Witnessing our government sell my land for the "crime" of growing pot

[Texacon]

http://www.democraticunderground.com/discuss/duboard.php?az=view_all&address=389x8981174

Ok, This thing is REALLY long and I didn't want to bring it over but ... I gotta say.  This is some of the BEST moling I've ever, ever seen.

Here's the headline;

Filthy Rich Land Baron Has Land Stolen By the Government to Be Sold to Those Who Can't Afford Acreage

Now what this land baron has managed to do is garner the sympathy of the DUmmies!  It is masterful.

 

ON with the tale;

Fly by night  (1000+ posts)      Fri Aug-20-10 07:55 AM
Original message
Witnessing our government sell my land for the "crime" of growing pot
 Edited on Fri Aug-20-10 08:49 AM by Fly by night
Good (really) early morning, all y'all. It is just past 4:20 am Friday morning in my Tennessee deep hollow home as I start this message, though I have already been up an hour. I've already had my quart of coffee, my quiet time on the porch with my two dogs and the young brown bats that play tag above my head on my front porch, before the sun gets up. I have soaked in the claw-foot tub, and dressed for the day, in shorts, work-boots and (for the moment) my favorite t-shirt from 10,000 Waves out west in the other Santa Fe (NM), on the high road up their mountain.

Most of the pieces I share with all y'all about my life and my views, both considerably colored by my eight year dance with federal weasels over my federal medical marijuana case, have been written quickly, as soon as the incident or the urge allows. This one, for several reasons I am well aware of, has taken longer to start. What follows is (and will be) my memory of witnessing our government sell part of my farm for the crime of growing pot ... and giving it away to four dying neighbors.

I could have written this down Wednesday evening, but instead I sat around a friend's kitchen table, with his wife and his kids, to let the day out somewhere I would not be alone (and where I would certainly be understood). These folks have been my friends for 30+ years and they are the most complete married couple I know. They were the right place to start this process Wednesday evening.

I also could have written this any time yesterday – Thursday. Instead, I took advantage of our recent three inch rain to pull more pliant weeds in my late summer Garden all day, to begin the process of building my bookend compost piles, to the north and south of my raised-bed rows, with the offal, the refuse, the wild growth (what little of it) still inhabits my 40+ year organic bread-basket that breaths just beyond my front-porch -- my Garden. She kept me busy and distracted almost all day (with the help of some donated sour diesel from a Nashville friend that provided more reflective fuel for my internal fire). The more time I spent with Her,the more it was clear that She had been neglected by me in the past minutes and seconds, as my hip and the impending loss of my land intervened. Yesterday, I began to make amends to Her and we worked together for hours, Her donating the random weeds that had sprouted in Her presence and me accepting them as a deposit on next year's abundance.

So, after two days of cogitating, here goes. On Wednesday, I drove 60 miles – one way – to witness our government sell some of my land at what should have been the final chapter in my fight to save my farm. The thing is, in saving most of my farm, I have learned just how far my country – or the fundamental, freedom-loving foundation of it – has been lost in our war on (some) drugs. So read and weep (or get mad as hell) and let me hear from you. All y'all -- my virtual friends, my fellow warriors for science, common sense and compassion, my fellow protectors and benefactors of the Goddess.

Here goes ....
-----

It was early when I got up Wednesday, but not too early. The forced sale of my 25 acres (as a plea bargain to save the remaining 147 acres) was not happening until 1:45 pm and it was just now 5:30 am. But the joys of living in my country include ritual, both of necessity and of intention, and my rituals spread out in front of me to fill the hours before my trip north began. No rain yet (three weeks dry here, in almost constant 110 degree heat index, brutal), so I spent an hour hosing cold spring water onto the two late summer Garden rows – the ones with alternating sweet corn and cantaloupes, with one section of sunflowers and another of late yellow crook-neck squash. Soaking them down as much as possible, them and my out-of-place baby watermelons, beginning to look like they just might feed me (and others) yet. Time to (not) kill, time to breathe.

Getting centered is always good, and it was good on Wednesday. In truth, I had been preparing for this day for eight years but, since the government had sprung the sale out of the blue last month, it was still something I was not really prepared for. (As my late (psychiatrist) daddy used to say, "the healing of a fractured relationship does not begin with the separation, but the divorce.") At that moment, though, the 25 acres was not still mine (having signed it over to the weasels in December), but it was not yet someone else's. That was coming now, though, like a freight train.

