It was during the annual summer drought. Made worse by an upcoming election. That awkward time around late August early September when there is no weed, anywhere. You are getting calls from people you haven't seen for months, and they all have the same question; is there any smoke around?? No. There isn't. Not for sale anyway. Folks I know have been dipping into the secret stash, buried in the back of the freezer. It was with some of those same friends sharing a smoke one evening some one stated the obvious:

"Weed will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no weed"

We agreed emphatically and emptied our pockets collectively to see just what kind of buying power we represented. Between us we pledged a little over six thousand dollars.

"Hell" said Henry, " for that kind of money I can drive to Mexico and pick up fifty pounds"

Perhaps you can Henry. We called him Henry because none of us could properly pronounce his name. But then none of us grew up in the mountains west of Chihuahua. So it came to pass on a Wednesday morning we bid farewell to Henry and his mid sixties Rambler sedan. We had all pitched in and helped out. There were two sealed compartments in the trunk, an oversized gas tank, six ply tires, extra springs and other modifications to aid in an untroubled return. There was six thousand two hundred and eleven dollars in the "kitty" when we wished Henry "Happy Trails". He declined our offer of some herb for the road.

"Best to go down straight" he said. So we had a tremendous send off party the night before and emptied several freezers.

The first two days of the drive were on paved major roads and the miles slipped by. By Friday night he he was outside Chihuahua and headed west into the hill and canyon country beyond. The roads so far had been hot and straight and very boring, he wondered if he should have accepted the offer of " a couple for the road". As he grasped the wheel tight and pulled the sedan around the dirt roads he was glad he had not. The byways had not improved since his last visit. Narrow and rutted, with animal sleeping and busses barreling along the road. There had been a couple of close calls in hairpin turns up 'till this point and there was no reason to push his luck.

He daydreamed as he drove. His memories of his childhood in Mexico had gradually faded. His family had moved to California and he had taken advantage of the public education system. After college he had taken his folks for a vacation in the home country. Everywhere they went were stories of the familia. An uncle here a cousin here, there were as many new faces as needles on a cactus. One afternoon during siesta a familiar aroma found him. A cousin, Arieulo, was enjoying an afternoon smoke under a tree. During the next few weeks they became fast friends. Henry visited Arieulios little farm several times. Before he left he gave him some seeds he had brought down from California. He had visited twice over the years each time the little plots of cannabis were bigger and finer than before. The buyers would visit Arieulio twice a year and pay top dollar for his crop. As his expertise with the crop increased so did the price. Eventually he was able to live a comfortable lifestyle at the end of his little canyon. Despite exposure to all the modern conveniences he preferred his donkeys, and a modest rural home. Other growers through out the region would visit him for consultations or seeds. The farm was small enough to miss the attentions of the federales on their occasional sweeps.

Henry almost missed the turn off. The canyons that wound away into the hills were like knife wounds in the earth. Steep and sharp they sliced into the hills with seeming ease. When the outflow from those canyons met the wash where Henry was driving the trail would be torn up from the periodic floods. The trail he was seeking had not improved over the years, it seemed fit only for donkeys or foot traffic. And he wasn't sure the car could get across the dry riverbed. He was pleasantly surprised at the ease of his crossing. Nevertheless it was not so many more miles before he pulled the car over and started walking. The moon was full so the trail was plain before him. The evening breeze was sweet and full of the smell of thousands of different plants. As well as the very strong aroma of flowering hemp. Arieulio was surprised and overjoyed to see him.

Henry had arrived at a most opportune time. The early crop had been harvested, dried and was being prepared. The first results were most encouraging. The buds were firm and the size of a baby's fist. Bright green leaf, red hairs in profusion, the smell was overwhelming. The flavor was sweet with a hint of pine or cinnamon. The effect was mind boggling. The first joint was far from finished when Henry realized how long it had been since he had rested and passed out.

It was either the coffee or the pastry, he couldn't decide just which smell had woken him. He caught a glimpse of a door closing as he began to focus on waking up. The thick local coffee had brought Henry back to life as he consumed the sweet roll. His door opened to a veranda from which he could see the fields and the hills beyond. Arieulio greeted him with a thumb sized joint, and called for more coffee.

The plants swayed in the gentle breeze and glittered a vibrant green against the brown hills. Three or four acres of magnificent pot stretched out in front of them.

"All because of you" Arieulio told him." You suggested the possibility years ago. A faster maturing, heavy producing plant. Each plant out there will give me almost a kilo each. We keep the males down and get this," he handed over the joint. Henry inhaled deeply and drifted off.

Packing the car was harder than we had thought. In gratitude Arieulio halved the price and Henry was trying to pack one hundred pounds where fifty was supposed to go. Eventually they sealed the trunk and Henry bade him farewell. Saturday night found him on the road outside Hermosillo headed north. It was a bullfight weekend and if he could get to Nogales about six o'clock on Sunday the crowds would be tremendous.

It was just twenty after six in the evening when Henry rolled up to the border post. The pavement was like an oven and there were several cars pulled over with the hoods up. The line of cars stretched for miles in the heat. The agents stood in the shade of the booths and waved traffic through. Occasionally they walked out and talked to a driver or waved them over for further review. When Henrys turn came the agents gave him a quick glance and waved him through, headed north.

It wasn't until after Tucson that he pulled over and rolled a joint. Headed north on Arizona 77 he would be in Gallup in the morning. No where to sleep along the way, just keep cruising. There were places to sleep there and he could sleep the day away. Monday night it was good by Gallup and headed north again. By Tuesday night he could be home.

It was Wednesday night when we got the call.

"I'm home. Come on down and let's talk"

Henry insisted we smoke some of the herb before we talked about the run. It was successful of course, but we didn't know how much he had brought back. Once we started smoking the stuff we became blitzed immediately and acknowledged it was a quality product the likes of which none of us had seen for years. As quality did cost more we were prepared to hear the worst, as he walked us into the garage to collect our shares. The size of the pile we first saw was disappointing, until we realized there were five piles that size. There was ten bricks in each pile and a few hundred dollar bills stuck under the top brick. A few of the bricks had been cut open for samples but most were still wrapped in the bright green cellophane that had been so popular. We were amazed and thanked him profusely and rolled many more joints and had him tell us the tale again and again.