Runtz the implosive. 
Twelve weeks of flowering, a 7-liter pot, and purely organic food. The plant is asking for more time; the enormous flower buds keep growing, the water consumption is incredible… nothing can go wrong!
I’m going to continue growing this wonderful plant for another week! 
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Mother Caximbo of the Lost Jungle. 
Twelfth week of flowering for this ancient Brazilian sativa.
The plant is loaded with seeds, but the colas are still growing and showing great density.
Currently, this plant is the one that consumes the most water. I’m going to wait another week… to play! Shall we dance?
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Tangie, Queen of Solar Excess. 
Twelve weeks of flowering… the game continues! 
I’ve cut about 20 top shoots that were already ready. This is the third partial harvest from this plant. Since I still have plants still alive, I’m going to hold this plant until the last minute to see if the buds left behind grow enough. 
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Finally ! Instead of a flat note. A harvest symphony! A veritable universe of possibility. Many varietals crafted by will and harvested with honor. This is real stuff . Kudus
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Man, thanks for those words, are like rain in the midst of a drought: they arrive just right, necessary, and with soul.
It’s such a joy when someone who truly knows can appreciate what’s there—every bud has its own story, its moonlit night… you know how it goes.
And yeah, it’s a symphony—but you’re part of that orchestra too. Thanks for sharing the passion and the respect for the plant.
We keep fine-tuning, always with an eye on the next harvest. Big hug, green master.
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We can never repay thier contribution.
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That Oreoz the Impeccable looks so frosty… If you tossed a bud across the room, it looks like it would stick like Velcro® to the wall. Thanks for sharing these gorgeous plants and impeccable documentation with us.
…And thanks for that refreshing visit to the river.
Stay cool!!!
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Brother! I’m really glad you enjoyed the photos and that little trip to the secret river… nothing like the combo of frost and nature to reset the soul.
The Oreoz is dialed in—so frosty that if you sneeze near it, winter might show up. Loved that image of the velcro bud… I’m honestly tempted to run some wall-adhesion tests. Strictly for science, of course.
Thanks for the good vibes—always a pleasure to share the process with folks who truly appreciate it. And yes, let’s stay cool! Physically and spiritually.
Big hug, and we’ll keep crossing paths in this magical jungle. 
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Final wishes under the summer sky
Thirteen weeks of flowering. Thirteen weeks of confinement—of artificial light pretending to be sun, of false nights and endless days inside a tent where seasons don’t exist. This is how Oreoz the Impeccable lived. My brightest plant, the one drenched in trichomes, the one who gave me everything… and today, from the convict’s balcony, she waits for her end with vegetal grace.
This morning, before destiny closed its hand, she asked me for two final wishes.
With a silent voice, clear as the resin covering her body, she whispered:
“Let me feel the sun—the real one. The one that burns, not imitates.
And when night comes… I want to see the stars for the first time.
Before I go, I want to know what lies beyond your 3000K lamps.”
I couldn’t refuse. I carried Oreoz out of the tent. Her leaves vibrated with the first touch of sunlight. Her whole body arched, as if she were trying to embrace the sun she had never known, but somehow… remembered.
And now she waits. Outside. On the balcony. The morning was her solar offering. And the night, her final oracle.
When the stars appear, Oreoz the Impeccable will not just be a plant. She will be a witness. A botanical spirit in transit.
And tomorrow, at dawn, I will play my part: I’ll harvest each of her monstrous buds, covered in crystalline diamonds, without mercy… but with deep respect.
She already knows.
“I’m ready,” she tells me.
“I’m complete.”
“Do what you must.”
And I, with sorrow, will do it. But it won’t be the end. Because some months from now…
When the smoke fills my lungs and sensations rise like a hymn, Oreoz will live again in me.
Not as a plant, but as a memory burned into fine paper. As laughter, as journey, as peace.
Oreoz the Impeccable: A plant. A sister. A legend.
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The end of Oreoz the Impeccable
Her flowering ends. Her legend begins.
At dawn today, in the quiet ritual of my rebellious garden, I harvested Oreoz the Impeccable.
Her buds were like fulfilled promises: massive, sticky, dense, and impossibly fragrant. She gave them all without resistance, as if she knew her destiny was to give everything before disappearing.
Now she rests in peace, placed gently in front of the grow tent’s exhaust fan, where a stream of dry, warm air surrounds her—helping those monstrous flowers shed their moisture quickly, without losing their soul.
In a few days, once she’s let go of her water weight, I’ll seal her in a glass jar.
There she’ll sleep, in darkness and stillness, while time and patience perform their magic: the cure. A slow, elegant, and necessary death.
This fall, when the wind returns and leaves begin to drop, I will smoke her. And with every puff, I’ll remember her: her strength, her sparkle, her impossible scent. She will rise again in smoke, in laughter, in ridiculous ideas and endless conversations.
