What if your weed could talk?

If your favorite strain could talk, what kind of epic road trip story do you think it would tell about how it finally found its way to your grow room?

It started in the thin, crisp air of the Pakistani Himalayas.

She hitched a ride in the frayed threads of a hippie’s tie dye pants, trading the high peaks for a beat-up VW bus. From there, it was a global relay race: passed from hand to hand at smoke outs, where joints were sparked and shared in hazy, starlit circles from mountain drum sessions to underground gardens across the world. She wasn’t just a seed she was a nomadic treasure, kept alive by dreamers and growers who knew they were holding a piece of history.

Decades later, that same lineage has made it all the way to the foothills of Mount Rainier. The bus is long gone, but the spirit of that Himalayan nomad lives on in what’s in the bowl right now. A world-traveling heirloom, finally home.

How your flavors hitting?

It would start with a mixture of Spanish and Hindi spoken in an Australian accent, with the parent landraces complaining about the motorbike breaking down so often. Then it would slide into a Dutch-Australian accent during its birth and subsequent award ceremonies. It would culminate in valley girl-ish dialect about the resulting cultivar… “Like oh my god, this Widow gags me whenever I hit it. Totally for sure!”