Reefer Sadness for Pot Farmers

To reach Jason's farm you drive south out of the small town of Arcata, in Humboldt County, Calif., and plunge into the forest that gave the region its "Emerald Triangle" nickname. After passing through hilly ranch country and a stretch on a dusty dirt road, a wooden house peeks out of the fruit trees on 150 acres of land, completely off the electrical grid. Jason is in the kitchen, stuffing cannabis leaves into a juicer.

"Everyone around here is involved in some way," says Jason, a professional marijuana grower. What he means is that a large percentage of people in town, and every other town for miles, is either directly or indirectly subsidized by dope, from the young parents cultivating a few seedlings in the backyard to the owner of the sushi restaurant where seemingly unemployed people eat dinner, always paying in cash.

"I think we're in the middle of a boom time," says Jason, clomping over to a leather sofa with his juice. He's in his late 30s and wearing camouflage pants with a small knife clipped to his belt, heavy-duty work boots, and just enough chin scruff to keep him from looking groomed. Despite its rustic accommodations -- personal business is conducted in an outhouse down the path -- the house bears many signifiers of high household cash flow: gleaming new appliances, lots of products made by Steve Jobs, a Droid satellite phone. He got into the pot business almost by accident. After several years drifting hippie-style through California, Jason fell in love with the pastoral lifestyle and realized that he had to earn money to sustain it, so he became a businessman. He agreed to explain the economics of his trade, provided Bloomberg Businessweek withheld his full name.

[Thanks Sam Hell!]