Craig Lee's Kentucky Hemp Story. Joe Domino
leaders and insiders. In 2019, anyone with a YouTube channel can claim to be an expert with impunity. Deciphering legitimate educators from pretenders is a full-time job! Sadly, many excited new entrants burn themselves out on dead-end business ventures or simply get lost in all the noise. They give-up before this industry even got legs to run! If the hemp industry has taught me anything, it has taught me how to build my reputation. Only when one makes themselves known for the right reasons are when things begin to transpire without much effort. Because I’ve beaten the hemp drum for over twenty years, word gets around: “If you’re doing anything with hemp—you need to talk with Craig Lee.”
After two decades of being a hemp consultant, I am finally seeing tangible progress—progress that financially rewards someone like me who knows a thing or two. One of my most rewarding jobs recently occurred during the 2015 growing season. This was the second legal hemp planting season since the passing of the 2014 Farm Bill.
With President Obama’s signature, as well as a lot of help from Kentuckian politicians like Mitch McConnell, Rand Paul, Thomas Massey, Paul Hornback, and Jamie Comer, the federal 2014 Farm Bill allowed U.S. farmers to grow hemp under the oversight of a university partner. The 2014 Farm Bill was a huge milestone for American farmers, although the language in the bill still hamstrung them from selling their hemp crops to market for a profit. The first movers that raised an acre or two of hemp had to be creative to justify their hard work. Therefore, when my client asked me what they could do with their hemp, I responded in kind: “Hemp seeds attract doves by the droves.”
I made the suggestion because I knew who my audience was. My client happened to be the grandson to a wealthy Lexington family. His family owned a historic two-hundred-year-old farm called Waverly Farms, and every year they hosted a dove hunt on their historic grounds. Because of the work I’d done, Mr. Robertson, the eighty-three-year-old family patriarch, and my client’s grandfather, invited me to participate in this year’s dove hunt. Mr. Robertson was just as excited as his grandson about hemp growing again. He loved teasing me about seeing sixteen-foot high hemp plants growing before I was born. I respected Mr. Robertson and appreciated his participation in his grandson’s hemp project.
On the day of the hunt, since my job was nearly done, I was more focused on hunting than hemp-talk. Dove hunts always occur after the harvest. That’s when flocks scour the stalks for loose hempseeds. Usually doves enjoy sunflower seeds, but this year, a delicacy awaited them. This year, the doves would enjoy nutritious hempseeds for their very first time—and, possibly, their last. Likewise, the hunters would enjoy hunting over a hemp field for their very first time. This was a historical hunt, on a historical property, after a historical first hemp harvest. Boy-oh-boy, I couldn’t have been more excited!
The hunt was exclusive to friends, extended family members, and close business associates. I was one of the lucky thirty-or-so hunters invited to participate in this year’s “Waverly Farm’s Historical Hemp Hunt.” Before the hunt commenced, everyone gathered outside the homestead that overlooked the harvested hemp field. Suddenly, everyone looked up. Up into Kentucky’s big blue sky. Unaware the sky decided to fall that day, I flopped my head back.
In disbelief, I watched as a small plane flew circles above our heads. A skydiver, barely a speck in the sky, leapt from the plane’s door. When he released his parachute, an American flag unfurled behind him highlighting his final decent in patriotic glory. The guests cheered exuberantly from the ground. The skydiver swooped toward a designated target in the hemp field. He missed by several feet, but that didn’t stop the excited attendees from celebrating his safe return. The wonderful spectacle kicked off the hunt.
We were escorted to a row of hemp bales placed beside the field’s edge. The bales welcomed us to sit, aim, and fire. I thought aloud that we were the first Americans to combine guns and hemp since the Civil War’s Lexington Battle of the Hemp Bales! To every hunter’s delight, the Robertson family elders periodically arrived on off-road vehicles to offer us beer, wine, and hors d’oeuvres. We ate on fine china and sipped from silver cups. It was the fanciest dove hunt I’d ever been on.
