It's a long story, and I intend to share the whole damn thing with you guys. So last year, after a security breach (someone I thought was cool wasn't- NEVER TELL ANYONE), I had to stop with my indoor shenanigans. At the time I had 3 females that were successfully reveging under cfls. I rushed them out of my house and into some Georgia red clay and composted manure around June. Come October, my spot and new partner were proving to be a little sketch, so I picked most of it early (broke the new chump off some and removed him from my life), and that was better than nothing. I went back around Halloween, just for shits and giggles, and found some of the finest ganja I have ever known on the twigs and popcorn buds I had left behind. I couldn't ignore the results of my barely-cared for first attempt at organics. I read all of Lumperdawgz posts, some of his links, and a torrent of Teaming With Microbes. I made a bokashi bucket, worm bin, and AACT brewer with only a couple of trips to the hardware store. I had also moved and found a different job since then, so I felt confidant in growing indoors again. The only thing I was lacking was a decent mineral amendment, so instead of paying shipping on a 25 lb. bag of rock powder, I decided to check out my local hydro shop. That was my third big mistake if you're counting. Those guys looked at me like I was from the moon when I asked for glacial rock dust. After answering some questions about my operation, they offered me a job. I couldn't have been more stoked. The pay sounded decent, and I'm sure I could easily pitch some retarted AN or Canna shit to 20-30 year old males all day long. I turned in notice at both of my current jobs, and then proceeded to totally bomb an interview with someone I hadn't met on my first trip down. I was welcomed back at both of my real jobs, but I had already boned myself by entertaining the idea of growshop employment. I tore down my grow the night before the interview. Even worse, everyone at my real job was aware of where I was going. It never effected my job, but I was definitely uncomfortable with that much awareness. No big deal really. The whole thing made me focus harder on my first solo guerilla flight. After some time with Google Earth, I found a large spot, comprised mostly of thorns, trees, kudzu, and snake infested waters, in walking distance of my apartment in the city. I prepped and transplanted into three holes with coco coir (those bricks are nice for backpackers), EWC, Espoma Plant-Tone, a little bokashi bran, some roasted and pulverized mussel and chicken shells, native soil and kelp. I went out today to apply a foliar AACT, as the start of an organic fungicide program. All three holes were empty!!! As I made my way down the hill, already considering starting 10 bagseeds under 12/12 and thowing the females outside as soon as they declare sex, I slipped. I slipped and grabbed quickly onto my machete. It was immediately obvious that I had severed at least one tendon. I tied my hand into a tight fist with my shirt, and proceeded to haul ass out of the woods in record time. My wife hauled my dumb-ass down to the hospital, and I got a shitload of stitches across three fingers in my right hand. Tomorrow, I get to go and meet my new friend, the hand specialist, and discuss options for returning mobility in my two worst fingers. If I was Canadian, this would be better. But I'm not. I'm an American with no health insurance. So much for the down-payment on my first house. And so I'm out this year. I'm not looking for any sympathy at all, I really just needed a place to vent. Thanks for reading this dumb ish. If you have a similar story, POST IT!