I rolled the last joint of it this morning. There’s a pinch left, two-tenths of a gram—maybe. Otherwise, all I have left is in the form of two .37-gram joints.
It’s been excellent flower. Potent, floaty, focused, wide. They have been one-joint nights. I don’t know if it’s the strain that’s doing all the work or if I’ve simply been satisfied with all of the work I’ve been getting done, house-work mainly. I work a full day on my feet, have a few drinks, wander around my deck, look out into the trees, smoke my joint of Purple Fig, read a little, and then I say, “Goodnight, I’m going to bed.”
It’s a strain of the year candidate, a disappearing eighth. Why do some jars of flower hang around while others seem to go so fast?
As it happens, I’m over at the nursing home in Belleville, visiting my dad. I was wheeling him down the long hallway leading to the exit we favor for its adjacent seating area. One of the nurses saw us coming and waved at my dad.
“How are you?” she asked him.
“Fine. And you?”
That was as much as he had to say to me in the last hour, maybe more. Ah, fine, I gotta get over it. At least I can still hear the sound of his voice, albeit thin and raspy.
I’m high on a gummy in a nursing home, seeing my dad for the last time in at least three weeks. I’m catching up my notes on The Fig, as I have been calling it.
They’re up and down, Fig Farms. It’s a decent brand, I like their packaging. A woodcut sort of imagery. I was disappointed in their Lucid Blue. Figment, the first strain of theirs I tried, didn’t get me high. Oddly, Figment seems to run on some of the same genetics as BF x Purple Fig. (For the Purple Fig lineage, click here; BF, or Blue Face, is a phenotype of Animal Face, for that lineage, click here.)
Fig Farms also sells an Animal Face, which wasn’t as good as Rythm’s Animal Face. And Fig Farms sells Blue Face “on its own,” of which I have a jar I have not opened but I’m starting to think I should. Fig Farms also sells 91 Bacio, a repeat buy for me, one of the best strains I had in 2024. So maybe I need to keep trying some of the Fig Farms strains I haven’t had, GMO Sherb and Zeclair, to name a couple.
My dad dozes. We are sitting outside St Francis Center, aka the assisted living wing of this retirement community. My dad, unfortunately, is under hospice care in Dammert Center, aka skilled care, the last stop on the line. It’s warm out here but not that humid. Ninety-two degrees, forty-four per cent humidity. Not bad for St. Louis/Belleville on July 10th, at 13:45 in the afternoon.
July, as a month, continues to tend drier. June has once again delivered hot, heavy, hard early heat. And rain. Even though we are only a third of the way through the month, July has already offered nicer days than all of June. August cools even a tad more than July but the humidity returns. Then September shows up dry and hot all the way through the first two weeks of October. That’s what St. Louis summers are like these days.
And it seems like the weather changes more slowly. You know that old saying about Midwest weather. “If you don’t like the weather right now, wait an hour.” Or five minutes. It’s a generic saying that has less and less applicability. Our weather economy has become one increasingly of domes. This dome, that dome. The clouds move, but the weather sticks around. It works long shifts.
April and May into June: rain dome. Two days after the rain dome finally moved off, it was quickly unseated by a heat dome that lasted two brutal weeks.
I don’t know what kind of dome we’re in now. A domeless dome. The Domeless Bowl. When there is no dome, or where there is no dome, we call that a desert.
These Camino Watermelon Spritz 10 mg gummies are old. More than a year and a half past package date. I had them stashed at what then was my parents’ house. Now it’s just where my mom lives. Everyone else is gone. But I’ve got a few things stashed there. This is like old times. I’ve eaten so many gummies and filled so many pages hanging out with my dad, trying to keep him company at this nursing home. But I haven’t been eating the gummies here lately, and I haven’t been writing. It feels good to put pen to paper, always.
How about a weed review morphing into Notes from The Shrine eventually being revealed as a review of a cannabis-laced gummy all the while?
Weeds of Grass 