A Social Equity Applicant’s Story of Hope, Legalization, and Loss
In a matter of weeks, I’ll lock the door to my family’s farmhouse for the last time and walk away.
My great-great-grandfather, Bial, bought this Vermont farm in 1909. For 117 years, five generations of my family lived, worked, and died here. The old slate roof still rests on hand-hewn timber beams cut by hand long before power tools existed. Antique farm implements still sit tucked away in the corners of fields where generations left them. The river still winds through the woods beneath an old wooden bridge that has been my favorite place since I was a child. Even today, it feels as though the generations who came before me are still there.
This isn’t just a farm. It’s my family’s history. It’s where my grandparents raised their family. It’s where I cared for my grandmother, grandfather, uncle, mother, and father through hospice until each took their last breath. My mother is buried on the hill overlooking the property.
She had a green thumb unlike anyone I’ve ever known. She taught me how to grow certified organic vegetables from the same soil that had sustained our family for generations. Years later, after I returned home from prison, I taught her how to grow cannabis during her battle with cancer, and she used it throughout her treatment.
Every spring, my son and I would plant acres of crops together, just as generations of my family had done before us. I always believed my son would become the sixth generation to call this place home. Instead, I’ll be the generation that loses it. I didn’t lose this farm because I stopped farming. I didn’t lose it because I stopped working. I …
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Author: Randy Russell / High Times
