Snow still caps the
fir-covered mountains of southwest Oregon despite the warm spring sun
that has lured burly loggers from their hibernation and drawn
orchardmen back to their pear trees. In this lovely, sparsely populated
land, dark green trees provide jobs and profits. But among the budding
fruit boughs of the Rogue River Valley and in isolated clearings hacked
deep in the quiet cedar and pine forests, new patches of a distinctly
lighter green are flourishing this spring. Like pears and firs, this
crop is a moneymaker, yielding an estimated $70 million a year. But,
unlike the other natural products of the valley, it is illegal. The
plant is sinsemillas , a highly cultivated strain
of marijuana that has recently found favor with U.S. pot smokers. It
thrives in the fertile soil and relaxed legal atmosphere of southern
Oregon. The heady plunge into the pot agribusiness began in 1973, when Oregon’s
legislature reduced the penalty for possession of less than an ounce of
the weed to no jail sentence and a maximum $100 fine. Bookstores soon
reported a brisk trade in manuals like The Complete Guide to Growing
Marijuana. Cultivation still remains a crime punishable by a maximum
ten years in jail and a $2,500 fine, but the more tolerant law on
possession seemed to wilt the ardor of anti-dope investigators. “The
police just don’t care as much since the state decriminalized
possession of less than an ounce,” says one grower. Soon after the
legislature’s action, police stumbled upon more than an acre of pot
near a shed stocked with drying racks, bags and labels with the brand
name American Dream printed in purple. Then a logger was nearly killed
when he tripped a dynamite trap around a well-tended marijuana patch.
“That’s when we began to think that this was serious business,” recalls
Oregon Narcotics Agent Garold Assmus. Last year Assmus flew over the state’s backwoods to check out reports of
clandestine pot farms. “We saw a whole lot more than we ever
suspected,” he recalls, flipping through color photos of half-acre
patches that pock the hillsides. “It’s all over the place.” To escape
detection, many weed farmers raise their plants on terrain owned by the
government or the lumber companies. Rural police say they do not have
the time or the money to chase after all the tiny plots in remote
areas. Residents sympathize with the lawmen’s plight and pay little
heed to the modern-day bootleggers. Sighs former State Senator Lynn
Newbry: “I suppose it’s a similar situation to when alcohol was
prohibited. You just can’t get all the stills.”
