Xong
Vang and Chia Xiong arrived in Douglas City, a town of the Gold Rush
era, hoping to make good from the next big California boom. After
the state legalized cannabis in 2016, they joined a wave of newcomers
settling in this mountainous, lushly forested Northern California region
known to produce some of the world's best weed. They believed that here
in remote Trinity County, they could find their own "Green Rush,"
growing pot for what was promised to be a profitable legal market.
Today,
the couple are struggling to keep their 3.4-acre farm going. They live
in a trailer on the side of a mountain, where they eke out a modest farm
life, raising pigeons for eggs. They worry about providing for their
children amid what seem like endless delays to regain licenses needed to
legally cultivate their cannabis crop.
Their plight is so desperate that Vang and Xiong have resorted to a path they tried to avoid: growing without a county permit. “People
say you live paycheck to paycheck, but there’s no paycheck to live off
of,” Xiong said, standing amid budding plants nestled on the slopes of a
rugged peak. They are among hundreds of local cannabis growers entangled in a legal
impasse that has kept many from planting and led some to consider joining a thriving underground economy that was supposed to decline
after cannabis was legalized by Proposition 64.
Part of the tri-county “Emerald Triangle” in Northern California,
this expanse of forests and hidden canyons has the ideal climate for
cannabis: hot days and cool summer nights. It's described by locals as
the Napa Valley of weed. If any place in California would have been expected to flourish after cannabis was legalized, it was Trinity, where the crop's roots were sown during the counterculture movement of the 1960s.
But
the legalization measure, which in Trinity won by only a handful of
votes, was polarizing from the start. Critics of licensed farming
worried that an influx of commercial growers would wreak havoc, causing
ecological destruction and eroding the community's sense of safety and
trust. Following a lawsuit, a Superior
Court judge last year invalidated nearly all licenses that had been
awarded, ruling that the county approved them without requiring growers
to document potential environmental impacts and measures to prevent
harm. By early November, just 44 licenses had been re-approved, and about 300 farmers, including Vang and Xiong, are still waiting.
In the meantime, some have let their lands lie fallow, while others
have chosen to produce illegal harvests, avoiding the fees, taxes and
red tape associated with obtaining a license. Some illegal growers
have diverted streams, poisoned the land with toxic chemicals,
destroyed wildlife habitat and threatened people who stray near their
plantings.
Financial losses from illegal operations and depressed prices have
been “incalculable” for farmers, said Adrien Keys, president of the
Trinity County Agriculture Alliance, an association of about 100
cultivators. Many, he said, invested hundreds of thousands of
dollars in their businesses and in a county system that is unreliable
and threatens to push away manufacturers, distributors and others who
rely on products from the region.
Interviews with residents and local officials and a Times review of county records reveal the repercussions of an estimated 3,000 illegal cultivation sites.
Satellite images show how one hot spot, Post Mountain, has been nearly
stripped bare of its once-pristine forest, as if the land were going
bald.
In Trinity County, Proposition 64 passed by only six votes and the issue remains deeply controversial. Some legalization boosters envisioned a wellspring of riches from
cannabis that could help pay for college, expand hospital and mental
health services and lead to skyrocketing property values. Instead,
Trinity residents say, a rural, "Mayberry" way of life in which people
left their keys in their cars has been ruined. The influx of outsiders
to cultivate weed has left longtime residents scared and suspicious.
Experts who researched the local weed market said Trinity officials
focused on potential revenue but gave little thought to technical
details that exposed the county to legal challenges. Grower Terry Mines has been warring with Trinity officials for years. He
tried to develop a cannabis storage and distribution facility but was
denied county approval in 2020. Thus far, the county has approved
licenses only for cultivation, and there are no legal dispensaries.