LAW DOESN'T HELP THE LAWFUL

Cynthia Stevenson spent years scrimping so she could purchase her dream.

She wanted 10 acres in the hills where she could have turkeys,
horses, goats and dogs and grow her own food. The unmarried home
health nurse found 10 acres near Cherokee.

It needed work but the property was perfect. It was secluded, at the
end of a dirt road, close to the wildflower displays of Table
Mountain. The nearest neighbors were far enough away. She appreciated
the serenity every single day. Then the marijuana farmers moved in
next door. Their garden, with more than 50 plants, was visible a
stone's throw from her porch. Her dogs disappeared. The growers' pit
bull acted aggressively toward her. The growers tried to intimidate
her, she said. They played loud music, ran a noisy generator because
they had no electricity and left trash around. One man walked around
the garden naked, she said. The plants reeked in the fall.

When she complained to law enforcement, strange characters started
showing up near her work, watching her, until she had to seek a
restraining order.

"It was unsettling to be out here when nobody else was here,"
Stevenson said on a tour of her property last month. Her dream had
become a nightmare. It's a recurring nightmare all over the county.
As county supervisors contemplate whether to slap restrictions on
medical marijuana growers, they are hearing an earful from citizens
angry about the growers next door.

Supervisor Bill Connelly funneled a few of those citizens to me. I've
spoken with several over the last month and heard stories with a
common thread: People upset their neighborhood isn't protected from
pot growers. People repulsed by the skunky smell at harvest time.
People who disliked all the traffic coming and going. People scared
that an armed confrontation on the block was possible because of
several thousands of dollars worth of drugs sitting out in the open.

I talked to everyone from folks who lived in the middle of nowhere to
people who lived on farmland to people who lived right in town. In
each case, they complained to authorities, who would come by and
verify that everything was being done legally.

Nobody I talked to complained about marijuana used for medical
reasons. But they all felt the medical marijuana ordinance,
Proposition 215, has been co-opted by dope growers playing the
system. The worst problems are the collectives, where one farmer
grows six plants apiece for, say, a dozen people with doc-in-the-box
recommendations. That very quickly starts to look like a plantation.
That's exactly what moved in next door to Stevenson.

Stevenson has a unique perspective as a home health nurse. She
supported Proposition 215, like a majority of Californians, because
she wanted truly ill people to have access to marijuana if it would help.

Instead, the law has opened the door for people to make a living
growing dope. "I've seen one or two cancer patients using medical
marijuana the way it should be used," she said. "I hate to see the abuse."

A single plant can produce $5,000 worth of buds. If each person can
grow six plants, that's $30,000. Grow for five "sick" friends, and
that's $150,000. That's not a bad annual salary - and except for the
selling part, it's all legal.

The county supervisors will consider, finally, some restrictions on
marijuana growing at a meeting Wednesday night. Many growers will
show up "to defend their livelihood," Stevenson said.

The people I interviewed need to speak out as well, but many
residents don't for fear of retribution.

The proposed ordinance wouldn't eliminate Proposition 215 growing.
But it would help people like Stevenson. In her case, the neighbors
would be limited to 12 mature plants and 12 immature plants, set back
at least 100 feet from the property line.

That would help, but Stevenson would prefer the growers just left.
They tried to make her do the same.

"I really think they thought they would scare me off the land," she
said. "I'm not the type of person to stop living over something like this."

That was three weeks ago. Stevenson had enjoyed a quiet winter. The
property next door was abandoned right after the harvest, but it's
spring. She knows they'll be back soon.

And the laws on the book make her feel helpless.

"The law empowers lawless people," she said. "What about me?"