Rest easy, Oreoz.
You were impeccable to the last trichome. 
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These buds are amazing! I love this harvest phase, even though I’m very happy when I cut them, at the same time there’s that feeling of “silence” and “empty” lol
How long do they take to cure?
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Hi. Yes, I share that empty feeling too.
Curing depends on the plant, but they’re usually ready to smoke within 3-4 weeks. Although I like to collect cured buds, I have some that are 3 years old and I smoke them occasionally.
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Every cycle I think about saving some buds, but as soon as the jars are empty, the reserved buds end up in the vaporizer like magic lol
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Yes, you have to balance the excess smoke, getting more out of each harvest!
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Royal Max: Twelve weeks of flowering…
The plant is showing vigor, growing colas, and eager to continue for at least another week!
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Runtz the implosive.
Thirteen weeks of flowering…
This plant is definitely very happy, and it shows it every day. The buds continue to grow with immaculate shoots. Water consumption is very high. I’ll see how it performs this week. For now, I’m feeding it with varied mixes with low concentrations of nutrients and minerals so the plant can digest them effortlessly.
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The final of Runtz the Implosive
22 weeks of life, 14 in flower. A farewell worthy of her explosive elegance.
Today, at sunset, I harvested—pillaged—Runtz the Implosive.
A fantastic plant. Solid, confident, and generous right to the end. She lived 150 days with intention, grown in a classic 7-liter pot—proving that sometimes, limited space produces unlimited will.
I extended her flowering because she kept pushing out new buds like she wasn’t ready to leave. She was right. Today she gave me massive, dense, pungent colas. My fingers are still black and sticky, coated in trichomes like I’ve been baking a hash cake.
She spent her final 12 hours on the balcony, beneath the summer sky—saying goodbye to a world she rarely got to see. The rest of her life? Spent under artificial suns, among grow tent shadows and schedules written by a human with too many ideas.
Now her buds hang before the warm, dry breath of the exhaust fan. One week drying, then into glass jars for curing. In a couple of weeks, I’ll roll the first joints. And when I do… she’ll return.
This season, she also convinced me of something else: these small, old-school pots work. They save space, use less soil, and make everything easier. Less is more—when grown with purpose.
Rest well, Runtz. You imploded beautifully. You will not be forgotten. 
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The final of Tangie, Queen of Solar Excess
The thirstiest. The brightest. The penultimate to fall.
Today I said goodbye to Tangie, Queen of Solar Excess—the most voluminous plant in the rebel garden, the one that drank as if autumn would never come, as if she could flower forever.
After 154 days of life and 14 weeks of flowering, and following two partial harvests, this magnificent sativa has finally given up her last buds… and what buds they are. Denser, bigger, and full of gratitude for the extra time.
By week ten, the main colas were ready, but I left the lower branches to see what might happen. And now I can say: it was worth it. The partial harvests paid off—those forgotten flowers in the shadows kept growing, fattened up, and are now part of the final haul.
She now hangs drying in the grow tent, catching the warm, dry breath of fans and extractors, preparing for the next chapter: the cure.
And among her flowers, little surprises—seeds. The result of a deliberate cross with pollen from a native Brazilian sativa male. I’ll probably grow some of them next season. Yes, absolutely I will.
I’ve already smoked plenty of this herb. It’s perfect for me: smooth on the inhale, uplifting in effect, with a citrusy aroma so clean and summery I can smoke it all day and still feel 101%.
The Queen has fallen, but she leaves behind a legacy of smoke, seeds, and lessons.
Her crown is saved… until next season.
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The final of Mother Caximbo of the Lost Jungle
Seeds, jungle, and a beautifully wrong destiny.
At dawn today, under a grey sky and with no ceremony, I harvested Mother Caximbo of the Lost Jungle.
Fourteen weeks in flower, and a wild life that ended in my hands and under my shears.
An ancient Brazilian sativa, rescued from the bottom of a forgotten seed stash—she came into this world with a thirst for memory and roots that whispered stories. Today, I pulled her from the present and sent her back to the past, where the plants that bloomed out of time now dwell. And bloom she did.
Fully pollinated by her brother—yes, that male I failed to cull in time—this rebel mother is filled with seeds. Seeds everywhere.
There’s not much flower to smoke, but there’s a whole story in every calyx. Instead of a harvest, she left me a legacy.
And while I’m no breeder and never aimed to be one, I admit: finding the occasional seed in the other plants brings me joy. It’s a romantic error. An unplanned inheritance.
She was the thirstiest plant in the garden, and yet, in the final two weeks, she began to sprout new floral growths. As if she knew her time was near. As if she wanted to leave behind more than just seeds.
Her scent: citrus and forest. Her smoke: gentle, honest, sativa. Just like her.
Now she hangs quietly in the dark, airy grow tent. Drying like broken promises: slowly.
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