One good thing about recovering from my hip surgery is that I have become more intentional with my time away from the farm. So today, knowing that I would have to drive north of Nashville to lose my land, I made a list of everything that needed doing in Nashville. Delivering a big sack of sweet basil to a new friend to feed her sons, returning books and movies ("Apocalypse Now") to an older friend, making copies at Kinko's and eating green curry at the International Market. There was more (other) stuff to do, and so I left the land by mid-morning.

The drive to Nashville always provides two choices – follow the Natchez Trace on its secluded gentle roller-coaster ride along the "Path of Peace" or take Old Hillsboro road. The second choice allows me to drive a little bit faster, and to stop in Leiper's Fork, which I did for gas. Another hour or so in and around Nashville completing the chores and there was nothing left to do but show up to the sale. For all that I had done to distract myself, I was still the third one there.

It remains weird that the feds had chosen not to sell my land actually – you know – on the land. Maybe they knew that their extortion of me still rubbed my neighbors, as well as the local media and medical marijuana activists in lots of places, the wrong way and that some of them might show up to shine a "shame on you" light on their activities. Certainly the fact that my neighbors had spent weeks tearing down the gaudy yellow "auction" signs the feds had paid to litter around our back roads, depositing them at the head of my driveway each morning, might have given them a clue. So, for whatever reason, the feds bundled my land with four other sales and conducted the auction as far from my farm as they could get. I am sure they will claim efficiency as their motive – I will always and forever claim it was chicken-shit.

When I arrived at the tidy brick house near an industrial park in Whites Creek, the auctioneers had just started unloading their papers and other equipment. There were a few folks there, including one (a new neighbor I had just met in the weeks leading up to the sale) who had told me he would bid. Then I noticed another neighbor, a carpenter who had built the sun-porch on my home, who was there with another friend of his in hopes of getting the land too. There were at least three other groups of folks, a young man with a "Co-op" hat and his dad, two husky country-looking boys probably in their 40s and an withered old man standing next to a G. Gordon Liddy look-alike. All those folks had made the drive to bid on my land, and they made up two-thirds of the crowd.

In addition to taking bids there, these very efficient auctioneers (who had told me they do a "lot of this" for the government, so they knew their deal) were equipped to accept on-line and phone bids. But they were there to move fast, and then to move on.

Two of the five pieces sold before mine, both nice homes in nice neighborhoods in Clarksville and Nashville. The second one, an almost 3,000 square foot home that looked very substantial and well-maintained in the photos at the auction, went for less than $20,000 – in less than two minutes. Everyone there looked as amazed as me. I would know in a minute just what my land would bring.
-----

But, first, as background (and to introduce a little suspense), let me remind all y'all that my surrendering this 25 acres was to prevent a "summary judgment" decision by my federal judge to give the feds my entire 172 acre farm or to place a permanent $250,000 lien on my property to satisfy our government's view of justice in my case. Justice that, in their opinion, had not yet been satisfied by my $60,000 in legal bills $500,000 in lost salary, eighteen months in a federal Bureau of Prisons halfway house and three years ever since unemployed.

For the crime of growing seven pounds of pot and giving it away to four terminally ill neighbors, a crime that I never denied I committed from the moment that two helicopters and ten four-wheelers descended on my farm. One big lesson here – if you cooperate with the feds, they will want to know just how much bull-shit you can take. (Obviously I can take a lot)

Our final plea agreement, in which I surrendered the 25 acres, saved the rest of my farm and saved me from having to live under the burden of a $quarter-million$ lien for the rest of my life. The feds agreed to take whatever they could get for the 25 acres, in return for which they agreed to get out of my life. (More on that later.)

At the time of our plea agreement, the feds' appraiser had estimated that the 25 acres was worth between $170,000 - $220,000, and that appraisal (I am sure) is what turned the tide toward a final resolution last December. Now back to the sale.

-----

The bidding on my land opened with an on-line bid — of $30,000. (My guess is that this bid came from Arizona, where two other new friends who had already bought 15 acres from me that fronted the 25 acres (for $125,000, two years ago) were trying to protect their rears – and mine.) People whistled in the crowd, and a few jumped in with slightly higher bids. But there was to be no feeding frenzy here today. The bidding quickly stalled, the unseen internet bidders fell silent, and the land was sold ..... for $35,000. To the G. Gordon Liddy look-alike – the only person at the auction who looked out-of-place for my bucolic 'hood.

