Harvest Hangups and Glory
Chop day came. Felt wrong to cut them—they looked mid-sentence. But trichomes don’t lie. Cloudy with amber flashes. Time. Hands sticky like high school science glassware; scissors gunked before I'd snipped half. Hung them upside down like little heroes. That smell? Outrageous citrus gas. Let them dry slow, dark, quiet. Curing now, jars burping like babies. I keep peeking. Still stunned I pulled this off—wobbly setup, chaotic weeks—but real yield. The strain from https://jackhererseedsbank.com came through, wild and pure. I’d grow it again. Or maybe name my firstborn after it. Who knows.