By the end of the hunt, I reached my limit shooting twelve. Several hunters also reached their limits too. Everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. I’m not sharing this story to flaunt Craig Lee’s perks—which really aren’t many. I’ve earned my merits and, sure, I’ll enjoy a bone tossed my way for a job well done. My sole concern is guiding the next generation: like Mr. Robertson’s grandson. After decades of knocking on people’s thick heads, it’s relieving to know that some of the most influential figures in society are beginning to take the lead to progress the industrial hemp movement. It’s encouraging that I lived long enough to enjoy something as simple as a dove hunt over a hemp field. Not until my sixty-second year could I shoot a hemp-fed dove without being arrested by either the DEA or local law enforcement. There are many people I wish I could’ve shared this moment with me, especially my closest brethren, the late Gatewood Galbraith. We will learn more about the infamous Gatewood shortly.
Last, for all those bright entrepreneurs pondering their next big move, bright idea, or pivot, just remember to keep hemp in mind. Hemp is more than a material or ingredient. Hemp is an attraction unto itself. Hemp can draw tourists, hunters, and business leaders to convene. Hemp creates an environment where people and nature can thrive together.
Everyone loves hemp for their own reasons. And not just people. The bees, the deer, the insects, the groundhogs, and the doves love hemp too! And it’s high time law enforcement gets on the right side of nature, common sense, and history! Maybe, by the time you’re reading this, they will have already done so.
Hempiphany
I was kicking it in Key West with a few buddies during the summer of 1993. Sippin’ brews on the beach was the agenda. The only 6:00 o’clock appointment we had was to say farewell to the day at Sunset Pier. A place that’s as spectacular as it sounds. People from around the world converge to patron vendors, browse shops, and watch street performers. At the optimal moment, families and couples posed against another horizon radiating backdrop.
The rule of thumb amongst the boys was that no Key West trip was complete without visiting Sunset Pier’s famous head shop: The Environmental Circus. The Circus was a top-notch head shop with an unlimited stock of the usual fare: incense, blunt wraps, glass pipes, tie-dyes, and band posters. After wandering for a few minutes, I discovered my friends had already abandoned me. I didn’t mind getting lost. I’ve always been a little more inquisitive than the rest. I was engulfed by the Circus’ eccentric goods. My curious eyes wandered. My gaze gravitated to a table with folded shirts. Blank blue shirts that had a natural look and feel. They were modest, plain, and rougher than the motley tie-dyes begging for my attention.
Mindlessly, I handled the price tag and—to my surprise—the tag read fifty dollars! I couldn’t be seeing correctly. For a t-shirt!? Irritated, I further examined the tag for substantial claims: 45% HEMP and 55% ORGANIC COTTON. The word “HEMP” blared out to me. My vague familiarity with this word had everything to do with my elected position as the Marion County Democratic Chairman. I knew about hemp cultivation from Marion County’s historical records. I was also aware of old Kentuckian laws that made hemp clothes, and other hemp goods, illegal. The strictest interpreter of the law could arrest someone for wearing a hemp hat. But how were these laws enforceable? I could only imagine the scene: a police officer arresting a non-violent citizen for wearing an illicit t-shirt.
As if under a catatonic spell, I completely forgot my grubby fingers were ensnaring hemp fabric. I must’ve looked pretty stupid manhandling a t-shirt I couldn’t afford. My blank stare connected with the sales clerk. He was visibly annoyed; he was hissing at me to snap out of it. Somehow, I uttered words, “Isn’t this hemp t-shirt illegal?” The clerk spoke with eyes only, “You gotta be kidding me, dude.” He laughed to ease the tension, but his efforts backfired. Like spontaneous combustion, the clerk’s laugh ignited a spark inside my head. I was experiencing a eureka moment; I dropped the tee on the floor and raised my hands in triumph. My mind entered a wormhole of possibilities.
Back in Kentucky, a company called American Sewing Technology was hauling their t-shirt manufacturing operations to China. A lot of outsourcing was happening