No matter. After shaking hands with the folks there I knew (as well as to the country folks I did not), I went over and shook G. Gordon's hand, told him who I was and said I would be happy to answer his questions. The first thing that was obvious was that he had never even bothered to look at my land beforehand. He asked how much road frontage came with the land (my answer: "None"). He asked how big the pond was on the land. (My answer" "What pond?") He asked about the driveway. (My answer: there is an unimproved easement, back to the start of the land, but that will require building a 300 yard+ driveway that doesn't now exist.) With each of my answers, G. Gordon's mustache drooped a bit more.

I saved the best news for him to experience in the flesh. I neglected to tell G. Gordon that his new land in the country was bordered by the no-longer-young man from whom I bought the land a decade ago (to keep my then-young neighbor from losing the land to an alcohol and cocaine-fueled bankruptcy) and that neighbor had just moved two dilapidated trailers into his side field to join the dozen rusting cars and trucks up on bricko–blocks already scattered all along my (former) land's western view. Everyone else who bid on my land on Wednesday knew about that scenery. G. Gordon did not.

I can't wait to see his face.

So that was it, folks. Seven years of heart-ache ended in three minutes of cold-cash bids. I was glad (I suppose) that it was over. And I was very glad that my land brought so little to the feds. In fact, I drove home hoping that the last prosecutor I dealt with (dense between the ears, deficient in the heart) would choke on the news of the pitiful return the land brought. Choke on it ... and die.

I have learned and (and re-learned, one day at a time) that keeping an attitude of gratitude is the best way to face everything and recover. So it was on Wednesday. But two things kept eating me, and I suspect they always will. Unbeknownst to me and to my neighbors who bid on the land, they were instructed before the sale that the US Marshalls had imposed another restriction on the sale of my land that would prohibit anyone that day (including, especially, me) from bidding on the land with the intention of selling it or otherwise returning it to me. They repeated that extra-judicial restriction (which none of us, including my judge, knew about or acquiesced to) several times before the sale. Mind you, no one was there to buy the land for me, and I hardly have a pot to piss in these days, much less more money to throw down a fetid federal rat-hole. But just the thought of that final example of arrogant federal flatulence posing for law-and-order reminded me of it all.

And some of that "all" was what the 25 acres meant to me. Even though it was not part of my original farm, it was land that I learned to cut and haul hay on (when I helped my young neighbor's daddy, Sharkey Shouse, put up hay for his jacks and jennies). It was land that I had fenced, not once but twice. It was land I had kept clean, before it was my land and after. It was land from which I had cut firewood, and witnessed the wonder of an ice-storm's aftermath, coating the tall grass and every hanging tree twig and branch with ice that sparkled like a billion little prismic rainbows. That was what that 25 acres meant to me.

What it was to the feds was one more chance to drown the American dream in the drug war's civil asset forfeiture bath-tub, one more chance to demonstrate that growing pot is the crime that keeps on punishing – more than murder, more than rape, more than election fraud or fouling our seas. More than almost anything.

That is where I want to leave all y'all this morning. But – to be clear – I am not leaving you at the end of this story. I am leaving you in the middle of this struggle. No one else (or precious few) should have to go through what my last eight years have been. Our failed war on drugs – and the steroided, well-armed, civil liberties-trampling "drug worriers" that it has unleashed like so many rabid flying monkeys on us – has got to stop. And it has to stop soon.

I helped elect President Obama (almost all of us did) for many reasons, including his pledge to allow cannabis/marijuana to be returned to the medical pharmacopoeia. I celebrated when AG Holder announced last October that the feds would no longer go after participants in lawfully-established state medical marijuana programs. I have been encouraged by the number of states (14 now and DC) who have re-established medical marijuana programs and the several dozen (including Tennessee) who are not far behind. Indeed, there is much to be grateful for.

At the same time, I had to drive 120 miles round-trip on Wednesday for the privilege of witnessing the sale of land that was (and will always be) a piece of my heart. And, three times in the three weeks before that sale, I have experienced my farm being buzzed, low and loud, by the farces of evil – low enough to rattle my windows and blow down my late summer sweet corn – ostensibly looking for pot that only a fool or an insane person (or someone broke and in pain) would plant. Though I have been some of the above, I have not (yet) been all three.

