year old bald guy came up to me at nations... yesterday.. he was bald, top hat and a cane... he told me I had an incredible physique.... Which really insn't true.. unless you comapre me to 99.99% of the american people.... but compared to and african well digger.... i look pretty normal

I gently asked him not to turn NATIONS Hamburger joint into a place that appreciates my incredible rig.... but to keep that type of interaction for the parking lot....

......

btw- i was not hitting on Dalia..... I was trying to bait you into being a person that tries to tel other people what "is and isn't ok"

almost worked huh?

iloveyou



OH and Dalia.. no offense... i will be hitting on you soon in the grow journal fourm....

iloveyou
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what fucking school of moderators did you and FDD go to anyway? that's some freaky shit man.
 
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browndirtwarrior

New Member
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Sitting on the bank of the swamp on a soft clump of pine needles, I gazed transfixed at the miracle unfolding in front of me. The soft rays of early October sunlight enveloped the mosquitoes in an ethereal glow as they danced an aerial ballet. The wetland sky seemed like a living chandelier dripping with diamonds, as these insects swung in random crescendos, millions of them, making contact, free-falling, then climbing with a swoop to do it again in their mating dance. A week or two earlier, I mused, these insects’ relatives likely gorged on my blood as I worked the patch. Now they were providing me with the most exquisite performance, courtesy of Mother Nature. The profundity of the interconnectedness of all living things washed over me and I felt a strong sense of the sacred.

My apprenticeship, that thirty-two day stint in the woods, was full of moments like those, as I tended the crop in the mornings with the Z-Man, then went off to commune with nature.

The Z-man was our enforcer on the crop. With a stolen black colt .45 which he kept under a log, he was a 5'6, 265-lb. black man with a shaved head, earring, tattoos, a degree in philosophy, and a penchant for old Tom Jones records. We were the two new guys, elected to guard the crop and see it to the finish.

With nothing else to do after the day's round of checking on and maintaining 600,000 dollars worth of pot, I nestled into the routine of taking the Z-Man trout fishing. To this day, that indelible impression remains etched in my mind. That big black man, looking like a biker bar bouncer, holding a delicate little trout rod, intently practicing the intricate art of brook trout fishing. With a dancing rod tip and taut line, his reel whizzing, he’d glance at me for approval with a yelp of exhilaration. His child-like glee at being rewarded for his patience made me wonder if he’d have the persona he had if he’d experienced this rite of passage as a boy.

On cool October nights, in the glow of lamplight, the Z-Man and I drank tea and hot chocolate, talked philosophy and listened uneasily as, occasionally, a huge, ancient tree cracked in the distance and fell with a thunderous boom that echoed through the wilderness in the blackness of the night.

What a joy it was, watching this man of such stark contrasts discover simple pleasures long lost to him in the concrete jungle. That stay in the bush taught me a lot about human potential and the complexity of self, how we often tend to preconceive and label people based on appearance.
Those thirty-two days in the woods changed me. And I know they changed the Z- Man. It forced us to look inward and reflect, to look at each other simply as fellow men, to do what we do far too little of in the hustle and bustle of our lives - get to know the real person behind the protective veneer. The natural world does that; it forces you to focus inward on the real and essential.

I would need that grounding. I was about to leave the woods after a month without so much as a hot shower, carrying a suitcase filled with enough money to afford me any creature comfort.
 
Mr.Pyrex

Mr.Pyrex

Well-Known Member
browndirtwarrior said:
Sitting on the bank of the swamp on a soft clump of pine needles, I gazed transfixed at the miracle unfolding in front of me. The soft rays of early October sunlight enveloped the mosquitoes in an ethereal glow as they danced an aerial ballet. The wetland sky seemed like a living chandelier dripping with diamonds, as these insects swung in random crescendos, millions of them, making contact, free-falling, then climbing with a swoop to do it again in their mating dance. A week or two earlier, I mused, these insects’ relatives likely gorged on my blood as I worked the patch. Now they were providing me with the most exquisite performance, courtesy of Mother Nature. The profundity of the interconnectedness of all living things washed over me and I felt a strong sense of the sacred.

My apprenticeship, that thirty-two day stint in the woods, was full of moments like those, as I tended the crop in the mornings with the Z-Man, then went off to commune with nature.

The Z-man was our enforcer on the crop. With a stolen black colt .45 which he kept under a log, he was a 5'6, 265-lb. black man with a shaved head, earring, tattoos, a degree in philosophy, and a penchant for old Tom Jones records. We were the two new guys, elected to guard the crop and see it to the finish.

With nothing else to do after the day's round of checking on and maintaining 600,000 dollars worth of pot, I nestled into the routine of taking the Z-Man trout fishing. To this day, that indelible impression remains etched in my mind. That big black man, looking like a biker bar bouncer, holding a delicate little trout rod, intently practicing the intricate art of brook trout fishing. With a dancing rod tip and taut line, his reel whizzing, he’d glance at me for approval with a yelp of exhilaration. His child-like glee at being rewarded for his patience made me wonder if he’d have the persona he had if he’d experienced this rite of passage as a boy.

On cool October nights, in the glow of lamplight, the Z-Man and I drank tea and hot chocolate, talked philosophy and listened uneasily as, occasionally, a huge, ancient tree cracked in the distance and fell with a thunderous boom that echoed through the wilderness in the blackness of the night.

What a joy it was, watching this man of such stark contrasts discover simple pleasures long lost to him in the concrete jungle. That stay in the bush taught me a lot about human potential and the complexity of self, how we often tend to preconceive and label people based on appearance.
Those thirty-two days in the woods changed me. And I know they changed the Z- Man. It forced us to look inward and reflect, to look at each other simply as fellow men, to do what we do far too little of in the hustle and bustle of our lives - get to know the real person behind the protective veneer. The natural world does that; it forces you to focus inward on the real and essential.

I would need that grounding. I was about to leave the woods after a month without so much as a hot shower, carrying a suitcase filled with enough money to afford me any creature comfort.
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Sound like Big Black from rob and big
 
4

4cyl5spd

Well-Known Member
great story, BD but I'm sure I've already read this one. weeding out the useless posts all day to find and take in your stories is all worthwhile. especially cuz I've been through alotta the same experiences too. looking forward to more stories, and episode 11! :blsmoke:
 
4

4cyl5spd

Well-Known Member
Garden Knowm said:
hello mr. warrior of dirt...

are you engaging me in some sort of dialogue...?

I am not sure what you mean by this... drowning in the gutter :cry::confused::mrgreen:


lol...
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I believe this in regards to your ability at picking up of chicks but don't quote me on that.

going down in flames

crash n burn

drowning in the gutter
 
Hydrotech364

Hydrotech364

Well-Known Member
awesome writing brown dirt,it seems you always have some entertainment with you.We definitely need to smoke mass quantities one day.!!!! peace
 
Hydrotech364

Hydrotech364

Well-Known Member
Every offensive needs to be funded!!!!!!!!!!!!Somewhere along the line the constitution was overwritten,im not an expert on that.i have read alot about the original and the men who wrote it,swore to protect it from all enemies foreign and domestic.lol.How do we all assemble in one voice.where is that lil dude from tiaenamin square at.Im a soldier and a scout at heart and that job will take a big leader!!!!
 
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