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Taeli
“Yesterday was fun, wasn’t it, bud?” I ask Caleb as we head down for breakfast.
“Yeah, it was okay.”
It’s as good of a response as I could hope for.
“I’m thinking about taking a temporary job, helping Sara-Beth with their vacation business. That means we’ll probably be spending a lot of time over at the campground.”
He shrugs. “That’ll be fine.”
He won’t ever admit that he enjoyed himself last night, playing with the other kids. Stubborn boy.
When we get to the landing at the bottom of the steps, Sara-Beth is at the kitchen table with Mom, enjoying a cup of coffee.
“Hi,” Caleb greets as he takes a seat beside our guest.
“Good morning, Caleb.”
I walk to the counter and pour myself a cup and join them.
“Sara-Beth rode up with Weston this morning,” Mom explains as I make Caleb a plate of eggs and bacon from the platters in the middle of the table.
Weston is Graham’s second-youngest brother. He was behind me in school but we knew each other pretty well, as he dated many of the girls in my class, including one of my volleyball teammates.
“That’s nice. I haven’t seen him in forever. Where is he?” I ask.
“He’s out back in the greenhouse, checking on the tomatoes,” Mom answers.
It’s really sweet how Sara-Beth’s sons have taken Mom under their wing and stepped up to help her around here. Every morning, one or more of them show up despite their busy schedules to check in on her or to perform menial tasks for her. It’s endearing.
Once I have Caleb settled and eating breakfast, I take my coffee and excuse myself to go find Weston and say hello.
A warm mountain breeze envelops me as I step out onto the porch. The aroma of honeysuckle fills the air. I can still remember plucking the flowers from the vine and pulling the small stem that runs through the bloom to get to the drop of nectar that waits inside. I’d sit for hours and lick them one after another to enjoy the sweet taste of honey.
I make my way behind the house in search of Weston and find the greenhouse door wide open. I step inside to see the long oak tables topped with potted flowers and herbs. Rows of lavender and thyme and basil lead me deeper inside, where I find him with a hand trowel, potting soil, and saplings.
His back is to me, but I can see the signature Tuttle features from here. He looks so much like Graham. His dark hair is a bit longer and curls around his collar, and he’s a slightly shorter and stockier version of his older brother.
When he hears my footsteps, he turns and grins.
“Weston Tuttle, is that you?” I ask.
“Hey, Taeli. I heard you were back in town,” he says as he stops his digging in the clay pots to come over and hug me.
I squeeze him back and look over his shoulder to where he was working.
“Is that what I think it is?” I ask as he releases me.
I walk over to see a row of marijuana plants growing among the tomato stalks.
“Um, no,” he says.
“Weston! Are you growing weed in my mother’s greenhouse?” I screech.
“Technically, I’m delivering more plants. Your mom grows them herself,” he explains.
I stare at him in shock.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask.
“Nope. It’s kind of her hobby, I guess you’d say.”
“My mother is a pot dealer?” I ask.
“No. Absolutely not. These are strictly for personal use,” he says, as if that makes it any better.
“My mother’s a pothead,” I mutter to myself.
“It’s not like that. She doesn’t smoke or anything. She just clips and boils the plants and uses them to make gummies and brownies.”
That’s not any better.
“Oh, she doesn’t smoke it she just consumes it. That’s fine then,” I muse.
“Look, I own the hemp farm on the top of Trinity Gap Road. You remember where the old tatter patch used to be by the river?” he asks.I nod.
That old tatter patch used to supply potatoes to the entire valley when we were young.
“I bought it from Mr. Whisnet’s widow a few years ago. We grow and sell one hundred percent organic CBD hemp products—oils, tinctures, gummies, et cetera. It’s all legal, and it has little to no THC in it, but it has all of the medicinal benefits of cannabinoids. Our products are high quality and natural. We sell them online all over the country and in the shops in town. Everyone is trying to reap the natural benefits of hemp. It’s a revolution,” he explains.
I’m quite aware of the beneficial use of medical marijuana. Damon touts it’s praise as an effective alternative treatment for cancer patients who experience extreme nausea due to chemotherapy. He fought diligently for it to be legalized in the state of Illinois, and it was last January; however, the bible belt states are far less progressive than the rest of the country,
“That’s amazing, Weston.”
“Thanks. It’s been a dream of mine for a while now,” he says.
So, why are you delivering plants to my mother, then?” I ask.
“Because Leona likes it a tad bit more natural than we are allowed to sell,” he quips.
“Oh my God, Weston!”
I imagine my mother getting high with all her new bohemian friends and cringe.
“It’s not a big deal,” he insists.
I march past him, out of the greenhouse, and toward the house, where Mom and Sara-Beth are now sitting on the back deck.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Taeli,” Weston calls after me, but I continue forward.
“Mom, what the hell?” I screech when I make it to the front steps.
“What?” she asks.
“You can’t just grow marijuana in the greenhouse!”
“Why not? It’s legal now,” she claims.
“Not in the state of Tennessee,” I inform her.
“Really?”
“Really, Mom.”