My only recourse for these illegal low-level fly-overs has been to drop my shorts and invite the pilot to fly up my ass. After that temporary relief, my other response has been -- and always will be -- to keep working to overturn the laws that keep these worthless and irrelevant cowardly cowboys in the air. That will be my life's work. I hope it is yours too.

From the banks of my creek, just south of my Garden, on what's left of my farm.

Peace out. Y'all come.

 

I'll let you go to the link to see the rest!  It is truly a wonderful thing to behold.  All the DUmmies rallied around a wealthy land baron .... crying that the evil government (the 'O' government no less) STOLE his land. 

It brings a tear to the eye.

 

KC

[Texacon]

I'm sorry, I forgot ... he even has his whole 'back' story on there!  This is just the most amazing set up ever.  Not only that I'll just bet there will be some donation money thrown to the rich land baron;

Fly by night  (1000+ posts)      Fri Aug-20-10 08:57 AM
Response to Reply #3
9. Here's some background on my case
 Edited on Fri Aug-20-10 09:00 AM by Fly by night
A short YouTube clip (from the documentary, "The Human Costs of Marjuana Prohibition"), four articles and a link to the web-site created for me to help save the farm when I was locked up in the "house".

www.youtube.com/watch?v=YOR0P3jicuw

www.nashvillescene.com/2007-04-26/news/marijuana-martyr...

http://www.nashvillescene.com/2009-12-03/news/bernie-el... /

commonwonders.com/archives/col391.htm

www.nashvillescene.com/2010-01-28/news/let-s-roll/

www.saveberniesfarm.com

Enjoy (if that's the right word). 

KC

[Chris_]

Did you forget he signed up over here?  What a jackass.

http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php?action=profile;u=666

[Texacon]

Did you forget he signed up over here?  What a jackass.

http://www.conservativecave.com/index.php?action=profile;u=666

I either forgot or was unaware.  I'll need to look through his posts here.

Who is Pipi_k over there?  That DUmmie is making some good points on that thread but all the other DUmmies are too myopic to see past their last high. 

KC

[Thor]

Do the crime, do the time.......

I DO think that the Government is far too overreaching in their "war on drugs", especially when it comes to marijuana. One pot plant can lead to the seizure of one's entire property. However, the criminal even admitted to "distribution", which makes it even worse.

[Texacon]

I gotta say, I have no problem with them making marijuana legal.  None.  I say legalize it and tax what you can.  But that is one of my libertarian leanings.

The problem I'm having with ol' Bernies story is .... 7 pounds?!  7 pounds of dope.  For ... what was it .... 4 'patients'?  I don't smoke and never have but that seems like a LOT of dope.  How long would it take to use up 2 pounds of dope?  Using strictly for pain?

I don't like what they did to Bernie but what if his story was like this;

I have a lot of acreage and I burn my own trash there.  I have 4 neighbors who can't afford to have their garbage hauled off so I let them burn their trash there too.  Even though it's illegal to burn in our county what else could I do?  They don't have anywhere to burn their garbage and if they let it pile up we end up with rats and other nasty vermin ....

What do you think the DUmmies would be saying?  Hell the only things the DUmmies worry about is their next high.  I'll bet less than .0000001% of them use marijuana for pain/medical issues.

KC

[JohnnyReb]

  I am moved.............................

For 7 pounds of pot....what's the indian word for piss poor farmer....chemo-slobby?

[true_blood]

From the link;
I helped elect President Obama (almost all of us did) for many reasons, including his pledge to allow cannabis/marijuana to be returned to the medical pharmacopoeia. I celebrated when AG Holder announced last October that the feds would no longer go after participants in lawfully-established state medical marijuana programs. I have been encouraged by the number of states (14 now and DC) who have re-established medical marijuana programs and the several dozen (including Tennessee) who are not far behind. Indeed, there is much to be grateful for.

At the same time, I had to drive 120 miles round-trip on Wednesday for the privilege of witnessing the sale of land that was (and will always be) a piece of my heart. And, three times in the three weeks before that sale, I have experienced my farm being buzzed, low and loud, by the farces of evil – low enough to rattle my windows and blow down my late summer sweet corn – ostensibly looking for pot that only a fool or an insane person (or someone broke and in pain) would plant. Though I have been some of the above, I have not (yet) been all three.

My only recourse for these illegal low-level fly-overs has been to drop my shorts and invite the pilot to fly up my ass. After that temporary relief, my other response has been -- and always will be -- to keep working to overturn the laws that keep these worthless and irrelevant cowardly cowboys in the air. That will be my life's work. I hope it is yours too.

