Damn you!
Now I want carrot cake!!!
It’s all your fault
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Blame the parents to some extent for the lame ass kids in the work force nowadays.
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You know they’re legit cuz they got little carrots drawn on them! 
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“I believe it’s ‘jogging’ or… ‘yogging.’
It might be a soft j.
I’m not sure, but apparently you just run for an extended period of time! It’s supposed to be wild”
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Well when we were younger playing meant going outside and having physical activity vs sitting on a phone or a gaming system so when it comes time for them to work they don’t know what physical labor is!
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One time I tried to lock my bedroom door when my dad was super fucking mad at me, and he broke the door off the hinges to get his point across to me. To be fair, I had just broken my younger sisters arm. Accidentally!
lol
fuckin wild childhood I guess.
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I actually worked side by side with my dad in the oilfield when the last major boom happened up in North Dakota. I used to pump oil wells and roustabout!
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Te maki literally means hand rolled. It’s the sushi version of taco night where everyone rolls their own from communal plates of fillings.
Fun. Delicious. A little messy. 
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Story time with Hobbes
My dad was old school oil field. I moved back to North Dakota in my late 20’s (my home state) to get into the 2nd boom. With the second boom; safety had become like this crazy rampant thing, because you had all these young dumb bucks coming up that had a hard on to make money, but dumber than fucking rocks.
And so they implemented hard hats, and FR-fucking everything (FR = flame resistant.) If you have never worn FR clothing, it’s INCREDIBLY thick compared to normal shit. And heavy. And warm. Very very warm. Especially in summertime. And you can’t roll up the sleeves on an FR shirt, because then it’s not very fucking FR, is it? lol
Enter my dad. Velcro shoes. Fuck laces. Waste of time.
Hard hat? Sure. We had ‘em. In the truck. Somewhere.
FR’s? Hane’s t-shirts.
H2S monitors? Smell the air. Can’t smell the rotten eggs? Uh oh.
He had contracted the same wells for over like… 20+ years? And we did a lot of work for Whiting Oil & Gas. So he was kind of “grandfathered” into some things, where the newer guys would not necessarily bust his balls about shit. But lol… we were on this one location and we replacing the polishing rod on this AJAX pumping unit, and the head foreman for this field (who was someone my older brother graduated with in our small town, so we knew him, he knew us) comes out, and he’s got this crew of guys with him. And we’re talking about working on the unit, and this foreman is like clenching his teeth not wanting to be a dick, but he finally was like “heyyyyyy….. sooooooo…. could you guys like maybe…. put on hard hats at least?” And there’s Dad. In his Hanes t-shirt. Velcro shoes. With everyone else wearing full hard hats, monitors, FR clothes.
I remember this time, we had this 30 gallon drum of methanol in this one shack that we’d add to this line as a de-icer, and it’s really fucking poisonous. It absorbs into your skin readily and easily and you don’t shed it quick. My dad. He drops his god damn WATCH into the drum when he’s filling the metal Folgers coffee can that we used to add the methanol to the line (haha!) And rolls up his sleeve (this was in winter, he was wearing long johns, not FR’s. ha.) And he dips his ENTIRE fucking arm into that drum to get his watch back. I mean I think I watched years of his life shed? Maybe. He’s still alive! I’ve spilled methanol on me before, it’s REALLY fucking cold on your skin, because it’s VERY REACTIVE haha. If you’ve ever felt the reaction with a chunk of urea and water with your hand, it’s similar to that chill.
It was a wild time. We’d ride together in the same pickup for awhile, and he’d just give me tasks to do while he took a nap in the pickup with the windows down. He’d just drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, and sleep.
Speaking of windows down, it didn’t matter what time of year it was, he rolled with his window down.
Rain? Who gives a shit.
Snow? Who gives a shit.
I’ve seen it hit -60 below 0 degrees F with the wind chill out there multiple times.
Guess what? Windows down. Heater blasting. Who gives a shit?
We’d drive like several hundred miles EVERY day to make our loop of the wells we contracted to pump. We’d have to fill several times a day.
I went out in the field once, just once, high. Because I wanted to know if I could pump wells under the influence. It was terrifying. Not something you want to do high.
What didn’t help is that dad like to take all the safety mechanisms off the pumping units, all the grates and grids and metal shit that preventing you from insta-dying, because “well, that shit just gets in the way when we need to work on the unit.” Screw safety, that’s a time sink. So on these pumping units, there’s HUUUUUUUUUUUUUGE fly wheel that is spinning the entire time inside the shack, and it would just rip your fucking arm off if you even remotely clip your finger into it.
Let’s not even talk about the rattlesnakes. They loved treater shacks, which keeps the oil warm and viscous. They like to wrap around the pipes inside the shack, so you’d start out your trip into the shack by opening the door, then eyeballing the fuck out of everything. And smelling for gas. Because we didn’t wear monitors.
ha
I have a lot of cool ass memories from that. The boom brought people from all over the world to the oil fields. There was this water hauler named Willy that from New Zealand. And we just constantly saw him at this salt water disposal that was part of his route. And he’d tell us of his family, his life back home, how New Zealand was different from here. He was so appreciative to be here. To be working to make such good money to send back home. Just a super humble guy.
I remember this wicked fucking snow storm where we had a water tank valve fail, and the tank poured out and filled up the dike surrounding it. Willy came out in a vac truck to suck out the water from the dike, and my dad and I were in waders in that freezing ass fuckin’ water with pipe wrenches waiting for the water level to go down to replace out the valves. And he sees me and says “oh wow Jordan, I can’t believe you’re out here in this weather.”
And I said “have you met my dad?”
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Great stories, thanks for sharing.
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Agreed, the oilfield stories are wild.
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Trimmed and bagged the Triks tonight. Sampled a piece. Not bad. Smells like soap and tastes like generic coffee creamer. Got just over half a pound 0.525 or 8.4 ounces.
Trichome density was good
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So what changed?
This meaning you cannot grow any plants anymore at all? (Washington state that is?)
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Morning everyone 
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Nothing has changed since we voted to legalize recreationally back in 2012. NORML helped write the initiative and did not put home grows in it due to their concern of it not passing if they did so. For the last 10+ years it has been brought up as an agenda item in the legislation and dies early on.
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Allright, but home growing remains ‘legal’ up to a certain amount of plants or does it become illegal now? Sorry for the questions, didn’t understand it completely.
Tnx for clarifying 
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