Unemployment is now at six percent, a nine-year high. Times are hard, they may get harder. How will people make ends meet? What will they do to get by?
I spent a good part of the 1990s traveling around America, missing most of the tourist spots. My travels took me to the Rust Belt, towns where shuttered factories had taken the heart out of the community, to farm country, where the downtowns imploded as the land was transferred from family farmers to industrial agribusinesses and to fishing communities that were all used up after the fished stocks crashed.
The crises I saw were more than economic. Small towns – whether factory, farm or fish – have unique cultures that are fast disappearing. When a community’s economic focal point ceases to exist, many residents hit the road. They head out to the cities, to the New South, to the service economy, to wherever and whatever the New World Order points them toward. They join the transient troupe of turn-of-the-century boomchasers, looking for a decent wage and major medical. That’s what many do, not all.
Some people stay. The factory is closed, the farm was auctioned when the bank wouldn’t extend any more credit, the fishing boat was sold at a loss, but still they stay. They stay because it’s their hometown or maybe they belong to a church choir or they want their kids to grow up near their grandparents and cousins. Whatever their reasons, some people stay. They find new jobs driving delivery trucks and schoolbuses and snowplows. They make pizzas and fix cars, put up drywall and do some babysitting. They might work two jobs and still not bring home as much as they used to, but they’re getting by and it’s on their terms.
Oh, and there’s one more thing they do – they grow pot. Some people grow a few plants out back behind the house, some grow it in a clearing in the state forest, some grow it in the basement or attic, under lamps from the plant store.
That’s right. They’re not drug kingpins or narcoterrorists; they’re not hanging out by the schoolyard in a black leather jacket trying to get kids “hooked.” They are the people who sing in your church choir on Sunday or drive your schoolbus or babysit your kids. In my experience, the local cops know exactly what is going on and there’s an unspoken, unwritten set of rules. Don’t let it get out of hand, don’t sell it to kids, don’t put the police department in a potentially embarrassing situation. It’s a small town, everyone knows how hard it’s been to make ends meet these past few years and we all just want to get along.
On the other hand, the federal government is running ads on tee vee to say buying drugs equals financing terrorism. I don’t know what kind of drugs you have to buy to finance terrorism, but if you buy pot, you’re probably financing Beth and Charlie down the street. In fact, if you do smoke pot – and I’m not saying you should, but if you do – you should buy it from Beth and Charlie. It’s good to keep the money in the local economy.
At the national level, precise figures are hard to come by, but it’s estimated the American marijuana crop brings in $25 billion a year. That’s the American crop, grown and sold by Americans, not some shady guys from Colombia or Osama bin Laden. Corn, by comparison, brings in $19 billion.
Maybe that’s why the feds are so worked up about pot. Corporations, too. More and more big corporations are requiring drug tests as a condition of employment. Drug tests really only test for one drug. Traces of heroin and cocaine leave the body a few days after use, LSD doesn’t show up at all. The only thing they’re really testing for is pot, and if you want to sell plastic furniture at Wal-Mart, you’d better not smoke any. What are they afraid of? Maybe they’re afraid that if people can grow a few weeds out back, they’ll realize they don’t need to work at Wal-Mart for minimum wage and unpaid overtime.
The other thing I learned out in those towns is that people get sick. They get arthritis, they get cancer, they have pain, they waste away. They don’t have extensive insurance coverage. They can’t afford prescription drugs. They can afford a bag of pot. It eases the pain, makes the nausea subside. So they smoke it; their elderly parents are smoking it, too.
Buy American
Unemployment is now at six percent, a nine-year high. Times are hard, they may get harder. How will people make ends meet? What will they do to get by?
I spent a good part of the 1990s traveling around America, missing most of the tourist spots. My travels took me to the Rust Belt, towns where shuttered factories had taken the heart out of the community, to farm country, where the downtowns imploded as the land was transferred from family farmers to industrial agribusinesses and to fishing communities that were all used up after the fished stocks crashed.
The crises I saw were more than economic. Small towns – whether factory, farm or fish – have unique cultures that are fast disappearing. When a community’s economic focal point ceases to exist, many residents hit the road. They head out to the cities, to the New South, to the service economy, to wherever and whatever the New World Order points them toward. They join the transient troupe of turn-of-the-century boomchasers, looking for a decent wage and major medical. That’s what many do, not all.
Some people stay. The factory is closed, the farm was auctioned when the bank wouldn’t extend any more credit, the fishing boat was sold at a loss, but still they stay. They stay because it’s their hometown or maybe they belong to a church choir or they want their kids to grow up near their grandparents and cousins. Whatever their reasons, some people stay. They find new jobs driving delivery trucks and schoolbuses and snowplows. They make pizzas and fix cars, put up drywall and do some babysitting. They might work two jobs and still not bring home as much as they used to, but they’re getting by and it’s on their terms.
Oh, and there’s one more thing they do – they grow pot. Some people grow a few plants out back behind the house, some grow it in a clearing in the state forest, some grow it in the basement or attic, under lamps from the plant store.
That’s right. They’re not drug kingpins or narcoterrorists; they’re not hanging out by the schoolyard in a black leather jacket trying to get kids “hooked.” They are the people who sing in your church choir on Sunday or drive your schoolbus or babysit your kids. In my experience, the local cops know exactly what is going on and there’s an unspoken, unwritten set of rules. Don’t let it get out of hand, don’t sell it to kids, don’t put the police department in a potentially embarrassing situation. It’s a small town, everyone knows how hard it’s been to make ends meet these past few years and we all just want to get along.
On the other hand, the federal government is running ads on tee vee to say buying drugs equals financing terrorism. I don’t know what kind of drugs you have to buy to finance terrorism, but if you buy pot, you’re probably financing Beth and Charlie down the street. In fact, if you do smoke pot – and I’m not saying you should, but if you do – you should buy it from Beth and Charlie. It’s good to keep the money in the local economy.
At the national level, precise figures are hard to come by, but it’s estimated the American marijuana crop brings in $25 billion a year. That’s the American crop, grown and sold by Americans, not some shady guys from Colombia or Osama bin Laden. Corn, by comparison, brings in $19 billion.
Maybe that’s why the feds are so worked up about pot. Corporations, too. More and more big corporations are requiring drug tests as a condition of employment. Drug tests really only test for one drug. Traces of heroin and cocaine leave the body a few days after use, LSD doesn’t show up at all. The only thing they’re really testing for is pot, and if you want to sell plastic furniture at Wal-Mart, you’d better not smoke any. What are they afraid of? Maybe they’re afraid that if people can grow a few weeds out back, they’ll realize they don’t need to work at Wal-Mart for minimum wage and unpaid overtime.
The other thing I learned out in those towns is that people get sick. They get arthritis, they get cancer, they have pain, they waste away. They don’t have extensive insurance coverage. They can’t afford prescription drugs. They can afford a bag of pot. It eases the pain, makes the nausea subside. So they smoke it; their elderly parents are smoking it, too.
Remember – buy American.