From the banks of my creek, just south of my Garden, on what's left of my farm.

Peace out. Y'all come.

Well, if you voted for the Lord Zero, you got just what you deserved. Every hear of that "redistributive of wealth" message that he spews from his mouth?!?! Yeah, you're a victim of that, so get the **** over it.
I also LOVE how these stupid DUmmies all say that they want to the "medical" marijuana to be legal. Wonder if they even considered that the marijuana is not a cure and is actually doing more damage than good. ****in' DUmmies. Also, what is it with the DUmmies and putting things up their ass?!?! They love that stuff, huh?!?! No wonder why the voted for Lord Zero. Garbage follows garbage!

[DumbAss Tanker]

The preamble was boring but the actual story was Vogon-level-boring, I couldn't make it far into it.

However, for those with an equally short attention span for whining, I offer this summary:

"My choices had consequences!!! How can this BEEEEEEE!!!???!!!"

  

[BlueStateSaint]

Vogon-level-boring

 

Good one, DAT!

[BEG]

What an epic length novel. I couldn't get through it.

[Freeper]

The preamble was boring but the actual story was Vogon-level-boring, I couldn't make it far into it.

However, for those with an equally short attention span for whining, I offer this summary:

"My choices had consequences!!! How can this BEEEEEEE!!!???!!!"

  

I think Vogon poetry is better than most of the posts at the DUmp. 

[Randy]

Bathroom stall poetry is more entertaining.

I read the whoooole thing. He sure is one sorry sum bitch. It's all his fault, he admits that but he should be absolved because he was growing way to much for what he considers a noble reason when it's obvious he was growing it for him and his buddies. He's delusional thinking the country is behind him and he thinks because he had to pay legal bills he's paid enough somehow.

[AllosaursRus]

Do the crime, do the time.......

I DO think that the Government is far too overreaching in their "war on drugs", especially when it comes to marijuana. One pot plant can lead to the seizure of one's entire property. However, the criminal even admitted to "distribution", which makes it even worse.

This asshole is the worst kind of drug dealer! First of all, he only grew the dope for his "medically in need" neighbors. Anyone who believes that is DUmber than a sack o' hammers and I have a few acres of rock I'd like to sell 'em!

Second, he acts like he lost $500,000 due to his incarceration. Uh, what exactly was he doin' to earn that kind of money, except growin' Pot for sale?

Third, 7 lbs is not some kind of personal use for him and a few neighbors no matter what he pukes! If it's anything close to the "Bud' comin' down from our neighbors to the north, or Humboldt County in Kali****istan, which in my experience, it is, it was worth close to $3,000/lb! You chop that up into dime bags and it's worth twice that! last I saw locally, it was goin' for $10-$20/gram! Do the math! 28grams/ounce, 16 ounces/lb!

Fourth, just how many years do ya think he got away with his "harvest" before the Feds got wise?

And last but certainly not least, now he posts a long drawn out ***** party wanting his fellow dope smokin' criminals to back his play so he can wallow in pity!

For cripes sake, asshat, grow a pair! You knew it was illegal, and now you want sympathy? FOAD! Care to elaborate about your love affair with Bubba the Fud Pucker you met in prison?

[Texacon]

Just thought of something;


Hey, DOC ..... you willing to take a drug test?  I might be willing to donate to your cause if YOU are willing to take a drug test.

Unless of course you're on chemo or something. Which of course would need to be provable.

KC

[BlueStateSaint]

Unless of course you're on chemo or something.

Who do you think the OP is--Pammy Dawson?

[Mr Mannn]

Isn't this so typical of a drain damaged primitive?
He does something he KNOWS is illegal, and whines when he has to pay the consequences.

Stupid idiots. "I have to pay the consequences?!! But why??!!

[Mike220]

Did it to yourself, DUmbass. Embrace the suck.

[Chris_]

The preamble was boring but the actual story was Vogon-level-boring, I couldn't make it far into it.

However, for those with an equally short attention span for whining, I offer this summary:

"My choices had consequences!!! How can this BEEEEEEE!!!???!!!"

  

Thank you.  Short attention span here.  I figured just as much.

[PatriotGame]

"I got caught growing dope. My U.S. Congressperson doesn't give a shit! I am a parasite loser, the world owes me!

I WANT MY FREE SHIT!!!111"

/DUmmy