Apparently, the “cannabiz” — you know, the business of growing medical marijuana — isn’t all drum circles and vegan granola. Or at least it doesn’t seem that way according to Heather Donahue, former pop-culture icon by way of “The Blair Witch Project” and author of “Growgirl.” The woman who infamously once allowed her snot to drip on a camera lens for the sake of cinematic authenticity is also now a former growgirl whose road to self-discovery has been paved with uncertainty, puppies and Sour Diesel strains.
After a breakup and coming to the stifling realization that there may not be life after “Blair Witch” after all, Donahue decides to start fresh, turning remnants of her past life into cinders and embarking upon a silent meditation retreat. Of course, she meets a man, a pot grower from Northern California who unwittingly changes the course of her path. Or perhaps a more astute assessment would be that he gives her an opportunity where she seemingly had none.
She moves to his home base, but thanks to her strong and independent personality, Donahue finds that she’s not content to be a “pot wife,” which is basically the oppressed, domestic housewife of the weed world, and she decides to go into the pot-growing business herself. Eventually, she ends up single and back at square one, except with a puppy, a fleet of chickens, a country home and a garage full of ganja.
Though medical marijuana is legal in California, the requirements and laws surrounding it are sketchy and confounding. And the illicit nature of not only engaging in but pioneering a recreational activity that’s illegal in 34 states drives Donahue to the brink of anxiety and insomnia. Weed may be recognized as a universal, if prohibited, tool of leisure and relaxation, but if you’re the one growing it, it seems to be a catalyst for shit-your-pants-because-you’re-constantly-in-fear-of-getting-caught moments. And actually, Donahue details an incident where she does, indeed, shit her pants, but it has nothing to do with the fuzz.
The names and details of people and incidents in “Growgirl” have been changed for obvious reasons, but writing a book detailing her dalliances still seems like a risk for Donahue to have taken. Then again, she probably needed a new way to make money after inconceivably busting out of the pot industry after only a year.
It’s a good thing she did, because “Growgirl” is not just a guide to the pitfalls and stress of growing grass. It’s also the story of a girl who found fame far too abruptly and was left with no foreseeable future. Donahue comes across as someone who has never quite fit into the constraints of mainstream society, but who also didn’t fit the hippie-dippy ideal of living in a male-dominated pot-growing community.
“I believe in the preternatural wisdom of trees, though I also shave my armpits,” she writes at the start of the book.
Donahue hasn’t completely found herself, but she seems to realize that “finding yourself” doesn’t end with one final solution. It comes from a lifetime of letting go.
Rating: W W W W
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