State of the Weed: Vermont • Q3 2025 — Phil the Old Hippie

State of the Weed: Vermont (space) Q3 2025

Sitting on a hemp cushion in a barn that has not been cleaned since 1978, wearing tie-dye and Birkenstocks despite it being 45 degrees.

Oh man, you want to know about Vermont herb? Brother, let me tell you …

**Lights hand-rolled joint with 1989 Grateful Dead tour lighter**

Market Snapshot

Here’s the thing nobody understands anymore: Vermont cannabis is about terroir, just like our maple syrup. You can taste the soil, the mountain runoff, and the morning fog rolling through the valleys. But these dispensary kids do not get it.

They are selling hydroponic nonsense grown under LEDs when we have been doing sun-grown organics since before it was called organic—we just called it growing. Jerry would weep, man. He would absolutely weep.

I remember at Alpine Valley in 1989, we were passing around Vermont homegrown that tasted like pine sap and democracy. Now it is all about THC percentages. Nobody talks about the journey anymore, just the destination.

Strain Leaderboard

Staples

Strain	Why It Sticks
Vermont’s Finest	Been growing the same cut since 1973—from bag seed from a Dead show at Roosevelt Stadium
Maple Leaf Indica	Tastes like Grade A Dark Robust syrup if you cure it right (nobody does anymore)
Catamount Green	Old Vermont strain, back when we had mountain lions, and real weed culture

Risers

Strain	Genetics	Flavor	THC	Notes
Bernie’s Batch	Political hype strain	Socialist sweetness	22%	It is fine, but not as revolutionary as claimed
Fancy B Grade	Maple syrup joke name	Amber, earth	18%	At least someone remembers syrup grading
Flatlander’s Folly	Out-of-state genetics	Too sweet	30%	What Connecticut people think we want

Terp Lanes Trending

Kids want candy terps — Back in my day, weed tasted like weed, like earth, skunk, and enlightenment.
Fake fruit flavors — Nothing tastes real anymore; it is all artificial, like the music these days.
Grade A Medium Amber profiles — Sorry, I mean “citrus and pine.” Nobody appreciates maple grades as quality indicators anymore.

Price Bands (Observational)

Value: Used to trade for grilled cheese on the lot; now it is $180 an ounce for machine-trimmed sadness.
Mid: $220-$280 an ounce — Should be composted; tastes like disappointment.
Top-shelf: $350 an ounce — They call it “craft,” but I have grown better in a patch behind my yurt.

City Taste Map

Burlington: College kids wanting vape pens — Jerry is spinning in his grave, which I visited last Tuesday.
Montpelier: State workers pretending they appreciate quality while buying mids.
Brattleboro: Still some real heads there. They remember the old ways.

Forward Look

More corporate cannabis is coming, like when Unilever bought Ben & Jerry’s. Nothing sacred anymore.
Young growers might rediscover landrace genetics if we are lucky. I have seeds from 1977 in my freezer.
Climate change means earlier harvests. It used to be October, but now it is September. Earth’s rhythm is off, man.

**Pauses to relight joint that went out**

You know what the real problem is? Nobody experiences cannabis anymore. Back in the day, we would smoke a joint and listen to a whole album—start to finish, the way it was meant to be heard. Now kids hit their pens while scrolling their phones. No ritual, no reverence, no respect.

I grew my first plant in 1971 with compost from the commune and love—pure love. We would harvest under the full moon, cure it in maple sugar shacks, and trade it for tickets to shows. There was a batch in 1983 that perfectly captured the essence of a Vermont autumn, like smoking the season itself. You could taste the dying leaves, the first frost, and the anticipation of winter.

**Stares off into the distance**

These dispensary kids with their “budtender certifications”—ha! I have forgotten more about cannabis than they will ever learn from their corporate training videos. They are selling Grade C commercial when they should be cultivating Grade A Fancy. You understand the maple grading system, right? It is all connected—the trees, the herb, the music, the mountains.

Want to see my original Afghani seeds from the Brotherhood of Eternal Love? Still viable. Unlike modern culture.

**Plays air guitar to a song only he can hear**

We are everywhere, but nowhere like we used to be—you know?