POT FARM: GROUP SERVES ILL AND OFFERS SUPPORT.

The medicinal marijuana debate

Throughout the nation's contentious debate over marijuana policy, a
collective of patients at a tiny farm in northern Santa Cruz County
have been quietly growing pounds of the drug for use by the sick and
dying.

Working cooperatively with law enforcement authorities, patients share
chores of planting, weeding, watering and harvesting -- helping the
plants thrive, even as they themselves wither and die.

The federal findings released Wednesday simply confirm what these
patients say they have believed for years: Marijuana has therapeutic
benefit.

``I'm so glad that the government has finally heard us,'' said Valerie
Corral, 47, a lifelong gardener who with her husband, Michael, 49,
founded and helps run the non-profit group, called Wo/Men's Alliance
for Medical Marijuana (WAMM).

``Our model could work throughout the state,'' she said. ``It could
work throughout the nation.''

The coastal garden, wheelchair accessible, produces enough marijuana
to provide about 200 local patients with free weekly allotments of up
to one-eighth of an ounce of pot, worth $50 to $85 on the street.
Grown organically, it contains no pesticides or fungicides.

Most members have terminal diseases, such as cancer or AIDS. A few
have glaucoma or painful muscle spasms due to paralysis or
degenerative disease. A doctor's recommendation is required for
membership. These are hardly hippies. They range in age from mid-20s
to 70s. Some are grandmas or grandpas. They include a former
secretary, a deacon, a caterer, a nurse, a computer analyst and a
gas-station attendant.

For some, marijuana helps lessen pain and control spasms. For
others, it restores enfeebled appetites.

``I'm nauseous every single morning. One or two hits in the morning
and I can keep breakfast down,'' said Gary McMillin, 44, of
Corralitos, sickened by anti-viral AIDS medicines.

But it is about more than marijuana. Patients contend the
companionship, hard work and soft ocean air have equal value.

``Many people are ill and lonely,'' McMillin said. ``This gives a lot
of support and camaraderie by finding other people who are shut in and
poor.''

The collective was conceived by Corral after she discovered that
marijuana helped suppress epileptic seizures stemming from a head
injury suffered in a 1973 car crash.

Before trying marijuana, she took a handful of prescription
medications daily. ``I was living under water, 24 hours a day,'' she
recalls.

She found that a single puff of marijuana, smoked quickly when she
sensed an oncoming seizure, offered immediate therapy yet left her
clear-headed for the rest of the day.

Now in improved health, she has made medicinal marijuana a crusade.
She confers routinely with law enforcement and health officials.

``I know them real well,'' said Santa Cruz County Sheriff's Deputy Kim
Pinneli-Allyn. ``They've gone to great lengths to conduct themselves
in a professional way. Of all the groups we've dealt with, theirs is
the most viable, the most genuine.''

With its stated purpose of providing pot to indigent patients and
educational research, the group has been granted non-profit status by
the state. It is supported by member donations.

Tucked away in a green accordion pleat of this foggy coastal clime,
the farm's soil is warming quickly as spring approaches. Selected
seeds are ready for planting. By May, protected in a greenhouse,
sturdy seedlings are culled to separate male from female. One or two

lucky males will survive to create future generations.

They then are transplanted into the garden in neat rows. Labels
indicate variety: Cannabis sativa, Cannabis indica, and a
sativa/indica hybrid. The farm keeps genetic records going back over a
decade.

As plants mature, the garden is guarded day and night by patients in a
nearby trailer.

The entire process is labor-intensive. Farm-based experiments show
that the plants flower most abundantly -- boosting yield -- when stems
are pulled to the ground and tied down, forcing new shoots to reach
for the sky. Flowers are pollinated by hand, using
paintbrushes.

By October, the plants will hang heavy with buds and huge sticky-ripe
leaves. The crop is harvested using handsaws, then hung, dried and
manicured of stalks and stems. It is then weighed, sealed in airtight
bags and stored in a safe and secret location, far from the farm.

Patients meet weekly at an undisclosed Santa Cruz location to receive
their allotments.

Only the buds are smoked; leaves are mixed into muffins, brownies or a
milk-based concoction. Stems are composted or set ablaze.

Corral says she hopes the aftermath from the new report will increase
awareness of the broader potential of the drug.

``It opens doors, spiritually, so people can quit running away from
death, and instead stop, turn around and embrace it,'' she said.
``They are no longer so fearful, so clutching.''